Duskendale is located north of King's Landing, about a day's journey away.
In the castle's main hall, Earl River Lake sat on a carved wooden chair, leisurely sipping a glass of red wine from his own vineyard, as if the King's death had no impact on him at all.
The hall door was gently pushed open, and the butler reported in a low voice, "My Lord, the visitor has arrived."
"Let him in."
Hearing this, the butler withdrew.
Before long, a figure walked into the main hall.
The newcomer was wrapped in a heavy travel cloak, his hood pulled low, covering most of his face.
He walked with a limp, clearly having an injury on his leg. After entering the main hall, he stopped ten paces away from Rayfrey and bowed slightly, though it was not particularly standard.
"Lord Lake," the man's voice was raspy and harsh, as if his vocal cords had been damaged.
Glancing at him, Rayfrey put down his wine glass, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest as he spoke faintly, "Take off your hood. In my castle, no one needs to hide their face."
After a brief hesitation, the visitor raised his hand and threw back the hood.
Under the candlelight, an unforgettable face was revealed—no nose, the right eye a circle smaller than the left with an unnaturally drooping eyelid, and a face covered in black hair, appearing extremely hideous.
But Rayfrey showed no surprise or disgust; his expression remained as calm as ever, and he even nodded slightly. "We've met, Rorge, haven't we?"
Rorge nodded, not denying it.
Rayfrey sized him up, his tone playful. "Lord Tywin has offered a bounty of a hundred gold dragons for your capture. Do you know that by walking into my castle now, I could exchange you for gold at any time?"
At these words, Rorge's body visibly stiffened for a moment, but he did not shrink back. "I know the risks, My Lord."
"But I know even better that the Lake Family never easily takes sides."
"Not taking sides doesn't mean harboring fugitives." Rayfrey slowly stood up and walked around the table to the fireplace, the flames dancing on his face and casting flickering shadows. "Especially at a time like this, with the King just dead, King's Landing under martial law, and Duke Tywin hunting down Mafia Remnants all over the world."
"If I hand you over, not only can I get the bounty, but I can also earn a favor from the Lannisters. This is a very profitable deal."
"Of course, you could certainly do that." Rorge gritted his teeth, his voice even raspier. "But Sir Corleone once said that your son, Herber Lake, is his friend. He said that if I ever reached a dead end, I could come to the Lake Family."
"Not because they would help me, but because they would at least hear me out before deciding."
Hearing the name "Corleone," Rayfrey's fingers paused slightly.
He turned around and sized up Rorge again. "Vito Corleone is dead—or rather, everyone thinks he's dead."
"The Redwyne Fleet mutinied, Earl Paxter was killed, and Corleone shouted that he was under Tywin's orders before jumping into the sea. This news spread throughout King's Landing three days ago. What do you mean by mentioning a dead man now?"
"He's not dead!" Rorge stepped forward excitedly and said loudly, "I know he could never just die like that. I believe it with all my heart!"
"I want to use the power of the Lake Family to ask for your help in finding him."
"Now King's Landing is out of control. The Hand sent people to purge Flea Bottom, arrested our people, and seized the The Hall of Order we established. Only if Sir Corleone returns can the situation be reversed. Only he can lead us against..."
""
"Lead you against what?" Rayfrey interrupted with a sneer. "Rorge, you are too naive."
"Vito Corleone might have some small cleverness, but he is facing Tywin Lannister. No one can win against Tywin Lannister."
"He can!"
Hearing this, Rorge became even more agitated, his hideous face twisting further with emotion. "Back then, he single-handedly wiped out the entire Brave Companions."
"After coming to King's Landing, he led us to build everything from scratch, establishing order in Flea Bottom, and later defeated the Mountain when no one thought he could!"
His voice echoed in the hall, carrying a near-fanatical emotion. "Sir Corleone is different!"
"He's not like those high-and-mighty nobles. He understands people like us—whether they're street thugs, prostitutes, beggars, sailors, or workers!"
"He knows what we need. He gave us fairness and dignity!"
Saying this, Rorge took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "Lord Lake, I know you have no obligation to help me, but I guarantee that if you can find Sir Corleone and bring him back to King's Landing, the The Mafia will definitely offer a price enticing enough for anyone!"
Listening to Rorge's account, Rayfrey fell silent.
He walked back to his seat and picked up his wine glass again, but didn't drink, only watching the deep red liquid swirl in the glass.
After a long time, Rayfrey finally spoke: "Proof."
Rorge was stunned. "Proof of what?"
Rayfrey didn't speak directly but instead put down his glass and clapped his hands.
A side door opened, and an attendant walked in carrying a wooden tray. On the tray was a cleaver—the kind used by butchers to cut livestock—with a heavy blade and a cold, gleaming edge.
The attendant placed the tray on the table in front of Rorge and then silently withdrew.
