Early morning.
A light mist seemed to drape King's Landing in a layer of gray gauze.
A carriage bearing the Lannister lion sigil, surrounded by a squad of elite Gold Cloaks, rushed into Flea Bottom. Behind the windows on both sides, countless eyes peered at these uninvited guests.
Tyrion sat in the carriage, observing the outside environment through the window, his expression gloomy.
Vito Corleone—he once thought the man was just a Farmer with some luck, but whether it was the man's methods or his administrative efficiency...
...they far exceeded his expectations.
In just two short days, these streets, which everyone in King's Landing feared to approach, had actually been cleared. Although a faint odor remained and some debris could still be seen everywhere on the street, it was worlds apart from before.
Some people with dark cloth strips wrapped around their arms were using brooms to clean up the occasional scattered waste. They didn't hide in fear when they saw the Gold Cloaks arrive, but simply watched them pass in silence.
It was still poor and backward, but it seemed a newly established order was sprouting in this chaotic land.
The party stopped. Tyrion's small body jumped nimbly from the carriage. He looked up and murmured, "Place of Order."
He gave a cold snort and led the Gold Cloaks straight inside.
As the master of coin, he didn't have the direct authority to mobilize the City Watch. Since it involved Shae, he didn't dare seek out his father, Tywin. Fortunately, he had an uncle who served as the Master of Laws—Kevan Lannister.
Unlike his father Tywin, Tyrion's several uncles were all very kind to him. Unfortunately, by now, some were dead and others missing, leaving only his uncle Kevan and his aunt Genna.
With a wave of Tyrion's hand, three whole squads of Gold Cloaks rushed to the second floor, surrounding the place so tightly that not even water could leak through.
Then, he walked up with his short legs, but the scene before him left Tyrion somewhat bewildered.
His target, Vito Corleone, was sitting behind a large table, calmly enjoying breakfast.
He wore a simple dark linen shirt, the collar slightly open, his posture extremely relaxed.
Before him sat a plate of sliced toast, a small dish of honey jam, a few slices of perfectly fried bacon, and a bowl of oatmeal.
It was a very balanced meal.
He seemed completely oblivious to the large group of uninvited guests intruding on his territory, unhurriedly spreading butter on his bread and placing it in his mouth to chew slowly.
Tyrion looked left and right, his gaze sweeping over every corner, but he found no trace of the person he was looking for.
"Gurgle~"
"Rumble~~~~"
At that moment, a very discordant sound rang out from the belly of a Gold Cloak. Seeing people glaring at him, he lowered his head in embarrassment.
However, several of his colleagues secretly watched Corleone eating peacefully and couldn't help but swallow their saliva.
This mission had come too suddenly; they had barely had time for breakfast.
"Oh?~~"
Hearing the noise, Corleone finally seemed to notice their arrival and looked up.
"The morning mist hasn't even dispersed yet, and Flea Bottom is graced with a personal inspection by the master of coin and the City Watch. I'm truly flattered."
"Unfortunately, I only have some crude food here that isn't fit for the table. I'm afraid it won't meet your standards."
As he spoke, he seemingly intentionally poked a slice of bacon, put it in his mouth, and chewed and swallowed.
Around him, there was another sound of people swallowing saliva.
Even Tyrion felt a bit hungry. After all, he had been busy all night and hadn't eaten breakfast either.
But he was thick-skinned. He walked straight to the table on his short legs. Since he was only slightly taller than the table, he had to reach out and grope around, grabbing a few slices of bread and stuffing them into his mouth.
"I hope it's to your taste, my lord. My cook is no match for the royal chefs in The Red Keep."
"I've eaten worse," Tyrion said, chewing the bread, trying to make his aura look fierce, his tone stern. "I wasn't born very noble, Corleone. Every dwarf looks like a bastard in their father's eyes."
"Since I was born, everyone has called me the Imp. I don't think you'd want to know how terrifying the vengeance of a 'demon' can be!"
With that, he simply swept all the food on the table onto the floor, staring fiercely at Corleone, the meaning behind it self-evident.
To his surprise, Corleone wasn't angry. He just gently set down his small knife and picked up a napkin to lightly wipe the corners of his mouth.
