"Fuck!"
Inside the Blood Cellar, Rorge violently pounded the table. Around him were overturned wooden crates and deformed, kicked-open chests.
However, aside from a few overlooked copper stars and garbage strewn across the floor, he hadn't found a single gold dragon.
"That damn Raff!"
He roared in anger, "Where the hell did this guy hide all the money? The fighting pit is a business that rakes in gold daily, but now it's as clean as if it's been looted by bandits!"
"Search carefully, all of you!"
After complaining, Rorge yelled at his newly gathered subordinates, "Don't miss a single corner! That damned bastard must have built a secret room to hide the money!"
Seeing Rorge so furious, the few thugs who had previously followed Raff scrambled like headless flies, continuing to rummage through the Blood Cellar.
After all, Raff's corpse was still hanging on 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 under his wing. The air still seemed to carry the scent of blood.
He wasn't particularly surprised by the situation before him.
"No need to search."
Watching Rorge continue his chaotic search, as if wanting to turn the place upside down, Corleone calmly reminded him, "The person behind Raff is no philanthropist."
"He willingly handed over the ledgers and this territory simply because he is about to leave King's Landing, and 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 normal for him to strip it clean and not leave us a single extra copper."
Saying this, he walked to the window, looked in the direction of the Street of Silk, and muttered to himself, "In your view, leaving Flea Bottom to me is already a great generosity, right, Lord Petyr Baelish?"
Unlike Corleone's calmness, although he had been persuaded to stop, Rorge still stomped his foot in irritation.
"Then what do we do next, Lord Corleone?"
He couldn't help but walk up and whisper beside Corleone, "Without money, let alone recruiting men and buying weapons, even feeding these guys who just defected to us will be a problem!"
"These guys are just like wild dogs. Once they know we don't have the money to pay wages, I guarantee not a single one will stay."
Rorge pointed to the corner where Raff's former subordinates were standing.
"You take charge of the men first."
Corleone glanced at those people and teased, "What? Didn't you brag to me about how majestic you were in Flea Bottom? Now you can't even handle a few people?"
"That's not it..." Seeing a hint of questioning in Corleone's eyes, Rorge rubbed his hands awkwardly.
"In Flea Bottom, as long as your fist is big enough, those guys definitely won't dare to act rashly. But without sufficient financial support, the rules you set will probably be hard to enforce."
"You know, my Lord, sometimes gold dragons are more important than anything..."
"I understand."
Seeing Rorge's uneasiness, Corleone patted him on the shoulder and comforted him, "Don't worry. But remember, you controlled this place for many years. Even though you were played by Raff's gang, your prestige is still there. It's much easier than starting from scratch."
"Did you see the look in their eyes?"
He lifted his chin. "Having you kill Raff with your own hands in broad daylight was equivalent to showing them who's boss. They fear you, and they submit to you."
"While the impact hasn't faded in these few days, you must hurry up and organize our armed forces, responsible for maintaining order in Flea Bottom and protecting our business."
"Since I am here, the rules here... must be set by me."
"Yes, Lord Corleone!"
Hearing this, Rorge immediately patted his chest and guaranteed, "I will not fail your trust!"
"Very good." Corleone nodded slightly, then walked down the stairs step by step, shouting to Yigo who was silently sharpening his sword in the hall, "Let's go, Blood of my Blood!"
The taciturn Dothraki didn't waste any words, simply picking up his sword and following.
"Watch over our base, Rorge."
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 with the most visible places, so before I return, I want to see at least... clean streets."
---
Inside the Red Keep, the Master of Coin's residence.
Tyrion Lannister sat behind a towering pile of ledgers and scrolls. His disproportionately large head was almost buried by these documents representing the kingdom's financial mess.
His face was weary, his eyes bloodshot.
Damn it...
Sighing helplessly, he lay back in his large chair, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples constantly.
"If you had six million gold dragons, what would you do, Bronn?"
He suddenly spoke up.
Beside him, a lean man wearing leather armor and an expensive wool cloak was boredly trimming his nails with a dagger.