"If you truly believe in Corleone and are truly willing to do anything for him, then prove it to me."
"Chop off your right hand!" Rayfrey stared at Rorge, the corners of his mouth curling slightly. "It's just a hand. In exchange for the help of the Lake Family, this deal is very fair—you might even say you're coming out ahead."
Hearing this, Rorge stared at the cleaver, his breathing becoming heavy. His noseless face twisted even more in shock.
He looked at the knife, then at Rayfrey, and then at his own right hand—the hand he used to eat and hold a blade!
"You... you're joking," Rorge rasped, swallowing hard.
"I never joke." Rayfrey leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands over his stomach. "Either chop it or leave. Pick one."
Another long silence followed.
Cold sweat broke out on Rorge's forehead, trickling down his scars. His left hand trembled, and his right hand clenched into a fist, his knuckles turning white.
Finally, he reached out and gripped the handle of the cleaver.
The knife was heavy.
He raised the blade in front of him, looking at the sharp edge, and then at his own right wrist.
"Sir Corleone said," Rorge muttered to himself, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself, "if sacrifice is ever needed, it must be worth it."
After speaking, Rorge gritted his teeth and raised the cleaver high above his head.
"For the The Mafia!" he growled, closing his eyes, his arm muscles tensing.
Just then.
"Enough."
A voice came from the side gallery of the hall.
It was very familiar.
Rorge snapped his eyes open, the cleaver stopping mid-air.
He turned his head toward the source of the voice.
Two people stepped out from the shadows of the side gallery.
Leading them was Herber Lake, the second son of Earl Rayfrey, whom Rorge recognized.
And standing beside Herber...
With a "clatter," the cleaver in Rorge's hand fell to the floor. He gaped, looking at everything before him in disbelief.
In the firelight, the well-built man's black hair was somewhat messy, his face showing the exhaustion of a long journey, but his eyes remained bright and sharp.
He wore ordinary travel clothes with a dark cloak over them, looking like a common merchant or scholar rather than the "The Mafia Founder" who had once been famous in King's Landing.
"Sir Corleone???" Rorge cried out in shock.
However, Corleone only smiled and walked toward the center of the hall, his voice calm. "I told you long ago that Rorge is a man to be trusted. Lord Rayfrey, your test was entirely unnecessary."
"Necessary tests are always necessary, Sir Corleone." Rayfrey took a sip of wine nonchalantly and poured another glass for Corleone. "Especially at a time like this."
Seeing the two of them sitting together, looking very much like old acquaintances, Rorge was still in a state of shock.
He looked at Corleone, then at Herber, and then at Rayfrey. It took him a long time to recover.
"Sir..." Rorge's voice choked up. "You're alive... we all thought..."
""
"Thought I was dead?"
Corleone walked up to him and patted his shoulder. This simple gesture almost made Rorge burst into tears. "It was just jumping into the sea; it's not that easy to die. As for you, Rorge, you don't seem to be doing very well."
Rorge looked down at his ragged clothes and the scars covering his body, giving a bitter smile. "King's Landing has changed, Sir. Ever since you left, everything has changed."
"Three days after you left King's Landing, Tywin made his move. He sent Adam Marbrand to lead the team personally. Hundreds of Gold Cloaks rushed into Flea Bottom, occupied the The Hall of Order, and seized all the casinos, taverns, and warehouses."
"They... said the The Mafia was an illegal organization."
At this, Rorge's fist clenched, and a look of anger appeared on his hideous face.
Corleone listened quietly, his face expressionless. Rayfrey and Herber exchanged a glance and continued to listen without speaking.
"They arrested many of our people."
Rorge continued, "Old Weese, Moss... everyone in charge in Flea Bottom was either caught or fled."
He paused, his voice getting lower. "Iggo tried to protect the The Hall of Order. You know, that kid isn't afraid of death at all."
"He stood alone at the entrance of the The Hall of Order and cut down six Gold Cloaks with his sword. But there were too many of them. They threw a net over him and stabbed his legs with spears."
"As he was being dragged away, he was still cursing in dothraki."
Corleone's eyelid flickered slightly.
"Where is Iggo now?"
"The Red Keep dungeon," Rorge said. "I've heard that Tywin didn't kill him immediately for some reason."
"Tywin Lannister never does anything meaningless." Corleone nodded. "Continue."
Suddenly, Rorge took a deep breath and actually grinned. "They took over everything, but those guys don't know the first thing about running a business.
"They ruined everything, Sir."
"After you left, the business in Flea Bottom was completely finished."
Hearing this, Corleone frowned. "Be specific."
Rorge counted on his thick, short fingers one by one. "First, the casinos."
"We used to collect three hundred gold dragons a month. Now? Not even a hundred. Why?"
