The lingering rays of the setting sun, like diluted blood, spilled across the intricate streets of Flea Bottom.
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The buildings here were constructed tightly against the narrow alleys, almost touching, and outsiders entering for the first time could easily get lost.
Pacing through a few alleys, the path underfoot was still filthy, but the mountainous piles of rubbish were noticeably fewer, and even the pungent stench of decay in the air seemed fainter.
"It seems Rorger is quite effective at implementation."
After walking for a while, Corleone joked, "At least he knew to start with the visible areas."
Hearing this, Yigo, who was following behind him, snorted disdainfully and remained silent.
He had always disliked Rorger back in the Warriors Group, and now... he disliked him even more.
However, Corleone's words of praise hadn't faded before a noisy quarrel, mixed with cries, erupted ahead.
Hearing the commotion, Corleone frowned and quickened his pace slightly. Just as he turned the corner, he saw a crowd gathered, apparently in a dispute.
He signaled to Yigo, and the strong Dothraki immediately pushed forward, forcibly parting the crowd.
As the two stepped inside, an incredibly absurd scene unfolded before them.
Rorger, along with a dozen newly recruited subordinates, was being blocked in the narrow alley by a group of "humanoid creatures."
Why call them that? Because rather than calling them people, referring to these guys as moving piles of rubbish was more accurate.
Most of them were hunched over, their skin covered in thick grime and unknown mucus, forming a special "armor" that made their original skin color almost unrecognizable.
Their hair was matted and greasy, infested with lice, yet their eyes were incredibly fierce, filled with a beast-like glint.
There were even several children of various ages, thin as skeletons, their ribs clearly defined.
Most of them held various weapons: sharpened wooden sticks, shards of pottery with sharp edges, or even hard, dry lumps that looked like feces.
One boy, whose face was too dirty to discern his features, was desperately hugging the wheel of a newly loaded cart full of rubbish, crying out, "That's mine! I saw that plank first, you can't take it!"
His voice was extremely sharp, and Rorger, annoyed, stepped forward and delivered a kick.
"Get lost! What use are a few rotten pieces of wood? Get out of the way!"
The boy immediately fell into the mud, his head hitting something and splitting open, starting to bleed.
This seemed to light a fuse. The faces of the people who had been watching in numb silence now showed anger, and they began pointing at Rorger, shouting insults and accusations.
"That was good wood! It could block the wind at night!"
"Rorger, f*ck you!"
"Ralf never stole things from us when he was here! Who are you to do this?"
Accusations came from all directions, enraging Rorger. He jumped onto the cart and roared, "I'm helping you clear the trash, you ungrateful bastards!"
"If you dare block my path again, I swear I'll slaughter all of you and throw you into the brown broth!"
Having thrived in Flea Bottom for over a decade, Rorger's authority still held sway.
His threat worked. Many people backed away in fear, and the sound of insults gradually faded.
"Pah!" Seeing this, Rorger spat on the ground and cursed, "A bunch of stray dogs asking for a beating! They never listen unless taught a lesson!"
"Continue..."
But just as he ordered his subordinates to start moving, a hoarse voice emerged from the shadows.
"You only left Flea Bottom a few days ago, and already you're a big shot, Rorger."
Hearing this, everyone looked over and saw a hunched, limping old man emerge from the corner.
Seeing his appearance, a flicker of discomfort crossed Rorger's face, but he immediately scoffed, "Don't Poke your nose where it doesn't belong, Weese!"
"I am acting on the orders of Lord Corleone to clean up this wretched place."
"Once this trash is gone and the streets are clean, you ungrateful wretches can live like proper human beings. Do you want to live forever in feces and mud, huh?"
"Feces? Mud?"
The man called Weese sneered, his voice harsher and more unpleasant than a night owl's.
He stepped forward, slapped the cart full of rubbish, and mocked, "Don't forget where you came from, Rorger."
"Back then, you grew up eating rotten food scavenged from garbage piles. You even had your nose bitten off by a stray dog just to get a piece of meat. I remember all of that clearly!"
Saying this, Weese raised his hand and pointed around, declaring loudly, "Every pile of junk, every bone, and even every puddle of feces under your feet here has an owner!"
"If you clear away the rubbish, what will my children eat? What will they wear?"
