Chapter 53 — An Open Scheme
Buy a cat?
Rorge froze.
…Buy a cat for what??
Does Lord Odin like cats?
Yeah… better write that down somewhere.
Before he could ask, Ralf had already approached with his men, his eyes vicious enough to chew them to pieces.
"Nicely done."
He ground the words out through his teeth, shooting a glance at Iggo in the pit before locking his gaze on Rorge.
"Don't know where you found a monster like that… but I'll say this — nicely fucking done."
His lips stretched into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"You've gotten smarter, Rorge. If you'd been this smart before, maybe you wouldn't have ended up like a stray dog chained to a prison cart, huh?"
At this point, how could he not understand he'd been played?
A nameless newcomer drops Butcher Bode, undefeated in thirty-two matches, in just a few exchanges.
Rorge conveniently returns.
Mortgages that thing.
Drops a thousand gold dragons.
If he still couldn't smell the trap, Flea Bottom would've eaten him alive years ago.
"Cut the crap!"
Rorge grinned, chin high, spreading his hand boldly.
"Pay up, Ralf!"
"Five thousand gold dragons — short me a single coin and I'll—"
"That's very rude, Rorge."
Odin cut him off.
There was mild reproach in his tone. Rorge immediately shut up, confused, but obediently stepped back.
Then Odin turned to Ralf.
And smiled.
Warm. Polite. Almost friendly.
He even extended his hand.
"This is only business, isn't it, my lord?"
"Business is always like this. Today I win, tomorrow you win. Gold has to circulate — otherwise it's just scrap metal rotting in a warehouse."
---
Odin isn't just taking money — he's taking position. This is him stepping onto the board in King's Landing.
Ralf paused when he saw the hand extended toward him.
In the middle of the roaring arena, he could somehow feel it — an indescribable pressure radiating from this otherwise unremarkable man.
For a split second, an absurd illusion flashed through his mind.
It felt like he was facing one of the true power-holders of the realm.
[Presence Lv.2]
Almost against his will, Ralf reached out and grabbed Odin's arm.
Bad.
The moment their hands clasped, alarm bells exploded in his head.
Before he could react, Odin suddenly pulled him forward into what looked like a hearty, brotherly embrace.
At the same time, a whisper brushed his ear:
"Didn't anyone ever tell you… never, ever shake hands with your enemy?"
"You—" Ralf started to curse—
But Odin was already loudly slapping his back, raising his voice on purpose.
"Hahaha! A pleasure working with you, Ralf!"
"Thanks to your help, we made a killing this time!"
Fuck.
Ralf's heart dropped. He shoved Odin away, face turning ashen.
Too late.
Everyone had seen the warm embrace.
And it was too perfect.
Bode — the arena's iron champion — had just been crushed in a few exchanges. Suspicion had already been brewing. Odin's cheerful "a pleasure working with you" became the final nail in the coffin.
"FIXED FIGHT!" a gambler screamed, eyes bloodshot.
"Fraud!"
"They're in on it together! They set this up to rob us!"
"Give the money back!!"
The arena exploded.
Anger spreads faster than fire in dry grass. It didn't matter who understood what — once the tide turned, the crowd followed it. Even people who hadn't lost a coin joined the fury.
Insults rained down on Ralf from all directions.
If not for the seven or eight burly men around him, he'd have been torn apart.
"You set me up!!" Ralf roared, veins bulging.
This was worse than losing five thousand gold dragons.
This attacked his foundation.
If the arena's reputation was ruined, who would ever bet here again? And the arena didn't belong to him alone. If the people above him decided he'd botched things—
He might end up as meat in someone's brown stew by morning.
This outsider is vicious.
"Careful with accusations, Lord Ralf."
Odin just shrugged with a faint smile.
"I might sue you for slander."
That shameless calm nearly made Ralf order him cut down on the spot.
But he couldn't.
Not here. Not now. Killing him would look exactly like silencing a witness.
This was an open scheme.
A naked one.
Ralf's teeth ground so hard his gums almost bled. He forced himself to breathe, preparing to stabilize the crowd even if it meant taking a temporary loss—
BANG!
The arena doors burst open.
A dozen soldiers in golden cloaks stormed in, spreading out with trained efficiency and locking down the entrance.
Gold Cloaks.
The crowd went dead silent.
In King's Landing, they were judge, executioner, and law.
Ralf exhaled in relief.
As long as he dealt with these two, the reputation damage could still be salvaged.
A smug look returned to his face. Leaning close to Odin, he whispered back in imitation:
"Don't know what gutter you crawled out of, bastard… but nobody told you?"
"In King's Landing, you need power. You need backing."
"You think tricks can bring me down?"
"Bullshit."