Looking at Corleone's faint, inscrutable smile, Raff's heart skipped a beat, and the grin on his face froze.
But he immediately suppressed the uneasiness rising within him and sneered, "Trying to sow discord between me and the Boss? You fool!"
"Do you have any idea how much money I've made for the Boss over the past year? How many dirty jobs I've handled for him?"
"Let me tell you the truth. He met with me personally last night and promised he would do everything in his power to protect me!"
After saying this, seeing Corleone remain silent, Raff felt that the other party was intimidated by his momentum and couldn't help but show a triumphant smile.
He looked around and saw that although the Gold Cloaks had turned the Blood Cellar upside down, they had found absolutely nothing. His smile grew even brighter.
"Captain!"
"We found nothing. It's very clean. Even the ledgers are..."
Several Gold Cloaks came forward to report. Hearing this, Humfrey's face grew uglier by the second.
Damn it...
Glancing at the gloating Raff, he knew very well that this guy must have received news in advance and transferred or destroyed all the evidence.
There are traitors among the Gold Cloaks!
But this was normal. Given the Royal Family's financial issues, let alone the men under him, even he, the Captain of the Dragon Gate, hadn't been paid in months.
To survive in King's Landing with its soaring prices, apart from the noble sons with deep pockets, there probably weren't many in the City Watch with clean hands.
Himself included.
But understanding was one thing; failing to get things done in front of Lord Corleone was another.
He had managed to get rid of Sven Rosby with great difficulty. If he messed up the task personally assigned by Commander Addam, he could kiss his position as Captain goodbye.
Watching Humfrey's constipated expression, Raff pushed his luck even further. He stepped forward, raising his voice like a victor.
"Look, my dear Captain Humfrey!"
"Your men have searched and inspected. Did you find anything?"
"Don't get cocky, Raff!" Humfrey stared viciously at him, his hand on the hilt of his sword, threatening, "Everyone in Flea Bottom knows about the dirty things you've done. I could easily find a hundred witnesses!"
"Hahaha!!!"
Such toothless threats didn't scare Raff at all. He strode to the door and shouted unscrupulously to the crowd of onlookers packed outside, "Did you hear what Captain Humfrey said? You scum! If anyone has evidence of my crimes, please come out and testify! The impartial City Watch will surely uphold justice for you!"
"Any volunteers?"
He swept his fierce gaze over every familiar face—some terrified, some numb, some curious, and some even gloating or indifferent.
But not a single person dared to stand up and accuse Raff.
Clearly, as the most powerful underground force in Flea Bottom, everyone here feared Raff's retaliation.
Seeing this, Raff sneered and turned back to Humfrey. "Seems like a misunderstanding, Captain. I told you, I'm a law-abiding merchant."
He then opened his arms generously. "Brothers, you've worked hard all morning. Want to stay for a drink?"
"It's on me!"
This utterly arrogant display made the Gold Cloaks look at each other.
Actually, they really wanted to stay for a free drink—opportunities like this didn't come often—but they weren't blind. Everyone could see the murderous look on their Captain's face.
For a moment, none of the dozens of Gold Cloaks dared to speak.
Just as Raff was full of ambition, thinking victory was in hand and planning to continue humiliating Corleone...
A robust figure stepped out from the ranks of the Gold Cloaks.
Seeing him, Raff's pupils contracted slightly.
But the man didn't even glance at him. He walked straight to Corleone, knelt on one knee, took out a neatly folded piece of parchment from his chest, and offered it with both hands.
"Very good, my Blood of my Blood."
Corleone nodded slightly, unfolded the parchment, and read aloud in incredibly clear and standard Common Tongue: "Combat Slavery Contract!"
As he read the title of the document, the entire Blood Cellar fell silent instantly. All eyes focused on that piece of parchment.
The expression on Raff's face froze, and an ominous premonition flooded his heart.
"Fake... that's fake!" He subconsciously wanted to rush forward and snatch it, but two Gold Cloaks blocked him with their crossed iron-tipped spears.
"Easy, Lord Raff."
Seeing his anxiety, Corleone simply responded with a polite smile and continued reading.
"Contractor: Raff."
"In the year 299 AC, purchased a Dothraki named 'Yigo' from a slave caravan from Essos for the price of ten silver stags."
"The contract stipulates that the purchaser, Raff, holds complete ownership of Yigo and may drive, trade, or force him to participate in any form of martial competition or gladiatorial combat until death."
"This contract is permanent and cannot be canceled without Raff's own consent!"
Finished, Corleone calmly held up the parchment so those around could see the scrawled signature belonging to Raff and a crude bloody fingerprint at the bottom.
