Chapter 74 – [Presence Lv.3]
The litter rolled on.
A faint, unpleasant odor drifted in through the curtains. Shae frowned, lifted the veil, and peered outside—only to freeze in surprise and confusion.
She had imagined many destinations: Silk Street, the outskirts of Aegon's High Hill, even somewhere inside the Red Keep.
But this—
This was the last place she would have guessed.
Her brows knit tightly as unease and disappointment tangled in her chest.
A man who was treated as an equal by Ser Jaime…
A man who could command someone like Lake Rykker to personally run errands…
Why would such a person choose to settle here?
This place was worlds apart from what she imagined—a residence worthy of someone who could speak directly with Lord Tywin. It was poorer even than the homes of wealthy merchants along Eel Alley.
"Lord Lake…"
After a brief hesitation, Shae finally spoke, her voice cautious as she stared at the rows of low, tightly packed shacks.
"Did we… perhaps come to the wrong place?"
Lake, riding ahead, turned back with a faint smile curling his lips.
"Surprised, are you?"
There was an unmistakable hint of superiority in his tone.
"To be honest, I was just as shocked the first time I came here."
"Don't worry, Miss," he continued calmly. "Though I don't know why Lord Odin favors this place so much, he is clearly intent on changing it."
"In my view, this may simply be his… unique way of realizing his ambitions."
His relaxed confidence eased her anxiety somewhat, and Shae looked out again.
Only then did she notice something astonishing.
The infamous Flea Bottom was still cramped and narrow—but the mountains of refuse that once choked the streets were gone.
The air carried the sharp scent of cheap disinfectant mixed with old grime.
The road appeared roughly leveled, and she even spotted men with bandaged arms patrolling the streets at night.
Impossible.
Shae's eyes widened as she stared at the figures moving freely after dark.
After the riot, the Hand had declared a strict citywide curfew. Anyone found on the streets at night was to be executed on the spot—especially in a place as sensitive as Flea Bottom.
Her party had Gold Cloaks escorting them, yes.
But these people—they were clearly commoners.
Did this mean… Odin possessed the authority to defy the Hand's decree?
The thought struck her like a spark.
Curiosity surged—followed by something deeper.
Awe.
At last, the procession came to a stop in the deepest part of Flea Bottom.
The curtains fell still.
And whatever waited beyond them… was no longer something Shae could dismiss lightly.
Shae stepped down from the litter and looked up.
Hanging above the entrance was a wooden plaque, on which two words were carved with stark simplicity:
— Hall of Order
The name alone…
She swallowed, then placed her hand in Lake's outstretched palm and carefully lifted her skirt as she stepped inside.
Two guards stood at the entrance. They did not resemble ordinary street toughs at all—silent, disciplined, upright. Seeing Lake, they inclined their heads slightly and stepped aside without a word.
Inside, the space opened up. Torches lined the walls, their flames steady and bright.
Shae lifted her gaze—and saw Odin seated upon the only high-backed wooden chair.
Shadows swallowed most of his figure. Only the flickering candlelight illuminated the side of his face.
Her heart leapt, and she instinctively took a step forward—only to be gently stopped by Lake.
Confused, she followed where he pointed.
Only then did she notice a man kneeling not far from Odin.
The man had been overlooked entirely, swallowed by Odin's shadow.
"You incited 'Ragcloak' Wiss and his people," Odin's voice echoed through the hall.
It was not loud—yet the weight behind it sent a chill down Shae's spine.
"You challenged the rules I set."
"Tell me," Odin continued calmly, "who are you working for?"
At once, the kneeling man jerked his head up, face streaked with snot and tears.
"M-mercy, Lord Odin!"
"I don't know his name! He—he was a sellsword! He paid me—three silver stags!"
"Oh—and he had black hair and black eyes! Looked like a wolf! A scar on the left side of his face, talked all twisted and sharp—"
The description immediately brought to Odin's mind the mercenary who stayed at the dwarf's side.
"Three silver stags…"
Odin let out a soft chuckle, as if he had just heard a spectacular joke.
"I bring you cleanliness, food, and work."
"I will rebuild this filthy place completely—turn it into the most prosperous and thriving district in all Seven Kingdoms. Every single one of you will benefit from it."
"And yet you tell me that, for the sake of three silver stags, you were willing to scatter the seeds of chaos across streets I had just cleaned?"
Thud.
Before the man could beg again, the sheer pressure of Odin's presence crushed him. He collapsed face-first onto the floor.