"If you sweep away the feces, what will the stray dogs eat? If even the stray dogs won't come to Flea Bottom, do you expect us to go outside and risk being killed by the Gold Cloaks just to hunt dogs for food?"
His reasoning was simple, yet twisted, but it was undeniably the reality of Flea Bottom.
Even Rorger was caught up in Weese's words, instinctively taking half a step back.
Yet Weese continued, opening his arms as if embracing this kingdom of filth: "I know what you're thinking, Rorger!"
"You're working for the big shots. You clean the streets so the lords' carriages can come in, and then what?"
"The land prices will soar, and we'll be driven into even smellier, more distant corners to await death!"
"Filth is our moat, stench is our wall. Now you want to tear down our wall and claim it's for our own good?"
"You have clearly betrayed Flea Bottom!"
He pointed right at Rorger's nose... and shouted loudly, immediately earning the agreement of everyone around.
The thought of having no garbage to eat in the future caused the crowd to erupt in a unified roar.
"Roar! Roar! Roar!"
They pounded the walls and ground with sharpened wood and ceramic shards, creating a terrifying clamor.
Seeing this, Rorger's expression fluctuated wildly.
Weese was right. He had indeed grown up in Flea Bottom, understood the rules of survival here perfectly, and frankly, he wasn't optimistic about Corleone's ability to change the place.
But... he had no choice.
He could not disobey Lord Corleone's command, as this was the very foundation of his standing in King's Landing.
Seeing that it was getting dark, and this last area was still not secured, Rorger gritted his teeth, a fierce look flashing in his eyes. He pointed at Weese and yelled at his subordinates, "Damn it! Attack!"
"First, slaughter this old lunatic who's leading them! Let's see who dares block the way then!"
Hearing Rorger's order, several subordinates exchanged glances, hesitant.
"Boss..."
One of them whispered, "Old Weiss is the oldest person in Flea Bottom. Most people here grew up under his watch, and... didn't we eat his scraps when we were kids too?"
"To hell with you!"
Rorger slapped the man across the face and roared, "Even if he were my own father, I'd kill him today!"
"If you utter one more piece of bullshit, I'll slaughter you first!"
Hearing this, the subordinates could only steel themselves, drawing the short knives and clubs they carried, and slowly approaching Weese.
A flicker of fear crossed Old Weiss's eyes, but he still stood his ground, refusing to retreat.
Behind him, the roars of countless scavengers grew louder, and conflict seemed imminent.
Just then.
"It seems my men have run into a bit of trouble."
A calm voice drifted over, yet it miraculously silenced all the surrounding noise.
People looked toward the sound and saw that two extra figures had appeared at the alley entrance.
The one walking in front was well-proportioned, the setting sun's rays outlining him in a faint golden silhouette.
He was clean, tall, and composed, completely out of place in the surrounding environment.
Strangely, although he hadn't spoken, he seemed to possess a unique aura that instantly quieted the volatile scene, as if he were naturally destined to be the ruler here.
Under everyone's gaze, he simply stepped forward, the tall, strong Dothraki Warrior following closely, his right hand resting constantly on his sword hilt.
Behind Corleone, his black-backed cloak swayed side to side as he passed through the crowd with unhurried steps, his calm gaze finally settling on Weese.
"I apologize, my Lord..." Rorger started to explain upon seeing him, but Corleone silenced him with a slight raise of his hand.
Weese swallowed hard, staring warily at the distinguished stranger before him, and asked, "Who are you?"
Corleone stopped only when he was a few steps away from Weese.
"I am Vito Corleone."
His introduction was simple and direct, without any unnecessary words: "From today forward, the rules of Flea Bottom will be set by me."
"That's impossi—"
Weese was about to object when a sharp blade was placed against his neck, moving so fast that no one present had time to react.
"Let Weese go!"
"Release him, outsider!"
The Dothraki Warrior's action incited the crowd, and people shouted demands for Weese's release.
Seemingly emboldened, Weese, with the sword at his throat, straightened his chest fearlessly and stared directly at Corleone.
However, the expected anger or reprimand did not come. Corleone merely let his gaze slowly sweep over the crowd, over those numb, frantic, and frightened eyes.
These people lived at the very bottom of the cesspit, yet they viewed the cesspit as home and would defend it to the death.
They did not yearn for change; instead, they harbored a deep, bone-chilling fear of it.
