Early morning.
Flea Bottom was always shrouded in a layer of gray mist. The pungent smell of overnight garbage fermenting and mixing with excrement hung heavy in the air.
Generally speaking, no one would visit at this time.
But unlike usual, just as the sky was turning a pale grey, the sound of neat, loud footsteps brutally pierced the silence of this filthy district.
Many people were woken up, lifting dirty leather curtains and poking their heads out of crooked wooden windows.
This was the unique vigilance of Flea Bottom residents. Even in their sleep, they kept one eye open, lest they be killed by an enemy for revenge or slaughtered to make meat soup one day without knowing why.
But today was destined to be extraordinary.
Residents who thought it was a gang fight were surprised to find a squad of about fifty Gold Cloaks marching in unison, aggressive, their armor reflecting a cold sheen in the thin morning light.
This murderous vibe was completely different from their usual lazy patrols where they just knocked about to extort a few coppers.
The sensitive residents of Flea Bottom immediately felt something was wrong and began to panic.
"Crap!"
"These guys are definitely here for the 'Bowl of Brown'!"
A Bowl of Brown stall owner turned pale, rushing to his backyard in a panic and kicking over the large pot of thick soup that had been simmering all night.
The weirdly colored broth spilled all over the ground, revealing bones mixed with pig, sheep, and some that looked nothing like animals.
He grabbed a wooden stick and struggled to smash these bones, trying to crush and bury them.
At the same time, many people in the same line of business followed suit. For a moment, clanging sounds rose and fell throughout Flea Bottom; those who didn't know better would think they had stumbled into a smithy on the Street of Steel.
However, to their surprise, the Gold Cloaks turned a blind eye to the surrounding chaos, marching straight through the streets toward the deeper parts of Flea Bottom.
Their target seemed very clear: the location of the "Blood Cellar."
The onlookers breathed a sigh of relief. Although they felt a bit of heartache for their night's "labor," curiosity still made them whisper and guess.
"Great, they probably aren't here to arrest us..."
"That direction... are they going for Raff?"
"By the Seven, who did Raff offend to bring out such a big lineup?"
"Doesn't that guy have Sven Rosby covering for him? I heard he has a big boss behind him too..."
"Shh, don't talk nonsense!"
Countless eyes peeped at the movement of this squad, while some sensitive observers already had a premonition that Flea Bottom...
Might be changing.
"We have arrived, Lord Corleone. Shall we begin the operation?"
Standing in front of the "Blood Cellar," Humfrey Waters looked serious, completely unlike his fawning appearance in front of Addam earlier. He looked every bit the upright and brave City Watch officer.
"You are the commander of this operation, Captain Humfrey."
Seeing the man act like this in front of so many Gold Cloaks, Corleone couldn't help but remind him, "And I am just an ordinary person without any rank. You don't need to ask me for instructions on everything first."
"Please proceed according to your established plan."
"Yes! Lord Corleone!"
Although Corleone repeatedly emphasized their identities, Humfrey still straightened his back and responded loudly.
He looked as if Corleone was his direct superior.
"Go!"
Humfrey turned around and waved to his men. Several Gold Cloaks immediately took out a small battering ram and slammed it against the gate.
The heavy door panel cracked open. Humfrey stepped forward, personally kicked it wide, and walked in.
Only the scene inside somewhat exceeded his expectations.
It was unusually clean. Tables and chairs were neatly stacked in the corner. The ground seemed to have been roughly washed. Although it was still dingy, at least no obvious garbage could be seen.
Sniffing lightly, a smell of cheap incense flooded into his nose, but it still couldn't mask the faint metallic tang of blood mixed with sweat.
The usually noisy fighting pit was extraordinarily quiet. Only a few attendants who looked honest, even somewhat shrinking, stood in the corner with lowered heads.
Unusual.
Humfrey frowned, immediately feeling something was off.
Even in the early morning, this was too quiet.
They didn't even see a drunkard or a gambler who had played all night.
"My Lord!"
At this time, a slightly shrinking man came up. "You are early, we haven't started business yet..."
Smack!
Answering him was a ruthless slap from Humfrey.
Humfrey knew this person. He was a small boss under Raff, the kind who couldn't make any decisions.
"Fool!"
Glancing at Corleone beside him and seeing his expression remain unchanged, Humfrey breathed a sigh of relief, pointed at this guy's nose, and cursed.
"Look at the fifty brothers behind me. Do we look like we're here to gamble? You blind son of a bitch!"
Saying this, he looked around and didn't see the target of his operation, so he drew his longsword and pointed it at the man, shouting loudly, "Since when do you call the shots here? Where is Raff?"
