The door opened gently as Corleone and Yigo entered, led by an attendant.
His steps were steady, his gaze first sweeping over the study filled with account books before finally settling on the the dwarf hunched over his work at the desk.
"Good day, Lord Tyrion."
"Oh... Lord Corleone."
Hearing his voice, Tyrion finally looked up as if waking from a dream. "Please give me just a moment more; I'll be finished with this task shortly."
Hearing this, Corleone glanced at the document Tyrion was holding upside down but chose not to point it out, merely giving a slight nod. "Take your time. I have ample patience, my lord."
With that, he casually found a chair and sat down, his demeanor relaxed and elegant, as if he felt completely at home.
Tyrion watched this action, pretending to be busy for a long while. Seeing that Corleone showed not a hint of impatience or intention to leave, he realized he couldn't avoid the matter today.
"Ahem..."
Clearing his throat, Tyrion set down his "work" but did not rise.
"Please forgive my poor hospitality. Things have been so busy these days, whew..."
"How long has it been since I last visited Silk Street, Bronn? Two weeks?"
"Seventeen days, my lord."
Bronn, ever eager when money was involved, played along perfectly, bending at the waist. "I bet the girls all miss you terribly."
"Has it been that long?"
Hearing this, Tyrion spread his hands and smiled at Corleone. "You see, I'm practically drowning in work."
Watching his theatrical performance, Corleone's expression remained placid. He even offered words of consolation: "The King's wedding to House Tyrell is of great importance. It's only natural to be busy."
"Things will ease up after this period. Then we can go enjoy ourselves on Silk Street—my treat."
"Hahaha, that would be splendid!"
Tyrion laughed heartily, then turned to look out the window, feigning regret. "It seems dusk is approaching. It's a pity I have another engagement tonight, otherwise I'd suggest we dine together, Lord Corleone."
"How about this—let's arrange another time. Podrick, please see..." "My lord!"
But before he could finish, Corleone cut him off.
Good grief. He knew the fellow was cunning, but he hadn't expected him to try denying even a chance to speak.
He really has no shame!
Corleone thought to himself. Since his transmigration, this was the first time he'd nearly lost ground before the conversation even began. The old saying was true: the shameless are invincible.
"I'll only take a few minutes of your time. It won't interfere with your dinner."
To prevent the the dwarf from making more excuses, Corleone quickly stated his purpose: "In the Riverlands, I saved your brother Ser Jaime's life. In return, he promised me a bathtub full of gold dragons."
"Yesterday, I met with the master of laws. He told me the promise could be fulfilled through you."
"A Lannister always pays his debts. It is that reputation I have come for."
Having said his piece in one breath, Corleone finally paused.
Hearing this, Tyrion cursed inwardly: Just as I thought. The man is here for money!
"My lord, for bringing Jaime back, House Lannister will remember this debt of gratitude."
He sighed and delivered the prepared line: "To be honest, Jaime is my own blood. I couldn't be happier to see him return alive. A bathtub of gold dragons is a perfectly reasonable price."
"However..."
As he spoke, Tyrion rubbed his forehead vigorously, putting on an expression of overwhelming burden. "I'll be frank with you, Lord Corleone. The iron throne is saddled with a massive debt of six million gold dragons!"
"House Tyrell, the Iron Bank, even the Faith are all demanding repayment... The City Watch awaits its pay, the ruins left by the Battle of the Blackwater River need rebuilding, the royal household's daily expenses, and King Joffrey's wedding..."
He spread his arms, gesturing miserably at the fortress-like stacks of account books around him. "A Lannister does indeed always pay his debts, but reputation needs gold to stand upon."
"But now, Lord Corleone, I have nothing beneath my feet."
Faced with the the dwarf's complaints, Corleone listened quietly, the gentle smile never leaving his face.
After Tyrion finished, Corleone spoke slowly, with great understanding: "I fully appreciate the difficulties of your position as Master of Coin, my lord."
