As Rorge's voice fell, Tywin took the lead and stepped into the Place of Order.
The hem of his crimson brocade doublet cut through the air, and his balding head glinted with a metallic sheen under the candlelight.
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Every line on that face seemed to radiate unquestionable authority; his eyes looked straight ahead as he walked at a measured pace.
The low hum of conversation in the hall came to an immediate halt.
Everyone subconsciously straightened their backs to avoid losing their composure in front of the Hand of the King, even though most commoners had little composure to speak of in the first place.
Tywin walked to the main seat in the center, where an attendant had already pulled out the chair.
He did not sit down immediately but scanned the room with those cold eyes; a single glance was enough to make everyone feel a chill down their spines.
"So this is the Old Lion," Corleone marveled inwardly.
No need to roar, no need to show fangs; as long as he sat there, everyone knew who the master was. Every gesture he made exuded the scent of power.
He stepped forward, placing his right hand over his chest: "Lord Tywin."
"Thank you for taking the time to come despite your busy schedule."
"You invited me, so naturally I came," Tywin's voice was devoid of any inflection. "A knight who protected the King in a time of crisis deserves this honor."
Hearing this, Corleone merely bowed his head modestly: "You flatter me."
But in his heart, he was sneering.
Honor?
If I hadn't happened to be on Saltpans Street the day before yesterday, found Tyrek Lannister, washed the boy clean, and delivered him personally to your study so you could continue to legally dismantle House Hayford's inheritance, would you be giving me this 'honor'?
What damn honor? It's all just business.
Just then, the beautiful Queen Regent stepped in, entering almost on the heels of her father's lingering prestige.
She wore a crimson gown embroidered with gold thread, the neckline cut extremely low to reveal a large expanse of snow-white skin, her golden curls cascading over her shoulders and swaying slightly with her steps.
As the former most beautiful woman in The Seven Kingdoms, she attracted the gaze of every man in the room the moment she entered.
However, her gaze fell entirely upon Corleone.
"Sir Corleone!" She stepped forward excitedly and extended her hand, her fingertips slightly upturned, but her hand was raised a bit high, as if she were granting a favor.
Seeing this, Corleone's brow furrowed slightly, wondering what this mad woman was plotting now.
Nevertheless, he took her fingertips, leaned down, and let his lips touch them briefly before immediately pulling away, without the slightest lingering.
But Cersei was not satisfied.
She took advantage of the momentum to move half a step forward, raising her other hand to gently pat Corleone's arm: "Thank you for saving my life in that moment of peril."
The gesture was overly intimate, the kind an elder shows a junior, or a master shows a servant.
Clearly, Cersei had not given up on Corleone and still wanted to bring him completely under her control.
However, she had miscalculated.
Corleone looked up, his eyes meeting Cersei's directly.
There was no gratitude or awe in his dark eyes, only a calm gaze on her face: "You overstate it, Your Grace. I have already received my reward."
"To be knighted by Lord Tywin himself is something everyone in The Seven Kingdoms dreams of."
As soon as he said this, Cersei's pupils snapped shut.
She looked back at her father and saw the Old Lion nod slightly, seemingly very satisfied with Corleone's answer.
Cersei's face flushed. She wanted to say something, but Tywin had already turned to Corleone, saying in a firm tone: "Ser, I heard you've made some reforms in Flea Bottom. The streets are cleaner, crime is down, and there are even formal shops and guilds."
"I only did my duty, Hand of the King." Corleone stood by the table, his posture neither humble nor arrogant. "As you know, chaos breeds corruption, while order brings prosperity. The residents of Flea Bottom are also subjects of King's Landing and deserve basic security and dignity."
Hearing this, Tywin studied him for a long time before nodding: "Order."
"Many talk of establishing order, but for most, order is nothing more than imposing their own rules on others. I am curious, how do you intend to do it?"
"It's simple, my lord." Corleone went silent for two seconds before speaking slowly: "Labor for reward, obey the law for protection, create value to share in the gains. That's all."
"Sounds like a merchant's contract."
"In essence, it is a contract," Corleone explained. "Between commoners and nobles, between commoners themselves, and even between nobles and nobles—all relationships are, at their root, contracts."
"The only difference is that some contracts are written on parchment, some are carved onto swords, and some... are branded in fear."
Upon hearing this, the corner of Tywin's mouth actually curved upward ever so slightly.
"A wise choice," he said. "Naive, perhaps, but wise."
He picked up the wine glass an attendant had just filled, took a sip, and set it down.
"Since you mentioned contracts," Tywin's voice remained calm, "then I shall fulfill my part. The expansion plan for Flea Bottom has been approved by the Small Council. You may proceed with construction according to the blueprints. The manpower and materials required will be assisted by the City Watch as necessary."
"But you must be responsible for providing the corresponding funds yourself."
As soon as these words were spoken, everyone present gasped.
An expansion plan?
What did this mean?
No one present was a fool. This meant Corleone's control over Flea Bottom had shifted from 'underground order' to 'official authorization'!
Cersei's fingers tightened on her skirt, her knuckles turning white.
She glared at Corleone fiercely, as if looking at a traitor, as if demanding an answer.
When did you discuss this with my father?
Why didn't I know?
Suddenly, the Queen Regent began to seethe with rage.
Damn that Vito Corleone, who does he think he is?
I am the Queen Regent!
I gave him his chance!
Without my cooperation, he would never be more than an upstart playing in the mud of Flea Bottom!
However, despite her immense internal fury, Cersei did not dare to lash out in front of her father; after all, Tywin's authority was ingrained in her very blood.
