"Fuck!"
Inside the Blood Cellar, Rorger slammed the table violently. Beside him were open wooden crates and cash boxes deformed from being kicked.
However, aside from a few overlooked copper stars and a floor full of trash, he hadn't found so much as a single gold dragon.
"Damn that Ralf!"
He roared in anger, "Where the hell did this guy hide all the money? The Colosseum is a business that rakes in gold every day, but now it's as clean as if it had been ransacked by bandits!"
"Search every damn inch!"
After complaining for a bit, Rorger shouted at his newly gathered subordinates again, "Don't miss a single corner! That damn bastard must have built a secret room to hide the gold!"
Seeing Rorger so enraged, several thugs who had previously followed Ralf hurriedly continued rummaging through the Blood Cellar like headless flies.
After all, Ralf's corpse was still hanging from the flagpole; even the crows hadn't had time to finish picking it clean.
Vito Corleone stood calmly on the second floor, surveying the territory he had just taken for himself. The scent of blood seemed to still linger in the air.
He wasn't particularly surprised by the situation before him.
"No need to search anymore."
Watching Rorger continue his frantic search as if he wanted to turn the place upside down, Corleone reminded him calmly, "The person behind Ralf is no philanthropist."
"He was able to hand over the ledgers and this territory of his own accord only because he's about to leave King's Landing. Flea Bottom has become completely useless to him."
"A cunning fox always licks the last drop of honey clean before leaving its den. Since he decided to abandon this place, it's only natural that he'd strip it bare and not leave us a single extra copper."
As he spoke, he walked to the window and gazed in the direction of Silk Street, muttering to himself, "In your eyes, leaving Flea Bottom to me is already a great act of generosity, isn't it, Lord Petyr Baelish?"
Unlike Corleone's composure, Rorger continued to stomp his feet in frustration despite being advised to stop.
"Then what should we do next, Lord Corleone?"
He couldn't help but step forward and whisper beside Corleone, "Without money, never mind recruiting men and buying weapons, even feeding this group of guys who just defected will be a problem!"
"These guys have the same nature as wild dogs. Once they know we don't have money for wages, I guarantee not one of them will stay."
As he spoke, Rorger pointed toward the corner at those few men who had originally been Ralf's subordinates.
"You take charge of the men first."
Corleone glanced at them and teased, "What? Didn't you brag to me before about how formidable you were in Flea Bottom? Now you can't even keep a few men in line?"
"It's not that..." Seeing a hint of doubt in Corleone's eyes, Rorger rubbed his hands awkwardly.
"In Flea Bottom, as long as your fists are big enough, those guys certainly won't dare to act out. But without sufficient financial support, those rules you've set will be very difficult to implement."
"You know, My Lord, gold dragons are sometimes more important than anything else..."
"I understand."
Sensing Rorger's unease, Corleone patted his shoulder and consoled him, "Don't worry. Just remember, you controlled this place for many years. Even if you were played by Ralf's crew, your prestige remains. It's much easier than starting from scratch."
"Do you see the look in their eyes?"
He tilted his chin up. "I had you kill Ralf with your own hands during the day; that was already enough to intimidate them. They fear you, and they respect you."
"While your influence hasn't faded over these few days, you must hurry and begin forming our armed force. They'll be responsible for maintaining order in Flea Bottom and protecting our business."
"Since I've come, then the rules here... must be set by me."
"Yes, Lord Corleone!"
Hearing this, Rorger immediately patted his chest and promised, "I will not fail your trust!"
"Very good." Corleone nodded slightly, then walked down the stairs step by step, calling out to Yigo, who was silently sharpening his sword in the hall, "Let's go, my blood of blood!"
The taciturn Dothraki didn't waste any words, simply picking up his sword and following.
"Keep an eye on our base, Rorger."
Waving his hand without looking back, Corleone instructed as he walked out, "Organize the men first and clean this place up. It stinks too much."
"The establishment of all order begins from the most visible places. So before I return, I want to see at least... clean streets."
Inside Red Keep, the residence of the Master of Coin.
Tyrion Lannister sat behind a towering pile of ledgers and files. His head, which was so large it was disproportionately sized, was buried under these documents that represented the kingdom's financial mess.
His face looked exhausted, and his eyes were bloodshot.
Damn it... He sighed helplessly, leaning back into his wide chair and closing his eyes to massage his temples.
"If you had six million gold dragons, what would you do, Bronn?"
He suddenly spoke up with this question.
Beside him, a lean man wearing leather armor and an expensive wool cloak was currently trimming his fingernails with a dagger out of boredom.