His deep, dark eyes looked straight over, seemingly seeing through Tyrion's bluster.
"An interesting legend, Lord Tyrion."
Corleone leaned forward slightly and spoke in a playful tone, "But I have heard another story."
"Across the Narrow Sea, there is a fierce beast similar to a Shadowcat, called a tiger."
"People believe that a tigress usually gives birth to only two cubs at a time, but occasionally, a third one arrives. It is born looking different from its siblings—perhaps smaller, perhaps with mottled fur—and is seen as an ill omen."
"The tigress often won't accept it, and might even throw it into the wild to fend for itself."
Upon hearing this, Tyrion's pupils contracted slightly, and a visible look of anger appeared on his face.
This metaphor... no, it was practically a blatant mockery of him by name!
Yet the story didn't seem to be over. Corleone continued, his voice carrying a unique, seductive quality.
"However, once this unique, weak cub grows up, it often becomes the most terrifying existence in those mountains."
"It grows up in a purgatory-like environment. To survive, it has to fight beasts larger and more ferocious than itself."
"Its claws and teeth are sharper, its heart is harder, and its methods are more ruthless, because it understands that survival is not a gift from anyone, but something seized with its own blood and claws!"
"And once it possesses absolute strength, its first target... is the tigress that abandoned it in the first place!"
"Shut up!!!"
As Corleone's description became more and more excessive, Tyrion could no longer bear to listen. He let out an angry roar, and the scar left on his face from the Battle of the Blackwater twitched faintly.
This story, which was so incredibly similar to his own experience, made him feel more and more afraid the more he thought about it. He shook his head and decisively took out the intelligence Varys had provided him, shouting, "Your crimes are exposed, Vito Corleone!"
"King's Landing has a strict curfew, yet you organize people for nighttime activities and even privately administer punishment, tearing out an innocent person's tongue!"
"This place of yours isn't some 'Place of Order' at all; it's a den of sin!"
Having finished, he waved his hand to the Gold Cloaks behind him and ordered, "Seize him!"
At those words, the Gold Cloaks stepped forward. However, Corleone made no move, only slightly lifting his eyelids.
"You have no right to arrest me."
His voice rang out nonchalantly, and the aura of Majesty Lv3 spread out instantly like something physical.
The Gold Cloaks' footsteps faltered. Their gazes were involuntarily drawn to the man sitting steadily there, and they felt an incredibly real sense of heart-palpitations.
"Do you intend to resist arrest, Vito Corleone!"
The pressure was incredibly intense. That fearless appearance even caused a few drops of cold sweat to break out on Tyrion's forehead. But out of concern for Shae, he now only wanted to quickly seize Corleone for a secret interrogation.
"Don't think you can do whatever you want just because you've bribed a few Gold Cloaks!"
"Let me tell you, these men were specifically brought in by me from the Gate of the Gods!"
With a roar, he ordered again, "Seize him! My uncle is the Master of Laws!"
Under Tyrion's command, the Gold Cloaks had no choice but to brace themselves and move forward.
However, just as one of the squad members was about to reach out and grab Corleone's shoulder, a light piece of parchment quietly appeared before everyone.
"This is..."
"
The Gold Cloak was stunned at first, but then immediately saw that a dark red seal was very clearly stamped on the bottom right corner of the paper.
"Read it." Corleone handed him the parchment, his tone like a command.
Seeing the man's timid manner, he said coldly, "Can't you read?"
"I... I can read..."
"
The intense pressure frightened the Gold Cloak quite a bit. He quickly took the parchment and recited loudly: "Appointing Vito Corleone as the Chief Special Agent of the Small Council, granting him full authority to handle and prevent all illegal acts within the Crownlands and King's Landing that endanger the interests of the royal family, disrupt trade order..."
"...or incite public unrest."
"
"Hand... hand of the king, Tywin Lannister... in his own hand!"
By the time he reached the end, the Gold Cloak's hand was shaking. Fortunately, the parchment was sturdy enough that it wasn't torn by him.
At these words, everyone present was shocked and looked at Corleone in disbelief.
"Impossible!"
"Absolutely impossible!"
