Chapter 50 — You Broke My Heart
"That thing…"
Ralf's pupils shrank sharply. His hand tightened around the cane.
"That thing is still with you?"
He knew Rorge might be bluffing, but the temptation was too great. He couldn't stop himself from lowering his head, staring at the face inches away.
"One thousand gold dragons."
Rorge didn't answer directly. He simply repeated, "All on the next match. If I lose, that item is yours."
Ralf narrowed his eyes.
But Rorge's gaze was as slippery and unreadable as ever. There was no telling whether he was lying.
"…Fine. One thousand gold dragons."
After a long pause, Ralf finally took a slow breath, then snapped irritably at Maji, who was still on the ground.
"Get up, you coward! Something this small should be handled smoothly!"
"What are the odds for the next fight?"
Maji scrambled to his feet, grabbing the record board in a panic.
"It's… it's five to one, Boss Ralf."
"Five to one?" Ralf frowned deeply. "Why are the odds so high?"
Such outrageous odds rarely appeared even once a year.
High odds meant the other side's payout would be pitifully low — maybe 1.2 to 1 or even less — a way to prevent gamblers from betting both sides for guaranteed profit. It also meant betting would likely be extremely one-sided. Even with low returns, people would pile onto the "sure win."
"Be-because the one fighting next is 'Butcher' Bode!"
Maji stammered. "And his challenger is a newcomer who just signed up. Nobody knows who he is, so…"
"'Butcher' Bode?"
Ralf nodded.
That man was the Blood Cellar's cash cow — thirty-two consecutive victories so far.
Some even claimed that not even that "moving mountain" under Lord Tywin could beat Bode.
Of course, that might be exaggerated — but in Flea Bottom, Bode simply did not lose.
Only…
Ralf looked at Rorge and let out a scornful laugh.
"Bet a thousand gold dragons? Even if you're trying to fleece us with empty hands, the most you could win is two hundred. Enough to satisfy you?"
"Oh, Ralf… Ralf. You're still as naïve as ever."
Rorge shook his head in mock disappointment, then broke into an even more unhinged grin.
"Who told you… I'm betting on Bode?"
He paused deliberately, then suddenly raised his voice.
"One thousand gold dragons — all on the newcomer!"
---
The arena exploded into uproar.
Everyone stared at Rorge like he'd lost his mind.
"He's insane! Completely insane!"
"No one survives a punch from the Butcher — that man's arm is thicker than my waist!"
"I bet the newcomer won't last three breaths!"
"That noseless freak must've drunk too much brown stew and fried his brain!"
Mockery and jeers filled the Blood Cellar. No one believed Rorge stood a chance — the Butcher's brutality was legendary.
But Ralf didn't laugh.
He simply stared at Rorge, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
He couldn't understand what game this man was playing.
"Looks like your trip north really scrambled your brains, Rorge," Ralf finally sneered. "Fine. I'll enjoy watching you lose."
He turned to leave, leaning on his cane — but Rorge called out.
"Hey, Ralf."
Ralf looked back impatiently. "What? Changing your mind already?"
"No, no," Rorge said, wagging a finger with a false smile. "I'm not the type to waver like certain people."
"But tell me — a high-roller like me dropping a thousand gold dragons… shouldn't I be treated properly?"
"I want two good steaks and a jug of Arbor gold. Ten years aged, at least. Send it to my boss."
He jerked a thumb toward Odin in the corner.
Ralf followed the gesture. Only now did he notice the man standing quietly there. The stranger seemed to sense his gaze and gave a polite nod.
Boss?
The man looked ordinary, wearing nothing valuable.
Why would Rorge serve someone like him?
"…Do as he says."
Ralf struck the floor with his cane, suppressing his doubts, then left with his entourage.
After a few steps, one of his men leaned close and whispered, "Rorge suddenly coming back… he must be planning something. We screwed him over badly back then—"
A cold glance from Ralf shut him up instantly.
"Go find out who he and that 'boss' really are," Ralf muttered darkly.
"Yes, boss."
"…Wait."
The man paused.
"Notify Captain Sweyn Rosby," Ralf added. "Tell him the wanted criminal Rorge is back in King's Landing. He's here."
"What? Call the Gold Cloaks? Boss, that's not how things are done — and with the business we run—"
"Idiot."
Ralf's lips curled into a venomous smile.
"I've fed a lot of Gold Cloaks this past year. Time they did some work."
---
"It's done as instructed, Boss Odin."
Back at the stands, Rorge bowed deeply, clearly pleased with himself.
But instead of praise, he got a calm, cutting remark.
"You seem rather proud."
Rorge froze, looking up in confusion.
Odin sat casually, half his face swallowed by shadow, only the faint curve of his smiling jaw lit by firelight.
"I… I…"
"You disappoint me, Rorge," Odin said softly. "I pulled you out of a pile of corpses, not so you could play petty tricks in front of me."
The pressure in the air felt suffocating.
"I followed your orders!" Rorge insisted weakly.
"Oh?" Odin smiled faintly. "Did I order you to bring food and wine… and deliberately draw attention to me?"
Cold sweat soaked Rorge's back.
He dropped to his knees instantly and offered up a dagger with both hands.
"Punish me!"
Odin took the blade, turning it idly. Then he slowly brought the edge toward Rorge's flat, noseless face.
"You know how much it hurts… losing a nose."
His voice was gentle.
"Life is full of misfortune. But you're lucky. Pain isn't final like death."
Rorge didn't dare move.
Then suddenly, Odin tossed the dagger back.
"You hurt me, Rorge. You broke my heart. This is the first time."
"I'll remember it. I hope you will too."
"Understood?"
"Yes! Y-yes!"
"And from now on," Odin added coldly, "address me as Lord Odin."
"Yes, Lord Odin!"
Rorge finally exhaled in relief.
But Odin spoke again.
"Now… let's discuss something else."
"I'm very curious — what promise did you make Ralf that could be worth… one thousand gold dragons?"