"Now that the big one doesn't come out, he sends the small ones to take the fall?"
"Call Raff out!"
This fierce display immediately scared the people in the Blood Cellar into trembling, especially the small boss at sword-point, who was almost scared into wetting his pants.
Just then.
"Look, isn't this dear Captain Humfrey!"
A familiar voice rang out. Everyone turned to look and saw Raff leaning on a cane, greeting enthusiastically from the second floor as if he had been waiting for a long time.
He stared at Humfrey with a smile, then calmly swept his gaze over Corleone. A trace of sinister darkness flashed in his eyes before he limped down the stairs.
"So early in the morning, bringing so many brothers to take care of my business?"
While walking, Raff pretended to be familiar and polite, appearing completely dismissive of the dozens of Gold Cloaks.
"Cut the crap, Raff!"
Humfrey sneered internally, but on his face was a serious expression of official business. "We have received reliable intelligence that this place is suspected of organizing illegal martial arts tournaments, slave trafficking, smuggling, murder, rape, and other serious criminal activities! Now we are searching according to the law!"
"Criminal activities?"
Hearing this, Raff spread his hands and said loudly and exaggeratedly, "Who in Flea Bottom doesn't know that I, Raff, do legal and compliant business!"
"My place is just a bunch of poor brothers getting together to play dice and drink a little wine. At most, when the mood strikes, someone is willing to go down and spar a bit to add to the fun. There are absolutely none of those nasty things you mentioned!"
He vowed solemnly, then changed the subject, sneering, "And, if I remember correctly, this place doesn't seem to be under your jurisdiction, right?"
"Where is Captain Sven Rosby? We are old friends. Did he not come today?"
"Sven is dead!"
Seeing this guy acting like he was untouchable, Humfrey also sneered. "He is suspected of accepting bribes. You should be very clear about these things, Raff, because the vast majority of the Gold Dragons found in his house were collected from you, right!"
Hearing the news of Sven's death, Raff didn't seem surprised at all. Instead, he pointed at Humfrey fearlessly and continued to mock, "By the Seven, this is slander!"
"He is slandering me! I am not familiar with Captain Sven at all, let alone giving him Gold Dragons!"
"Ha!" As soon as these words came out, Humfrey immediately retorted, "Didn't you just say that you are good friends with Sven Rosby? Why are you not familiar now?"
Seeing that Humfrey wouldn't give him any face, Raff subconsciously licked his lips.
After a moment of silence, he turned sideways and made a "please" gesture. That generous posture was no different from a provocation.
"I am a person who is most enthusiastic about cooperating with all operations of the City Watch."
"Search! Search as you please!"
"Welcome, my lords, to check. If you can find anything illegal, I will immediately go back to the Gold Cloaks headquarters with you to plead guilty!"
"The headquarters isn't a place you can go just because you want to, especially for a lowlife like you."
Although he was a bit puzzled by Raff's attitude, thinking about performing well in front of Lord Corleone, Humfrey still waved his hand. "Search carefully for me!"
With an order, the Gold Cloaks behind him immediately scattered, rummaging through boxes and cabinets very professionally, knocking on walls, checking cellars, not letting go of any suspicious corner.
Looking at the wolf-like Gold Cloaks, Raff was not panicked at all. He even took out a silver flask from his pocket and took a slow sip.
Then, his gaze turned to Corleone, who had been observing silently. The corner of his mouth curled into a smile of undisguised sarcasm and pride.
"Kid, don't think that just because you're riding the Lannisters' coattails, you can run wild in my territory."
"I've been rolling around in Flea Bottom for over ten years. What storms haven't I seen? Even Rorge was played half to death by me. Trying to bring me down with a few Gold Cloaks? Dream on!"
"You have friends, and it's not like I don't!"
Saying this, he even took a step forward, imitating Corleone's way of speaking, trying to make himself look more imposing. "Today you brought people to raid my place. This is very bad. This breaks the rules and insults me."
"One day, I will make you pay the price!"
Facing this almost in-your-face provocation, there was no anger on Corleone's face. Instead, he revealed a faint smile that was almost pitying.
This ridiculous calmness made Raff feel a bit uncomfortable.
"Lord Raff."
Corleone's voice was peaceful, completely devoid of any joy or anger, like an elder teaching a junior. "Never bring personal emotions into business."
"Captain Humfrey is executing official duties, and as a law-abiding concerned citizen, cooperating with the City Watch's operation is also my duty, right?"
"And..."
Saying this, he also took the initiative to step forward, leaning close to Raff's ear and asking back in a low voice:
"How are you sure... that the 'big shot' behind you won't sell you out at the critical moment?"