These words were very plain, without the slightest trace of anger, yet they made Sven Rosby feel a chill rise up his spine.
This guy... his tone was too certain, he looked utterly confident. Could he really know some big shot that Sven couldn't afford to offend?
"Are you threatening me?"
He stared intently into Corleone's eyes, trying to catch any trace of lying, but unfortunately, those pitch-black eyes just looked back at him calmly, without a hint of panic.
"I'm just stating a fact."
Corleone shrugged: "Whatever choice you make, the final outcome will be the same anyway."
"So, why waste each other's time staging this meaningless process?"
At these words, the muscles on Sven's face twitched slightly, and he began to weigh the pros and cons in his mind.
He could climb step by step from a rotten gambler rolling in the mud of casinos to the position of a Gold Cloak squad leader. Apart from necessary ruthlessness, he also relied on assessing the situation at critical moments.
Of course, most importantly, during the Battle of the Blackwater, the King's brother Tommen Baratheon was sent to Rosby to take refuge.
As a distant cousin of Lord Rosby, he also basked in some reflected glory and was promoted after the war.
He dared not bet. If there really stood some big shot behind this man whom he absolutely couldn't afford to offend, then everything he had painstakingly obtained might be wiped out in an instant.
The expression on Sven's face changed constantly, but Raff beside him saw his hesitation and was so anxious he almost jumped up.
He knew very well that if he couldn't use the Gold Cloaks to nail Corleone and his two companions today, what awaited him was a huge debt of five thousand Gold Dragons!
This huge sum was enough to hollow out his years of savings, and the real boss behind him would absolutely not bear this loss for him.
What was more deadly was that the boss behind the scenes might even send someone to personally dispose of him because of this!
"Liar!"
The burning anxious Raff immediately stepped forward, pointing at Corleone with a sharp voice: "He is a liar, don't believe him, Captain Sven!"
"This guy couldn't even produce the stake of one thousand Gold Dragons, how could he know any big shot? He absolutely has no background, just putting on an act!"
Hearing this, Sven's eyes began to flicker again.
Seeing him like this, Raff immediately struck while the iron was hot: "Think about it, Captain Sven, I am the legal merchant who pays the most taxes in Flea Bottom!"
"I guarantee with the reputation of 'Blood Cellar', this guy is just an ordinary person who got lucky, picked up this stray dog Rorge from somewhere, and partnered up to blackmail me!"
"If you don't give me a fair handling result, wouldn't it chill the hearts of law-abiding merchants like me in the entire King's Landing?"
He spoke righteously, looking exactly like an honest businessman being blackmailed.
However, Sven narrowed his eyes slightly.
In this guy's words, there were threats both overt and covert.
Yes, Raff was indeed a major taxpayer in Flea Bottom, but most of those "taxes" fell into his, Sven Rosby's, pocket.
After all, without Raff's bribes, his meager salary alone couldn't support Sven going to the Street of Silk to enjoy himself every month, let alone spending lavishly at the gambling table.
You must know, consumption on the Street of Silk wasn't cheap. An overnight stay with a decent prostitute cost dozens of silver stags (about one-tenth of a Gold Dragon)!
But then again, although Raff was threatening him, if this guy named Corleone really had a background, how could he be dressed so shabbily and couldn't even produce the gambling capital of a thousand Gold Dragons?
Sven thought rapidly. To cut off his stable source of income for an outsider of unknown origin?
Even a fool knew how to choose!
"Cuff them!"
After thinking it over, greed finally suppressed the unease in his heart.
Sven waved his hand violently, ordering his subordinates sternly: "Take these three fugitives back to headquarters, I will interrogate them personally!"
He emphasized the word "fugitive" to show the righteousness of his action.
Under Sven's order, several Gold Cloaks stepped forward tentatively again, taking out iron shackles.
Just as they moved, Iggo instinctively roared low, muscles tense, his fierce eyes sweeping over every face approaching Corleone.
This menacing appearance momentarily stunned the Gold Cloaks.
Although they had the advantage in numbers, with the example of two companions before them, no one wanted to be the first bird to be shot.
For a few hundred copper stars a month, who would risk their life!
But just as the two sides were in a stalemate, Corleone looked up again and pressed Iggo's shoulder.
"Don't be impulsive, Blood of my blood."
He took a step forward, his voice unusually steady and pointed: "Sometimes, bowing your head temporarily is to see the longer road to victory clearly."
Towards such obscure words, Iggo didn't quite understand, but his loyalty to Corleone made him snort coldly, restrain his posture, and stop resisting.
Seeing this, the Gold Cloaks breathed a sigh of relief and continued forward.
In their surprised gaze, Corleone actually took the initiative to extend both hands, very consciously putting them into the shackles.
With a click, cold iron shackles locked his wrists, but his posture remained upright.
That relaxed demeanor didn't look like a prisoner about to become a captive, but rather like a knight temporarily bound by tedious etiquette, preparing to attend a boring banquet.
When the shackles were on, Corleone slowly raised his head, his gaze seeming to pass through the crowd, staring straight at Sven Rosby.
"You disappoint me, Sven Rosby."
"You made a originally very simple matter complicated. Tonight, I was supposed to meet a truly big shot, but you screwed it all up."
His voice clearly wasn't loud, and his hands bore heavy shackles, yet Sven could always feel a substantial oppression emanating from the other party.
To make himself appear less passive, Sven scoffed with forced ease: "Stop pretending, kid. I dare say, I am the biggest... 'big shot' you've seen in your life!"
However, Corleone seemed to see through his fierce appearance but weak inside, speaking word by word:
"Laugh all you want, while you can."
"You will pay a price far beyond your imagination for your decision at this moment."
"Maybe now is not the time, but believe me, there will be a moment, when you think you are safe, when you can sit back and relax..."
"This is not a threat, Sven Rosby."
Corleone gave Sven one last stare: "This is destiny."
With that, he ignored the other's changeable expression, took the initiative to step forward, and walked towards the outside of the fighting pit.
The heavy shackles made rhythmic clanking sounds on Corleone's hands, yet sounded like the faint friction of armor on a knight walking onto the battlefield.