Chapter 49: True Heroics
The moment the words fell, the entire arena went silent.
All around, people sucked in sharp breaths, as if trying to drain the air itself and suffocate everyone nearby.
One thousand gold dragons.
The number was absurd.
It was a sum large enough to drive everyone in Flea Bottom mad.
A single wager of a thousand dragons — even the Lannisters didn't bet like that.
Such reckless gambling drew even the attention of a few well-dressed nobles in the crowd. They craned their necks, trying to see which idiot noble scion was throwing money around, dreaming of getting rich overnight.
With war raging for years and King's Landing's economy in its current state, there was no shortage of ruined heirs who had squandered their family fortunes and now gambled everything on one desperate throw.
Just last month, the eldest son of House Kettleblack had thrown down five hundred gold dragons in one go, setting this year's record.
Apparently… that record was about to be broken.
Up on the tall stool, the bookmaker's hand jerked, nearly dropping his charcoal stylus.
A thousand gold dragons.
That was an entire month's revenue.
If they could swallow this bet, the boss might finally have enough to buy a title and land. If the boss was pleased, the bonus alone might fund several luxurious nights on Silk Street.
This fat sheep had to be sheared.
With that thought, he quickly looked up — and locked eyes with Rorge.
Clack.
This time the charcoal really did fall.
"Ro… Ro… Ro–Rorge—?!"
The clerk slid off the stool as if he'd seen a ghost, landing hard on his backside. He pointed at Rorge, unable to form a full sentence.
Rorge grinned, showing uneven yellow teeth.
"Long time no see, Maji."
"Rorge!!!"
The man shrieked, scrambling backward on hands and feet. "Weren't you taken by the Gold Cloaks? Sent north with the Night's Watch? I saw you in chains on the wagon myself!"
"How are you—"
"Because I missed all my 'good brothers' so much, Maji."
Rorge crouched down, staring at him. He licked his lips, voice turning grotesquely soft.
"So… I crawled back out of that damned hell."
The tone made Maji even more terrified. He clutched his head and kept retreating, a dark stain spreading down his trousers.
The three burly men beside Maji clearly didn't recognize Rorge, but judging from Maji's reaction and the exchange between them, they could tell there was history there.
Before Rorge could step closer, the three moved in professionally, surrounding him.
"Back off, you noseless freak!" the leader growled. "Looking for trouble? Then you picked the wrong place. Take one more step and I'll break your arms and legs and toss you out like a dog."
"Hey, hey!"
Under their shoves, Rorge raised both hands and took half a step back, a mocking grin still plastered across his face.
"Have some manners, friends!"
He deliberately raised his voice, drawing more attention.
"I'm here to give you money. What, has the Blood Cellar gotten so rich it won't even take a bet of a thousand gold dragons now?"
"Or is it that dog Ralf is scared he can't afford to pay if he loses?"
"Should've said so earlier. If he's got no balls, I do. Back when I ran this pit, I never turned away a bet!"
That made the three men hesitate, frowning.
The "Ralf" he mentioned was the arena's owner — and from the way Rorge spoke, not only did they know each other, Rorge might have been the previous boss.
Meanwhile, murmurs spread through the crowd.
If they refused a wager like that, the arena's reputation would take a hit.
Just as things grew awkward—
"Who says I won't take it?"
A slightly hoarse yet powerful voice rang out from behind the crowd.
Rorge turned.
The packed spectators parted on their own, making a path.
The man who emerged looked to be in his forties, tall and lean, dressed in an overly extravagant purple velvet coat that clashed sharply with the filthy surroundings.
Most eye-catching was the cane in his hand, set with a huge piece of amber — clearly expensive.
Tap… tap…
He limped forward, the cane striking the ground crisply.
Reaching the center, he first glanced at Maji sprawled on the ground, then lowered his gaze to Rorge.
Under countless stares, their eyes met.
From a distance, Odin watched and felt a strange sense of déjà vu — like this was the moment background music should start playing.
---
"I, Ralf, do business with my doors open. However many gold dragons you bring, I take."
The man spoke, voice not loud but firm enough to carry.
"If you win, I pay according to the odds. Not a single coin short. That's the Blood Cellar's rule."
He paused, eyes turning disdainful as they settled on Rorge. Then he smiled — arrogant and crude.
"Everyone in Flea Bottom knows my balls are the biggest. The biggest there are."
"HAHAHA!"
The vulgar line triggered a wave of laughter from the thugs around them.
Rorge's breathing quickened slightly, hatred flashing in his eyes — but he forced it down.
"Look at you, Ralf," he shrugged before the crowd. "Dressed all fancy now. Even that cane screams wealth."
"I doubt I could even walk faster than you anymore."
Ralf's eyelid twitched. A muscle jumped in his cheek as he stared at Rorge with near-murderous eyes.
"Enough talk, Rorge," he said coldly. "I don't care how you crawled back from that frozen hell, or what you want now."
"One thousand gold dragons. Put them down. Then see if I dare take it."
Rorge grinned. "What, my name isn't worth a thousand dragons?"
"Don't forget — if I hadn't bought you out of that brown-soup kitchen back then, you'd have been boiled into stew."
"Heh."
Seeing he had no money in hand, Ralf sneered. "Rules are rules. Coin first. Bet second."
"Did you forget the rules you set yourself?"
Rorge's face darkened.
He hadn't expected such open disrespect.
Instinctively, he glanced toward Odin.
His new master still stood quietly in the corner, seemingly more interested in the bloodstains in the pit than in him — as if none of this concerned him.
That indifference only increased the pressure.
Rorge wasn't stupid.
He had seen the bond between Odin and Jaime on the road. Before, he'd dared humiliate Jaime because they were far from King's Landing — far from Tywin.
But now?
Back in the capital, the difference in status was heaven and earth.
Jaime could crush him like an ant with a single look.
And Odin — even when he'd been just a farmer — had played the entire Brave Companions like fools and ultimately destroyed them.
Grinding his teeth, Rorge seemed to make up his mind.
He leaned close to Ralf's ear and whispered:
"I don't have the money right now."
"But don't tell me you don't want… that thing anymore."