Hearing Corleone's blunt accusation, Petyr's smile stiffened for a moment before he bowed slightly and humbly: "You flatter me, Lord Corleone. It's just a small business, barely enough to make a living in this bustling capital."
"One can't run such a large business just to 'barely make a living'."
Corleone smiled and joked half-seriously, "People say that in King's Landing, besides Lord Tywin Lannister, you, the master of coin, are the wealthiest."
"Former master of coin," Petyr reminded him pointedly, then changed the subject, exaggerating his self-reproach, "Look at this, such a distinguished guest as Lord Corleone has arrived, and my people haven't even served wine or food."
"Please sit for a moment. I'll go tell them to bring out my private collection of Dornish summer red to properly entertain you."
Watching his superb acting, Corleone didn't expose him, but simply spread his hands in a "suit yourself" gesture.
Petyr maintained his smile, gracefully turned and exited the room, gently closing the door behind him.
In the hallway outside, the red-haired Rose had already sensibly followed and was waiting, holding a wine flagon in her hand.
"How many men did he bring?"
Taking the flagon from her, Petyr's smile remained, but a cold glint flashed in his eyes.
"Just one Dothraki, my lord."
Rose answered quickly, "In the room next door, I've arranged for three of our best girls to keep him company."
Hearing this, Petyr breathed a slight sigh of relief. Since he hadn't brought men, Corleone likely wasn't here to intentionally cause trouble.
But he was still a bit uneasy.
Ever since he had suffered at the hands of that madwoman Cersei in The Red Keep—where she nearly had the Kingsguard slit his throat and arrogantly declared "power is power"—he had become increasingly cautious.
"Go."
After a thought, Petyr whispered to Rose, "Send someone to find Captain Jeff of the Old Gate. Have him bring his men over. Tell him we have some new stock from Essos, and all expenses are on me."
"Yes, my lord."
After making the arrangements, Petyr took a deep breath, picked up the flagon and two expensive crystal cups, and pushed the door open again.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Excellency."
As he skillfully poured the wine, his mind raced, and he engaged in natural small talk: "I heard you're implementing a new order in Flea Bottom. That's truly a remarkable feat."
"Truly, I admire you immensely. You might not know, but even the most dedicated tax collectors refuse to set foot in that place."
"The other day, the eldest son of Ser Ollivar Payne got drunk and wandered in by mistake. He ended up being stripped of everything, even his underwear, and ran home naked the next morning."
Corleone took the cup, but he didn't drink or smile. He just gently swirled the wine, as if he hadn't heard Petyr's long speech.
"Order requires a foundation, Lord Petyr."
He spoke slowly, "And a foundation needs to be cast in gold. With enough financial support, I can guarantee that Flea Bottom will become the safest and most prosperous district in the entire Seven Kingdoms."
Neither of them was a fool. Corleone's words could hardly be called a hint; it was an outright declaration.
However, Petyr was like a slippery eel, playing dumb as if he didn't understand the underlying meaning: "Ah, gold dragons. They are indeed the cornerstone of any endeavor. I couldn't agree more."
He took a sip of wine and sighed with feigned emotion, "Back when I was a customs officer in Gulltown, I also went to great lengths to increase the total tax revenue of that small port tenfold, giving it a new lease on life."
"Of course," he then shifted the conversation, "my minor achievements are nothing compared to the grand undertaking you are pursuing, Excellency."
"I have no doubt that if you had been the one managing Gulltown, your achievements would have surely exceeded mine tenfold!"
As he spoke, Petyr even raised his cup to Corleone, his gaze incredibly sincere.
Seeing his "slippery customer" act, Corleone had expected it, but he still couldn't help but curl his lip.
Tenfold?
You've already squeezed the people of Gulltown dry. If it were tenfold more, the sky over Gulltown would probably be three feet higher by the time you left!
"This is our second meeting, Lord Petyr."
Finally, the polite smile on Corleone's face faded. He stopped beating around the bush and said coldly, "Our last encounter was brief, but it was relatively harmonious."
"So harmonious that it even gave me the illusion that you, like me, were someone keen on making friends and valued friendship."
He shook his head, his tone becoming disappointed: "But now I think I might have been mistaken."
"You don't seem to care about my friendship, or even the favors I might provide."
As his voice fell, an invisible aura began to emanate from Corleone.
[Majesty Lv3] transformed into a tangible pressure that filled the small space.
This posture even gave Petyr the illusion that although the man was still sitting there, he seemed to be looking down from above.
Those pitch-black eyes stared straight at him, their gaze so sharp they seemed to pierce through all disguises, seeing all his secrets clearly.