Because they had never known a good life, they couldn't possibly imagine what "good" looked like, and they even believed "good" would bring greater disaster.
These people reminded Corleone of the peasants who had accused him when he first transmigrated.
The same ignorance.
"Weese."
Finally, Corleone looked back at Weese, this pathetic wretch who crowned himself king in the cesspit: "You are a miserable manager. You have trained your people to be maggots dependent on garbage for survival."
Hearing him say this, a flicker of pain crossed Weese's eyes, but it was immediately replaced by stubbornness.
"Someone like you, you don't understand anything at all..."
"Two choices."
Corleone, however, was not in the mood to listen to his long, tragic, and painful speech, as if the whole world owed him something.
He simply held up two fingers and spoke calmly, "I'll only say this once. Listen carefully."
"One: Take your ownership of these maggots and feces, and sink forever to the bottom of the Blackwater River."
"The warrior beside me, who hails from dothraki, will ensure you sink deep enough."
As his words fell, Yigo applied slight pressure with the blade, drawing a line of blood on Weese's neck.
That indifference to life and death made Weese genuinely feel that death was imminent.
"Two."
Corleone continued, his tone still not softening: "Forget your garbage. You and your people will work for me."
Saying this, he looked around at the eyes that were still full of hostility and confusion, and declared loudly, "Work for my Cleaning Squad! You will eat your fill every day, and I guarantee the bread will absolutely not be stale!"
As soon as he said this, the hostility of the surrounding people seemed to instantly diminish.
Eat their fill every day?
And fresh bread?
This description was like paradise to these long-starved people.
"Why... why should I believe you!"
Even Weese was moved. He licked his cracked lips, his eyes showing a mix of longing and suspicion: "High-and-mighty noble lords like you are the best at lying."
Hearing this, Corleone wasted no words and made a gesture.
Seeing this, Yigo immediately retracted his blade, untied the heavy bundle on his back, and opened the mouth of the sack.
Clatter! Clatter! Clatter!
Under everyone's gaze, countless Gold Dragons poured out like running water, dropping onto the filth-covered ground.
The lingering sunset reflected off the gold, and the dazzling light almost stung the eyes of those who had lived in darkness for so long.
So much money!
Some people had never even seen a Gold Dragon in their entire lives, and even using all their imagination, they couldn't estimate how much money was truly there!
Their eyes were wide open to the limit, and meaningless "gurgling" sounds escaped their throats.
Someone instinctively reached out to touch it, only to pull back as if burned. Most others were simply utterly bewildered.
Clearly, this highly impactful scene had completely overwhelmed their brains.
The Gold Dragons lay silently on the filth, but Corleone didn't spare them a glance.
Showing off wealth is usually unwise; that is common sense.
But for Corleone, who was about to establish absolute authority and credibility, displaying unparalleled financial power at this moment was precisely the most direct and effective way to gain trust and respect.
He scanned everyone's faces, knowing his goal had been achieved, and announced loudly, "Remember this: from this moment on, what you guard is no longer garbage!"
"You will work for the Corleone Family! You will guard my streets, my order!"
"Anyone who obstructs this is stealing my money and making an enemy of me!"
Next, he lowered his head, looked at Weese—who was now slumped beside the Gold Dragons, burying his face and sobbing uncontrollably—and turned his head to instruct Rorger: "Have people take them to clean up, and then start work."
"Y-yes, my Lord!"
Rorger was clearly stunned by Corleone's grand gesture, taking a moment to react.
It wasn't that he hadn't seen so much money before, but dumping Gold Dragons onto feces and mud as if they were trash—this scene was simply too shocking.
"Wait."
But just as Rorger was preparing to carry out the order, Corleone stopped him again, pointing at Weese, who was still sobbing on the ground.
"After this fellow recovers, find out clearly whether they were instigated by someone."
"Also.
1
"Send someone to the Gold Cloaks Headquarters to find Herber Leyke, Old Moss, and Poke. Tell them... Corleone needs them to repay a favor."
Having spoken, Corleone turned and left, not sparing another glance for the people behind him.
As he stepped through the Blood Cellar entrance, the sun completely sank below the horizon, and night fell.
The old era was over, and a new order, following Corleone's arrival, began to take root... in this darkest of lands.
more chapter available in p@tréøñ(Atoki_29)