As Corleone's voice fell, there was a thud.
Raff, who had been incredibly smug just moments ago, stumbled back, knocking over a chair. He pointed a trembling finger at Yigo.
That thin piece of parchment was now more glaring to Raff than a red-hot iron brand.
But... this thing shouldn't be here!
He had clearly erased all illegal traces, destroyed the ledgers, and even sent away the few gladiators who had signed short-term contracts!
You must know, buying and selling slaves is a serious crime in Westeros. Since thousands of years ago, the Seven Kingdoms have not practiced slavery.
It is generally believed that both the Old Gods and the New Gods detest slavery, and the laws explicitly prohibit it.
The most typical case was a few years ago when Jorah Mormont, the Lord of Bear Island in the North, was sentenced to death by Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, for selling poachers to slavers.
Although that guy fled in time and hasn't been caught yet, the fact that even a Lord was sentenced to death shows how serious the crime of slave trading is!
Not to mention, Raff was just a commoner without any title. Once the crime of slave trading was confirmed, only death awaited him!
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"
"I gave all the contracts to the Boss last night..."
Before he could finish, a bone-chilling cold rushed from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.
Looking at Corleone's faint smile and recalling the question, "How are you sure the big shot won't sell you out?", a desperate thought flashed through Raff's mind.
He wasn't stupid; otherwise, he wouldn't have survived in Flea Bottom for so long and even taken Rorge's place.
The answer was already obvious.
The only person who could do all this was the "Big Boss" who had been hiding behind the scenes, providing him protection while siphoning off most of his profits.
That man who always wore a faint smile and played everyone like pieces on a board...
However, just as Raff was in turmoil, the next scene pushed him completely into the abyss of despair.
Yigo reached into his chest again. This time, he pulled out a thick, leather-bound book.
When that book appeared, Raff's face turned deathly pale, and the last shred of hope in his heart was extinguished.
He remembered clearly!
Just late last night, he had personally sealed this account book, which concerned his very life, in a wax box and handed it to that Lord!
Inside, it recorded the true income and expenses of the "Blood Cellar," details of bribes, slave transactions, and even evidence of murdering nobles!
This was the "report card" he had to submit every quarter, and the leverage he had to voluntarily place in the Lord's hands!!
"No... don't open it..."
Raff tried to rush forward to snatch it again, but this time the Gold Cloaks weren't so polite.
Just like dealing with Rorge earlier, an iron-shod club smashed ruthlessly onto his knee. The force was so great that it instantly shattered the joint.
"Ah!!!"
Miserable screams echoed through the Blood Cellar. Watching this, Corleone remained calm, nodding elegantly. "I said, easy, Lord Raff."
With that, he handed the ledger to Humfrey.
He had already looked through it last night. The truly important content had almost all been torn out. What remained was irrelevant to the "Big Shots."
But these "irrelevant" things were shocking enough for someone like Humfrey.
He flipped open a page casually, scanned it briefly, and his face became incredibly grave.
It clearly recorded the dates and amounts paid to certain Gold Cloak captains and members.
The scope was so broad it included nearly a tenth of the City Watch!
If this got out, the entire defense system of King's Landing would be shaken. The implications were too vast!
"I... I want to be a witness... I want to report!"
At this moment, Raff, recovering from the severe pain, went completely mad and shouted.
He understood. He understood everything.
That "Lord" had no intention of protecting him. The other party might have bigger plans, or perhaps just wanted to cut ties with Flea Bottom.
In short, he, Raff, had been packaged like a gift along with this place and given to Corleone!
The feeling of betrayal was more painful than his broken leg. Raff desperately wanted to scream that name and drag the other party down with him!
"I want to report! The person behind me is..."
Bang!
Just then, the iron-shod club swung again, harder and heavier than before!
Taking a heavy blow to the face, Raff's nose shattered, and his face caved in, blood gushing instantly.
In severe pain, he opened his eyes to see a noseless face grinning in front of him, raising the club again.
"F..."
Bang!
Another blow stuffed all of Raff's curses back into his throat. But it wasn't over. Rorge skillfully jammed the club into Raff's mouth and twisted it violently.
It turned out that even the hardest bones in the human body couldn't compare to iron-shod wood.
Soon, Raff's mouth was destroyed, silencing him completely.
Only after Rorge was satisfied did Raff collapse to the ground, unable to speak another word.
"Slave trading and attempting to assault law enforcement officers. The evidence is solid!"
Humfrey turned a blind eye to Rorge's excessive actions and simply shouted to his men, "Take him away!"
"Yes!"