Taking a deep breath, she turned toward her seat, her steps slightly hurried.
As she passed Petyr Baelish, she suddenly stopped, as if she had just noticed him.
Cersei stared at him for two seconds, then suddenly chuckled.
"Lord Petyr!" she raised her voice, ensuring most people present could hear. "What a pleasure to see you here!"
Hearing Cersei's voice, Petyr, who had his back to her, shuddered.
Damn... I was keeping my head down at the bar, but I still got spotted by this mad woman. Since things had come to this, he could only turn around awkwardly and bow his head: "Your Grace..."
"Ho ho~" A mean smile appeared on Cersei's face as she said loudly and exaggeratedly: "I thought you'd already be on a ship to the The Eyrie. After all, my father only gave you a week, and today is already the second day, is it not?"
These words seemed like concern on the surface, but were actually a public humiliation.
It reminded everyone that Tywin had ordered Petyr to get out, emphasized that the man had lost power in King's Landing, and even hinted that if he delayed leaving, he might be up to some mischief behind the scenes.
It could be said to be extremely malicious.
Hearing this, Petyr set down his wine glass. The smile on his face remained unchanged, but the muscles at the corners of his eyes were twitching incessantly.
I'm so stupid, truly.
I shouldn't have come to this damn banquet today...
"The Queen Regent's concern is quite flattering."
He took a deep breath, his mind racing as he explained: "It's not that I'm lingering in King's Landing, but some debts need to be settled first. Ser Adam can testify for me on this matter."
"Debts?" Cersei didn't give him any face at all, mocking him publicly: "You mean the ones where you repeatedly mortgaged seven brothels for thirty thousand gold dragons?"
As soon as she said this, the hall fell silent once more.
This was too direct.
Even when nobles had deep-seated hatred for each other, they usually used metaphors and hints to attack, maintaining a facade of decency.
But Cersei didn't care; her anger needed an outlet, and Petyr happened to be there.
For some reason, every time she saw this man's flawless smile, Cersei felt an urge to tear it apart.
Hearing this, the smile on Petyr's face froze again.
Damn it... how does it seem like all of King's Landing knows about my dirty laundry!
It must have been that fellow Adam Marbrand who told her!
"Those were all... misunderstandings."
He swallowed hard and quickly explained: "The ship to leave King's Landing has already been arranged; Ser Adam and I settled that just now."
"I can leave King's Landing at any time, I just need to clear up some accounts."
Petyr tried to stall for time, but this time, before Cersei could mock him again, Tywin's cold voice came from the main seat: "Then clear them."
Hearing the Hand's voice, Petyr immediately turned to look at Tywin, only to be met by a pair of cold green eyes.
They seemed to be questioning: "I already ordered you to leave, why are you still here?"
For a moment, Petyr didn't know how to answer.
After all, if he left now, his reputation in King's Landing would be completely gone. But if he didn't leave...
Tywin Lannister's wrath was definitely harder to bear than that of the mad woman Cersei!
"If I were you, Lord Petyr, I would pay back the money first before considering the ship."
Just then, a raspy, muffled voice came from the doorway.
Everyone turned to look and saw a wizened old woman slowly entering, supported by Margaery Tyrell.
She wore a deep purple robe embroidered with dark gold thorn patterns. Her face was like a dried apple, with wrinkles deeply etched into her skin, but her eyes were extremely sharp.
The true power behind House Tyrell, the 'Queen of Thorns,' Olenna Redwyne!
Thump... thump...
Olenna's cane tapped steadily on the floor as she stopped by Petyr's seat. She didn't look at him, speaking as if to the air: "You know, Littlefinger."
"Drowning at sea is one thing, but being tied to a stone and thrown into the Blackwater Rush by creditors is quite another."
These words were even more blunt than Cersei's and full of insult; even Corleone couldn't help but cheer inwardly.
As expected of the Queen of Thorns, known as the sharpest tongue in Westeros.
With just one sentence, Petyr's face went completely pale.
His lips trembled as if he wanted to say something, but Olenna had already looked away, treating him as if he were just an unsightly piece of furniture.
This combination of the old and the young made the atmosphere in the hall subtle once again.
The Tyrells had arrived.
And they arrived neither too early nor too late—exactly after Tywin had taken his seat and before the other nobles arrived in succession.
The timing was chosen with precision.
The well-mannered Margaery first gave Tywin a perfect curtsy: "Hand of the King."
Then she turned to Corleone, her smile bright and flawless: "Sir Corleone, congratulations on your knighthood."
"My grandmother heard you were hosting a banquet tonight and insisted on coming. She said she wanted to see what kind of person could turn Flea Bottom into a 'Place of Order'."
After she finished, before Corleone could respond, Olenna Redwyne let go of her granddaughter's hand and took two steps forward with her cane.
She was very short and had to look up to see Corleone, but her presence made those around her subconsciously take half a step back.
"So you are the Farmer."
Olenna spoke, her mouth as unforgiving as ever.
"I was a Farmer, my lady." Corleone didn't know her intent, but he bowed slightly without any anger, maintaining a composed manner as he reminded her: "Now... I am a knight."
"A knight."
Olenna gave a cold laugh: "I've lived for decades and seen many common-born knights, but only three have left an impression on me."
"The first was Duncan the Tall; he was brave and loyal, but unfortunately burned to death by Aegon V. The second was a merchant who bought an honorary title with gold; it didn't take long before he went bankrupt and jumped into the Blackwater Rush."
As she spoke, Olenna stared intensely into Corleone's eyes, as if trying to see through him, and spoke slowly: "The third... is you."
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