"These past days, I have heard some whispers about the crown's financial crisis."
At these words, Tyrion's eyebrows rose slightly, thinking his "stellar performance" had moved the other man.
However, Corleone then changed tack: "But I, too, have my own difficulties. I have just taken over Flea Bottom. You are well aware of the conditions there. To govern and improve it, everything requires gold dragons paving the way."
"In other words, I need money. Now."
Hearing this, Tyrion's expression darkened, and he shot Bronn a look.
The sellsword leaning against the wall saw this and stepped forward at just the right moment, declaring righteously: "But the Jaime Lannister you brought back is incomplete, my lord!"
"What did you say?" Hearing this, Corleone couldn't help but frown slightly.
"I'm just stating market principles. Good goods command good prices. Defective goods naturally sell at a discount."
Bronn held out one palm and made a slicing motion over it with his other hand. "A top-tier knight missing his sword hand is like a horse with a lame leg. The name sounds impressive, but if you put him on the market, I doubt many would pay top coin."
As he spoke, he winked at Corleone, as if taunting him.
"Watch your tongue, Bronn!"
Tyrion, who had been suppressing a smirk, immediately rapped the table and scolded in a reproachful tone: "The man you speak of is my brother, not livestock at a market!"
Then he turned to Corleone, his face full of apology. "Please don't mind him, my lord. He has always lacked manners."
"However..."
He paused, then continued with feigned awkwardness: "He does raise a practical issue we must face, doesn't he?"
"Perhaps we need to reconsider whether the promise of a bathtub of gold dragons could be... slightly discounted?"
"What do you think... half?"
Tyrion asked tentatively.
At this moment, Bronn beside him began to chime in again, playing his part. "Half is not a small sum, lad."
"In times like these, hard cash in hand is what matters. Many debts rot in ledgers without a sound."
"Take half home and live a peaceful life. That's far better than risking your neck for the full amount."
His tone was contemptuous, his chin raised as he looked at Corleone, full of provocation.
Seeing the two of them playing good cop and bad cop, Corleone did not refute them immediately. He sat quietly, weighing his options.
"Half... I can accept that."
After a moment of silence, he finally spoke slowly. His deep, dark eyes fixed on Tyrion as he said seriously, "I never mind making concessions in business. In fact, I relish it, because I wish to see all parties profit."
"But I also have my bottom line, Lord Tyrion. That is... I demand to see that half of the gold dragons now, and to take them with me."
His words were logical, neither submissive nor arrogant, considering the other party while firmly defending his own principles.
There was no anger, no threat—only the statement of a very simple, clear truth.
Finally, Corleone even thoughtfully added the effect of [Majesty Lv2].
His aura fully unleashed, a flicker of surprise passed through Tyrion's eyes.
He had originally thought this man was just an ordinary fellow with outrageous luck. He hadn't expected Corleone to possess such clear thinking and such profoundly steady composure.
It even gave Tyrion the illusion that he was facing his father Tywin.
But even so, he quickly collected himself, took a deep breath, and his expression grew even more pained.
"I am sorry, Lord Corleone, but I cannot grant this request."
He shook his head and spoke in a tone of utmost helplessness. "To be frank, the iron throne's coffers have been empty since the Battle of the Blackwater River, and we are about to face an extravagantly lavish wedding."
"So this money..."
At this point, even with Tyrion's thick skin, he found it hard to continue.
"Give me a number."
But contrary to his expectations, Corleone still did not erupt in anger. Not a trace of emotion could be heard in his voice.
"Within your authority, how much can you produce right now?"
He stared straight at Tyrion, making the the dwarf uneasy, but Tyrion steeled himself and said, "This is a difficult decision, Lord Corleone."
"All I can squeeze out for you now is... one thousand gold dragons!"
"That is the absolute limit. The remainder will have to wait until the kingdom's finances improve before payment!"