Hearing Tyrion's question, a rascally smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Six million? How much the fuck is that?"
"Enough for me to buy every brothel in King's Landing from top to bottom, from the madam to the cleaning girl, and then have them line up to perform exciting shows for me?"
Hearing this, Tyrion didn't even bother opening 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 stroked the stubble on his chin with interest. "Let me think seriously..."
"First, I'd have to buy a castle bigger than Harrenhal, then hire a thousand of the strongest lads to do nothing but count money for me every day. If they count one wrong, chop off a finger."
"Finally, I want to buy every brothel in King's Landing from top to bottom, from the madam to the cleaning girl, and then have them line up to perform exciting shows for me!"
The corner of Tyrion's mouth twitched; that counted as a laugh.
"What if I told you that after doing all that, you wouldn't even have spent the tip of that small mountain?"
"Can't spend it all?"
This answer clearly exceeded Bronn's expectations. He frowned and continued to think carefully. "Then I'd buy a big ship and go across the Narrow Sea. I heard Braavos has many temples, and the priestesses there are hot and mysterious. Changing one every day would definitely be great."
"Still can't finish it..."
Seeing Bronn getting more excited as he spoke, as if the six million were already piled in front of him, Tyrion couldn't help sighing. "What if I tell you now that you owe someone six million gold dragons?"
"Huh!!?"
As soon as these words came out, the longing expression on Bronn's face instantly froze.
But he was free-spirited, tossing the dagger in his hand indifferently. "Then I'll just kill the creditor. Wouldn't the debt be gone?"
Looking at his guard, who had no moral baseline but surprisingly always went straight to the core of the problem, Tyrion smiled and shook his head.
"Bronn, you're a fucking genius."
He was right. As long as the creditor was killed, the debt died with the person, and the money wouldn't need to be repaid.
But the problem was...
This was fucking harder than repaying the money!
Tyrion sat in his chair, wanting to cry but lacking tears.
The Iron Throne's creditors...
One million from House Tyrell, one and a half million from the Iron Bank, and even over nine hundred thousand gold dragons borrowed from the Faith!
Most importantly, his father, Lord Tywin Lannister, was the Iron Throne's biggest creditor, having lent the royal family nearly three million gold dragons in total!
Damn Robert Baratheon, look at what you've done!
That guy sat on the Iron Throne for less than twenty years, not only squandering the vast wealth left by the Targaryens but also incurring over six million gold dragons in foreign debt!
Fuck House Baratheon!
With so much money, even the spendthrift Tyrion himself probably couldn't finish it in a thousand years!
No wonder, when Father ordered him to be the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish had that weird expression like he could barely hold back laughter!
This was completely a pit!
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
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.
"Do you need my help?"
Seeing Tyrion's pained expression, Bronn couldn't help but ask, "If you can't pay back the money, I can help you reason with the creditors."
He shook the dagger in his hand. "Reasoning is what I'm best at. 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 rolled his eyes at him grumpily. "Then please hurry to the Tower of the Hand and use your 'tough reasoning' to convince my father first."
"Ha?"
As soon as these words came out, Bronn's smile instantly froze, and the arm holding the dagger froze in mid-air.
He liked money, but he also had considerable self-awareness.
Bronn would never do anything that would earn him money but cost him his life to spend.
"My Lord!"
Just then, a teenage boy pushed open the door and whispered carefully, "A Lord named Vito Corleone seeks an audience with you."
"Vito Corleone?"
Hearing this, Tyrion's slightly calmed mood instantly became irritable again.
He roughly guessed what the other party was here for, but now...
After thinking for a moment, Tyrion turned back and sat in his large chair, ordering, "Invite Lord Corleone in, Podrick."
"Yes, my Lord."
The squire turned and left very humbly, thoughtfully leaving the door ajar.
Tyrion tapped the table, glanced at Bronn beside him, and the corner of his mouth curled up slightly. "Aren't you very good at reasoning, Bronn?"
"Reason well. I will pay you the highest reward."