Two Gold Cloaks stepped forward, but Rorge grabbed Raff by his blood-soaked hair and dragged him roughly toward the door.
Raff's body left a long trail of blood on the rough stone floor. He was too weak to struggle, his whimpers faint.
Outside the Blood Cellar, the crowd was silent.
Everyone was stunned by this brutal scene. Watching the once-arrogant Raff being dragged like a dead dog, his face a bloody mess, many swallowed hard subconsciously.
Dragging Raff, escorted by the Gold Cloaks, the crowd followed Rorge's footsteps all the way to the only open ground in Flea Bottom.
As the main group left, the Blood Cellar became deserted.
Corleone did not go with them. Instead, he looked around the interior with interest and walked upstairs.
He picked up a decanter of wine from a cupboard, found a clean glass, and poured himself a drink.
Holding the glass, he walked to the window and pushed it open. The sun had just dispersed the mist, making the crimson liquid in the glass shimmer.
Looking in a certain direction, the corner of Corleone's mouth curved into a faint smile. He raised his glass in a toast from afar and took a sip.
At the same time, in the tallest building on the Street of Silk, a short man who always wore an elegant smile stood by the window. He also raised his glass, tilted his head back, and drained it.
---
Flea Bottom, beneath a bare flagpole.
A rough rope was looped around Raff's neck, hoisting him up. His feet left the ground. Instinctively kicking his legs due to suffocation, a gurgling sound came from his throat.
Rorge turned to face the dark crowd and grinned, his already hideous face looking even more terrifying.
"Open your fucking eyes and look closely!"
His hoarse voice spread clearly to every corner of Flea Bottom. Even those who didn't dare to come out poked their heads out to watch carefully.
Once he was sure everyone was looking at him, Rorge pointed to the dying Raff behind him and waved the ledger in his hand.
"You should all know this man. His name is Raff!"
"He forced people into slavery, forced them to kill each other. He and his men treated Flea Bottom like a cesspit and you like maggots in it. They sucked your blood and then complained that your blood was dirty!"
"I know, maybe among you, there are relatives he killed and sold as 'Bowl of Brown' meat. Maybe your sisters were raped by that guy!"
These words reminded many people of what they had suffered at Raff's hands. They began to stir; anger and humiliation brewed in the silence.
"But, today!"
Rorge's voice rose sharply, his gaze sweeping over every indignant face. "Lord Vito Corleone has arrived!"
"He brings new rules! Lord Corleone's rules!"
He looked around the crowd, his eyes fierce and firm. "From now on, in Flea Bottom, no coercion, no oppression!"
"Lord Corleone promises to give you a clean way to live, so your children won't have to die in the gutter like rats!"
"However!"
Rorge suddenly changed his tone, speaking sternly, "Lord Corleone's friendship and protection must be exchanged for your loyalty!"
"Anyone who dares to go against his will, anyone who dares to continue doing evil on this land..."
Rorge suddenly drew the bright dagger from his waist.
"This will be the end!"
Hand raised, blade fell.
Slash!!
The sharp edge cut cleanly through Raff's throat. Blood sprayed out, dyeing the flagpole red and splattering onto Rorge's hideous face.
Raff twitched a few times before finally stopping.
His eyes were wide open, staring dead at the direction of the Street of Silk, as if he couldn't figure out why he was betrayed even in death.
Watching the end of the arrogant Raff, the expressions of the people in Flea Bottom varied—numbness, joy, hatred, hesitation, schadenfreude... it was complicated.
However, most of them were uneasy. Raff was dead, but now this "Lord Corleone" would take over Flea Bottom. What would happen to their fate?
After all, to the big shots, lowlifes like them were sometimes more disgusting than stray dogs on the roadside and cheaper than weeds.
But just then, some people began to notice that a brand new flag was slowly rising on the roof of the Blood Cellar.
The flag had a pure white background. In the center, a huge Black Hand with five fingers slightly spread was embroidered.
The gesture of the hand was neither a clenched fist full of aggression nor an open palm of acceptance.
It looked more like... an all-encompassing control.
Under the gaze of the people, this flag of the Black Hand slowly unfurled in the morning breeze that carried the scent of blood.
It flew at the highest point of Flea Bottom, silently declaring that this place had welcomed a new master.
And new, unchallengeable rules.
Vito Corleone slowly stepped out of the Blood Cellar entrance, calmly looking up at the flag. His gaze was deep, as if looking at a just-completed work of art.
He didn't speak, but Corleone's will would now run through everything.
From now on, in this place unprotected by the Old Gods or the Seven, only Corleone's Law is worshipped.