"This is my final decision and the greatest sincerity I can offer!"
He said it all in one breath, as if exhausting all his strength, and slumped back into his chair. Yet his eyes remained fixed on Corleone, watching for his reaction.
After all, no matter how you looked at it, this was practically an insulting offer.
Receiving this answer, Corleone said nothing. He simply sat in his chair, his chin slightly lowered, his dark eyes fixed on Tyrion.
This demeanor, however, made Bronn mistakenly think it was a silent threat.
Well, the deal's fallen through. Time for action.
"One thousand gold dragons. In cash!"
The sellsword did his duty, straightening up and placing a hand on his sword hilt as he advanced toward Corleone, a cold smile on his face. "Take it, walk out that door, and the matter is settled."
"Don't push it. Otherwise, you might not even leave with that thousand dragons—you might have to leave something else behind."
The threat in his words was unmistakable. Yet, just as he came within five paces of Corleone, a tall, burly figure swiftly darted forward, placing himself between them.
"Step aside, sheep man!"
He had half-drawn the sword at his waist, a beast-like growl rumbling in his throat. Then he turned his head and asked, "Shall I kill them, my blood of blood?"
Corleone did not answer immediately. Meanwhile, Bronn narrowed his eyes, his right hand on his sword hilt, his left hand quietly reaching behind his back to draw a dagger.
In this tense, standoffish atmosphere, a hand came to rest on Yigo's shoulder.
Then, Corleone's serious face appeared behind him.
Without a word, just that small gesture, the furious Dothraki Warrior released his grip on his sword.
This absolute control made Tyrion, sitting behind the desk, even more astonished.
It was as if... the King commanding a Kingsguard!
"Lord Tyrion."
For the first time, Corleone paced toward the Master of Coin. As he passed Bronn, he gave him a deep, sidelong glance.
Arriving before the desk, he looked down at the the dwarf. There was no contempt in Corleone's eyes, but his dark gaze seemed layered and unfathomable, impossible to read.
"I understand that you must act from the position of Master of Coin. I have seen the competence you display as a member of the Small Council. It is impressive."
He paused slightly, displaying a courtesy and breeding that surpassed any noble's.
"So, very well."
"I accept the number you have proposed."
These words took everyone by surprise, even Bronn was momentarily stunned.
Tyrion was also taken aback. His first thought was that Corleone had chosen to swallow this bitter pill, and a flicker of imperceptible triumph crossed his eyes.
However, Corleone did not turn to leave. Instead, he spoke again: "But..."
His tone shifted, becoming increasingly grave and formal, each word carrying weight. "You must understand this clearly, my lord."
"I accept it, not because I agree with your methods, nor because I fear your...'skilled negotiator' of a guard."
His gaze swept over Bronn. The look was calm, yet it sent a chill down the spine of the battle-hardened sellsword.
"I accept it only because I respect that, in your role as Master of Coin, you have made the 'best' judgment based on the information you possess and the position you hold."
"However..."
Corleone emphasized his words once more. "I have made concession after concession. I chose to resolve this matter peacefully, yet you are unwilling to build a friendship with me."
"I will remember this. I hope you will remember it too, Lord Tyrion."
"Because the next time we meet, I believe you will not say 'no' to me again."
"And that day will come soon."
Having said this, Corleone wasted no more words. He turned slightly, made a simple gesture to Yigo, then turned and strode—
away.
The entire process flowed smoothly, without a hint of hesitation or lingering.
His black cloak billowed behind him, as if drawing a rest mark on this highly unequal negotiation—though not a final period.
"Is that it, my blood of blood?"
Following his steps, Yigo asked unwillingly at his side. "Let Rorger find out where that little man lives. I'll slip in tonight and cut off his head!"
"Easy, my blood of blood."
Hearing this, Corleone said gravely, "We will get back what is ours. Soon."
"Because I will make him an offer he can't refuse."
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