"I think there's been... some mis..."
...
He wanted to speak to ease the atmosphere, but was cut off by a wave of Corleone's hand.
"No need to explain, my lord."
"What's in the past is in the past. Never look back—whether to make excuses, defend yourself, or for fun—never look back."
"In this world, there are many things one is powerless to change."
This decisive tone left Petyr feeling awkward for a moment. Ever since he had started his career through his connections, this was only the second time he hadn't even been given a chance to explain.
Oh, the first time was with that madwoman Cersei.
The difference was that the madwoman used swords to shut him up, while Corleone had completely suppressed Petyr in the art of language, which he took so much pride in.
"We both know very well."
Sensing his embarrassment, Corleone stood up leisurely, his voice low, but every word hammered into Petyr's heart.
"You helped me settle the trouble in Flea Bottom, saving me a lot of effort. Corleone remembers this favor, but everyone knows it's not worth five thousand gold dragons."
But then, he shifted his tone, becoming unusually magnanimous: "It doesn't matter. I never mind returning a favor twofold, so I won't pursue this further."
These words were spoken so casually, yet they were more threatening than any violent debt collection method.
It was equivalent to saying: I see through your tricks, but I'm too lazy to bother with such small matters because I have more important things to do, or I have a harsher way to retaliate.
While Petyr was momentarily stunned, Corleone had already calmly straightened his clothes.
"Business is sometimes like a gust of wind; it's hard to say whose hat it will blow away."
With that, he walked toward the door, leaving one last sentence as he passed Petyr:
...
"I heard you're about to leave King's Landing for the Vale to pursue your grand ambitions, Lord Petyr."
"I sincerely wish you a bright future. I only hope that while you're admiring the mountain scenery at the Eyrie, you can still firmly hold onto this... goose that lays golden eggs left in King's Landing."
With that, Corleone didn't linger and made a move to leave.
This gesture of completely abandoning the negotiation was unexpected by Petyr, making his heart tighten.
Five thousand gold dragons?
No, he was after something much bigger!
This guy... he was actually eyeing all of his properties in King's Landing!
This was one of the most vital cores of his information network and funding!
"Wait! Lord Corleone!"
Thinking he had seen through the other's plot, Petyr lost his composure for a moment and stepped forward, blocking the doorway with his body.
"We haven't had a proper chat yet. Why are you in such a hurry to leave?"
He gave an awkward smile, constantly guessing who might be behind Corleone's actions.
Tywin Lannister?
Or...
"Everything that needs to be said has been said, Lord Petyr."
Seeing his anxious state, Corleone's expression remained unchanged, but he was secretly amused.
He's anxious.
He's really anxious!
They say the Fingers can't produce great nobles for a reason. With this kind of temperament, even someone dead set on becoming the Lord of the Eyrie can't let go of this tiny patch of land in King's Landing.
The Eyrie is so far from King's Landing. How do you expect to protect these properties?
Even if Corleone didn't act, there would be no shortage of people coveting his brothels.
In fact, Corleone dared to say that even before Petyr left King's Landing, there were already those watching like hawks, waiting to tear a piece of meat off him.
But Petyr was no fool either. To have thrived in King's Landing, besides relying on poison and connections—realizing his loss of composure, Petyr forced down his unease and put on a calm facade, saying stubbornly, "Perhaps you've only just arrived in the capital and don't quite understand how things work here, Lord Corleone."
"You won't find a single person in all of King's Landing with a mockingbird sigil sewn on their chest, but that doesn't mean I, Petyr, have no friends in this city."
...
"A hollow threat won't work on me."
Hearing this, Corleone glanced at him, thinking: Is this kid having an internal struggle between his left and right brain?
"Have I threatened you, Lord Petyr?"
"I'm merely fulfilling my duty as the chief special agent of the small council, reminding you to take good care of your valuable assets."
As he spoke, his gaze fell on Petyr's hand still pressed against the doorframe, his meaning clear.
Seeing Corleone's fearless attitude, Petyr's heart began to race again. He racked his brain, wondering if Tywin had sent him to pressure him.
To let him go or not? The two were in a standoff for two or three seconds.
Just then.
"Aahhh!!!"
A shrill scream suddenly came from the room next door, followed by women's shrieks, the sound of crashing dishes, and a string of curses in a language that was hard to understand.
The two exchanged a glance, instantly putting aside their scheming, and rushed to the next room in tacit agreement.
The scene before them was a mess.
A knight in bright red armor was kneeling on the floor, howling in pain, his right hand pinned firmly to the table by a uniquely styled dagger!
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