---
[Presence Lv.3]
Yes—Odin had not used the thousand gold dragons to buy food.
Instead, he had invested them into upgrading this skill once more.
He had thought long and hard about it. Swordsmanship, insight, medicine—none of them could bring about a qualitative leap in power.
But Presence—this absurdly effective "negotiation" skill—allowed him to seize the upper hand again and again.
Especially in King's Landing.
Especially in the game of power.
And the system had not disappointed him.
At Lv.3, the improvement was unmistakable. With the right setting and tone, Odin could now crush the will of those with weaker minds outright.
The man before him was living proof.
Odin even suspected that if Presence were ever raised to Lv.5, it might reach a ridiculous level—something akin to conquering one's enemies with a mere glance. (Maybe even Haki level...)
The hall fell into absolute silence.
It was a silence more terrifying than any shouted rebuke.
Everyone present could feel it—the invisible pressure radiating from Odin, like a massive stone pressing down upon their chests.
Even Shae, standing far away, found herself holding her breath, palms slick with cold sweat.
"I will give you a chance to live."
At last, Odin leaned back in his chair, his figure fully engulfed in shadow.
"Thank you! Thank you!"
The pressure lifted, and the man immediately burst into sobs.
"Seven save me! Lord Odin, thank you for your mercy! I swear—I swear I'll never dare again—"
"Rorge."
Odin cut him off.
From the darkness, he raised a single finger and spoke lightly, as if stating an obvious truth.
"Those who incite others should have their tongues removed."
"Teach him silence."
"Yes, Lord Odin!"
Rorge grinned broadly and strode forward.
Then Odin added, almost as an afterthought:
"Not here. Take him somewhere else."
Rorge seized the man by the collar and dragged him away like livestock. The man was utterly limp now—no strength left even to cry—as he vanished into the darkness.
Throughout it all, the five Gold Cloaks behind Shae did not so much as twitch.
Their tacit approval shook her deeply.
Only then did Odin rise from his chair and walk toward her, a perfectly measured smile on his face.
"Miss Shae."
He inclined his head slightly—smooth, elegant, gentle.
So utterly different from the man who had just ordered a tongue torn out.
"Please forgive my poor hospitality."
"It was regrettable that such beautiful eyes had to witness something unpleasant. I hope I did not frighten you."
He extended his hand.
"Dinner is ready. Please, come with me."
"Only good food and fine wine can wash away such dust."
Still a little shaken, Shae nevertheless curtsied instinctively.
"Y-you are too kind, Lord Odin."
"At that point, my task is complete," Lake said tactfully, stepping back. "I'll leave you two to it."
He shot Odin a knowing look, the implication unmistakable.
Odin merely nodded. "I will visit another day, my lord. We can discuss business then."
After brief pleasantries, Lake departed.
Each of the Gold Cloaks—Lake included—received a gold dragon for their trouble.
---
They ascended to the second floor, entering a far more private space.
A long table covered in white linen gleamed beneath silver candlesticks. Fine porcelain and crystal reflected the firelight.
The scent of roasted meat and spices filled the air.
To create this setting, Odin had spent nearly all the money he had brought back from the Riverlands.
But that was fine.
Because after tonight, he would never lack money again.
"Please, sit."
He pulled out Shae's chair personally before taking his own seat opposite her.
Servants flowed in, laying dish after dish upon the table.
The sheer abundance left Shae—who had served in the Red Keep—momentarily overwhelmed.
"This is fresh oyster from Blackwater Bay, served with lemon juice and tarragon—excellent tonight."
Seeing her hesitation, Odin gently introduced each dish rather than mock her.
"This is crab from the Crackclaw Point. Not quite as fine as lobster from the Arbor, but wonderfully fresh."
He gestured for wine to be poured.
Deep red liquid swirled in crystal.
"Dornish Summerwine. Fifteen years."
"Full-bodied, with a hint of desert sunlight. That year saw generous rain in Dorne—the grapes were exceptional. I hope you enjoy it."
Every word sounded casual—yet each subtly displayed wealth, connections, and cultivated taste.
Shae gradually relaxed, sinking fully into the world she had always dreamed of—one wrapped in power, elegance, and luxury.
So utterly unlike the humiliation of Stokeworth Castle.
Utterly unlike her shadowed relationship with Tyrion.
Normally, her tolerance surpassed even his.
Yet after only two sips, she already felt lightheaded.
…
(Special thanks to Papacu20comer)