Without waiting for Corleone to ask, he answered himself. "The Gold Cloaks changed all the rules. The casinos are full of cheats. Nine out of ten gamblers lose. When they lose and get desperate, they start fights and cause trouble. In just these few days, three lives have already been lost. What decent person would dare go anymore?"
"Fewer gamblers means fewer cuts. To make up for it, they added taxes. Now every table has to pay five Silver Stags a day as a'security fee'."
"The result? The casinos make even less money. Three have closed, and the rest are barely hanging on."
"Then there are the brothels. We used to have twenty brothels bringing in two hundred gold dragons a month. Now there are only five left, and they can't even scrape together a hundred a week."
"The girls are either sick or have run away. The Gold Cloaks still think the cut isn't enough and say every girl has to pay a monthly 'body tax.' Damn it, a body tax!"
"Half the money the girls earn from customers is taken by the brothel, and the other half goes to taxes. They barely have a few coppers left for themselves. Anyone with any looks has run back to Silk Street. Those left in Flea Bottom are all old, weak, or sick, and customers don't want to come."
Hearing this, Herber Lake gave a light snort and swirled the wine in his glass, saying dismissively, "Underground business is always like this, with its ups and downs. What's so strange about that?"
Rorge only glanced at him, didn't respond, and continued, "And then there's bread and grain."
"We had a price negotiated with the grain merchants in King's Landing. We bought a fixed amount from them every month. It was cheap. Though it wasn't very fresh, it kept people from starving."
"We set up four grain stalls in Flea Bottom and sold it at cost. We didn't make a profit; we just wanted the commoners to have something to eat. But after the Gold Cloaks took over, they called it 'market disruption' and shut down all our stalls."
"Now the grain in Flea Bottom is monopolized by a few merchants. The price has tripled, and even then, they're often out of stock!"
At this point, Rorge chuckled twice, his laughter full of irony. "Sir, do you know what the funniest part is? Because grain is expensive and people have no money to buy it, they get so hungry they start stealing and robbing."
"The security got worse, so the Gold Cloaks sent more men. More men meant more taxes, and more taxes made the grain even more expensive. Damn it, those lords made a loop and caught themselves in it!"
At these words, Herber Lake finally couldn't help but speak up. "What's the use of saying all this?"
"Duke Tywin cleared Flea Bottom; it wasn't to run those underground businesses. How much money can you even make off those lowlifes?"
He took a sip of wine, his tone carrying the nonchalance typical of a noble youth. "Besides, King's Landing is so big. Every day businesses open and close, some people get rich, and some starve. It's normal. That's how we've always done things."
Hearing this, Rorge was silent at first, staring at Herber for a long time, then slowly bared his uneven yellow teeth. "Young Master Lake is right. It's very normal."
"This is not right." Just as Rorge finished speaking, Corleone looked up.
The firelight reflected on his face, half bright and half hidden in shadow.
His eyes flashed with a cold light in the shadows, devoid of any emotion.
"Herber."
"You say this is normal?"
Hearing his question, Herber felt a bit uneasy under Corleone's gaze, but he still nodded. "Yes..."
"Yes, it is!"
"Managing a territory is just like this. There are always those who live well and those who don't."
"Heh..." Corleone slowly stood up.
His movement was steady, but the atmosphere in the hall changed instantly.
The air seemed to freeze, the flames in the fireplace seemed to shrink, and the light dimmed, leaving only Corleone's figure standing in the center of the hall.
"Fine, then let me ask you." Corleone walked toward Herber, each step firm. "If all the farmers in Duskendale starve to death, who will grow grain for you?"
Herber was stunned. "This..."
"If all the craftsmen in Duskendale go bankrupt, who will make tools, weave cloth, and build houses for you?"
"If all the merchants in Duskendale flee, who will pay taxes to you? Who will make your port prosperous?"
Corleone stopped in front of Herber, looking down at the seated young noble. "This isn't management; this is plunder. It's the most foolish and short-sighted kind of plunder."
"Tywin Lannister thinks he is ruling?"
"Let me tell you what ruling is, Herber. Ruling isn't standing on high and throwing stones down to crush anyone who sticks their head out. Ruling is building roads, laying bridges, digging wells, making trade flow, and letting even the humblest person earn a meal through their labor!"
"Ruling is establishing order, but not an order built on fear. It's an order built on hope—letting everyone know that as long as I work hard and follow the rules, I can live with dignity!"
Saying this, Corleone turned abruptly, his gaze sweeping over everyone, and spoke the words that would be repeated by countless people for many years to come: "Tywin Lannister doesn't understand any of this. He thinks ruling is just control, just plunder, just seizing everything of value."
"From today on, I will let everyone know that he, Tywin Lannister, doesn't know how to rule at all."
"He's just a damn miner!"
>
more chapter available in p@tréøñ(Atoki_29)
30% offer on annual membership also.