Hearing Tyrion's question, the corner of his mouth curled into a rogue-like smile. "Six million? How much the fuck is that?"
"Is it enough for me to buy every brothel in King's Landing from top to bottom, from the madams to the cleaning girls, and then have them line up to perform exciting shows for me?"
Hearing this, Tyrion didn't even bother to open his eyes, answering weakly, "Enough to pile up into a small mountain that you could climb to touch the moon."
"Answer seriously, Bronn."
"Alright." Bronn finally put away his dagger and rubbed his bearded chin with interest. "Let me think seriously."
"First, I'd have to buy a castle bigger than Harrenhal. Then I'd hire a thousand of the strongest lads to do nothing but count money for me every day. If they miss one, I'll chop off a finger."
"Finally, I'm going to buy every brothel in King's Landing from top to bottom, from the madams to the cleaning girls, and then have them line up to perform exciting shows for me!"
Tyrion's lip twitched slightly, counting as a smile.
"What if I told you that after doing all that, you wouldn't have even finished spending the tip of that mountain?"
"Couldn't finish spending it?"
This answer was clearly beyond Bronn's expectations. He frowned and continued to think carefully, "Then I'd buy a big ship and go wander across the Narrow Sea. I heard Braavos has many temples, and the priestesses there are hot and mysterious. Changing to a new taste every day would surely be fantastic."
"Still wouldn't be finished..."
Seeing Bronn get more excited as he spoke, as if those six million were already piled in front of him, Tyrion couldn't help but sigh. "What if I told you now that it's you who owes others six million gold dragons?"
"Huh!!?"
As soon as these words were spoken, the longing expression on Bronn's face immediately froze.
However, he was free-spirited enough to simply toss the dagger in his hand nonchalantly. "Then I'll just kill the creditors. Wouldn't that mean I don't have to pay the money back?"
Looking at his guard, who had no moral bottom line yet surprisingly always hit the core of the problem, Tyrion smiled and shook his head.
"Bronn, you're a goddamn genius."
He was right. As long as the creditors were killed, the debt would die with them, and the money wouldn't have to be repaid.
But the problem was...
This was even harder than paying the money back!
Tyrion sat in his chair, feeling like crying but having no tears.
The creditors of iron throne... House Tyrell for one million, the Iron Bank for one and a half million, and even the Faith had lent out over nine hundred thousand gold dragons!
Most importantly, his father, Lord Tywin Lannister, was iron throne's largest creditor, having lent nearly three million gold dragons to the crown over time!
Damn you, Robert Baratheon, look at what you've done!
In the mere twenty years that guy sat on iron throne, he not only spent all the vast wealth left behind by House Targaryen but also incurred over six million gold dragons in external debt!
To hell with the Baratheons!
With that much money, even for a spendthrift like Tyrion himself, it would probably take a thousand years to spend it all!
No wonder Petyr Baelish had that strange expression as if he could barely hold back a laugh when his father ordered him to be the Master of Coin!
This is a complete trap!
Argh! Argh! Argh!
He was restless, even jumping off his chair to pace back and forth, cursing Robert—who had already been gored to death by a boar—a thousand times in his heart.
"Need my help?"
Seeing Tyrion's expression of extreme agony, Bronn couldn't help but speak up. "If you can't pay back the money, I can help you go talk some sense into the creditors."
He brandished the dagger in his hand. "I'm best at talking sense. Usually, by the second sentence, the other party agrees to everything. Of course, I want a twenty percent cut as payment."
"Thank the Seven, Bronn."
Hearing this, Tyrion gave him a frustrated eye-roll. "Then please go to The Tower of the Hand immediately and use your 'tough sense' to convince my father first."
"Huh?"
At those words, Bronn's smile instantly froze, and even his arm holding the dagger stalled in mid-air.
He liked money, but he also had a great deal of self-awareness.
Bronn would never do something where he had the life to earn the money but not the life to spend it.
"My Lord!"
Just then, a boy of about ten pushed open the door and said cautiously in a low voice, "A gentleman named Vito Corleone asks to see you."
"Vito Corleone?"
Hearing this, Tyrion's mood, which had just slightly settled, immediately became a bit more irritable.
He could roughly guess what the man was here for, but now...
After thinking for a moment, Tyrion returned to his wide chair, sat down, and ordered, "Go invite Lord Corleone in, Podrick."
"Yes, My Lord."
The squire turned to leave very humbly, thoughtfully leaving the door slightly ajar.
Tyrion tapped the table and glanced at Bronn beside him, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly. "Aren't you very good at talking sense, Bronn?"
"Talk to him well. I'll pay you according to the highest reward."