Tyrion was even more agitated. He lunged forward in two steps to snatch the parchment, his eyes flying over the contents of the appointment letter.
The handwriting at the bottom was incredibly familiar, and the seal carved with a hand was definitely not a forgery.
But... Chief Special Agent of the Small Council, what the hell kind of rubbish position was that?
Fortunately, the appointment letter detailed three specific powers in the notes at the back.
First, when necessary, he may contact the City Watch for cooperation.
Second, he has the authority to question any personnel suspected of endangering the stability of the kingdom.
Third, in case of emergency, he has the right to make on-the-spot decisions and report them later.
It was too vague...
Tyrion was very clever. In just a short time, he saw what was wrong with this appointment letter.
Chief Special Agent of the Small Council—the name sounded very impressive, but the scope of power was vague and broad, and it didn't hold any substantial authority.
Yes, it did specify that he could contact the City Watch for cooperation, but he couldn't direct them. As for the extent of their cooperation, that would only depend on Corleone's private relationship with the Gold Cloaks.
Secondly, there was no financial authority, which meant he couldn't mobilize even a single copper from the treasury and thus would receive no funding.
Furthermore, although the title included "Small Council," it didn't actually belong to the Small Council; he was completely unable to participate in major decisions.
In other words, in King's Landing, Corleone's position was actually somewhat insignificant.
With his authority and strength, he couldn't deal with powerful nobles; he could only take action against street thugs, like those in... Flea Bottom.
No wonder he chose to take root here!
The more Tyrion looked at it, the angrier he became. The appearance of this appointment letter meant that his entire night's deployment had been for nothing!
"My lord..."
Sure enough, the squad leader approached. Looking at that bright red seal of the Hand, he hesitated for a moment before speaking up to remind him, "We have no right to arrest a Special Agent personally appointed by the hand of the king. It doesn't follow procedure."
At those words, Tyrion suddenly looked up, his face feeling hot as if he had been slapped in public.
"Get out!"
Suppressing the urge to roar, he ordered through gritted teeth, "Wait at the door! No one is allowed in without my command!"
"Yes, my lord!"
Hearing this, the Gold Cloaks almost fled downstairs.
But at that moment, Corleone walked to the railing and shouted down, "Rorger!"
"Go prepare some breakfast and bring up a few casks of ale from the cellar to share with the brothers of the City Watch."
"They've been out on a mission since early morning; it must be very hard work."
"Understood, Lord Corleone!"
Rorger's reply came from downstairs, though his voice sounded like he was struggling to hold back laughter.
Hearing this, Corleone nodded and turned to look at the little dwarf with a half-smile, as if boasting, "I like making friends most, especially with people like these who are at the bottom but still remain dedicated to their duties."
"A little bit of kindness might bring unexpected rewards one day in the future."
This performance was like twisting the knife, causing Tyrion's last bit of patience to evaporate. Once only Corleone and he were left in the hall, he could no longer maintain his surface calm.
He almost lunged at the table, his hands braced on the surface, staring fixedly at the other man as he questioned in a low voice, "Enough!"
"Where is Shae!"
"What did you do to her!"
The three direct questions showed that his heart was extremely unsettled.
Corleone didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked slowly to the pile of plates he had overturned earlier, knelt down, and slowly picked up a wine cup.
Then, he took a wine jug from the cupboard, filled it, and handed it to Tyrion.
"You've broken my heart, Lord Tyrion."
He looked down at the other man from above, and in his dark eyes, a trace of offended anger and disappointment truly flickered.
"I sincerely hoped we could become partners, even friends. I also showed enough sincerity in our previous negotiations, even making repeated concessions."
"I spent a lot of money to treat your friend to a meal in my place, providing her with food, wine, and emotional value."
"I showed enough respect to you and to the name Lannister."
His voice didn't fluctuate at all, as if he were merely stating a fact, but Tyrion could feel the pressure emanating from him growing stronger.
Finally, he even added a questioning tone: "But what exactly is it that makes you so disrespectful to me?"
"To the point where you can casually weave these ridiculous charges, bring soldiers, and burst into my place like you're hunting a wild beast, trying to put shackles
on my hands?"
"Please explain it to me, will you?"