Chapter 55 — Important People
The words were calm. Almost casual.
Yet Ser Swyft Rosby felt a chill crawl up his spine.
This man… he sounds too certain.
Could he really know someone powerful enough to crush a Gold Cloak officer?
"You're threatening me?" Rosby asked, eyes locked onto Odin's, searching for even the slightest flicker of deceit.
He found none.
Those dark eyes were steady. Unhurried. Almost bored.
"I'm simply stating a fact," Odin said with a small shrug. "Whatever choice you make, the ending is the same."
"So why waste time performing a meaningless procedure?"
Rosby's jaw twitched.
A man doesn't climb from gambling dens to a Gold Cloak command by being reckless. Ruthlessness mattered — but so did knowing when not to swing the sword.
And there was more.
During the Battle of the Blackwater, the king's brother Tommen Baratheon had been sheltered at Rosby Castle. Rosby, a distant relation of the Rosby line, had benefited from that connection and risen afterward.
Everything he had now came from luck and timing.
If Odin truly had someone powerful behind him… one wrong move could wipe it all out.
Rosby hesitated.
And Ralf saw it.
Panic stabbed through him.
If the Gold Cloaks didn't nail Odin down today, he owed five thousand gold dragons. A sum large enough to gut his savings — and the real owner behind the Blood Cellar would never cover it.
Worse…
That man might simply have Ralf killed.
"LIAR!"
Ralf stepped forward sharply, pointing at Odin.
"Don't believe him, Captain! He's a fraud!"
"He couldn't even produce the thousand dragons for the bet! How could he possibly know anyone important? He's bluffing!"
Rosby's eyes flickered again.
Ralf pressed harder.
"Think about it, Captain! I'm one of Flea Bottom's most tax-paying lawful merchants!"
"I stake the reputation of the Blood Cellar — this man's just a lucky nobody! He picked up that stray dog Rorge and came here to extort me!"
"If you don't give me justice, what message does that send to honest merchants in King's Landing?!"
He spoke righteously, like a wronged businessman seeking fairness.
But Rosby's eyes slowly narrowed.
Because beneath the plea…
He heard the threat.
Yes — Ralf truly was one of Flea Bottom's biggest "taxpayers."
Of course, most of those "taxes" ended up in Ser Swyft Rosby's own purse.
Without Ralf's bribes, Rosby's pitiful salary alone would never support his nights of indulgence on the Silk Street — nor his reckless gambling habits. A decent courtesan there cost dozens of silver stags a night. Vice was expensive.
Still…
If this Odin truly had influence, why did he dress like a commoner? Why couldn't he even produce a thousand dragons?
Rosby's mind raced.
Risk a steady income stream… for an unknown outsider?
Only an idiot would choose that.
"Cuff them."
Greed finally crushed the unease.
Rosby slashed a hand through the air.
"Arrest these three fugitives and take them to headquarters. I'll question them myself."
He emphasized fugitives, as if legality could wash the stench off his decision.
Gold Cloaks advanced again, iron shackles ready.
They had barely moved when Iggo let out a low, predatory growl. Muscles tightened. His gaze swept across them like a drawn blade.
The men faltered.
They had numbers — but they also had two comrades already on the floor. No one wanted to be first.
A few hundred copper stars a month wasn't worth dying for.
Then a hand landed on Iggo's shoulder.
"Easy, my blood of my blood."
Odin stepped forward, voice calm — layered with meaning.
"Sometimes, bowing your head for a moment lets you see the longer road to victory."
Iggo didn't understand the words. But he understood loyalty.
He snorted, then stood down.
Only then did the Gold Cloaks approach.
To their surprise, Odin calmly extended his wrists himself.
Click.
Cold iron closed.
Yet he stood straight, relaxed — not like a prisoner, but like a knight tolerating ceremonial restraints before a feast.
Only after the shackles locked did he lift his head and look directly at Rosby.
"You disappoint me, Ser Swyft Rosby."
"You've turned something simple into something… complicated. Tonight, I was meant to meet a truly important man. You've ruined that."
His voice wasn't loud.
Yet Rosby felt the pressure all the same.
He forced a laugh. "Stop pretending, boy. I guarantee I'm the biggest 'important man' you've ever met."
Odin's eyes did not waver.
"Laugh while you can."
"You will pay for this decision. Far more than you imagine."
"Maybe not now. But there will come a moment — when you believe yourself safe, untouchable…"
He held Rosby's gaze.
"This isn't a threat, Ser Swyft Rosby."
"It's destiny."
Then he turned and walked toward the arena exit.
The chains clinked with each step — not like a prisoner being dragged away…
But like armor plates brushing together as a knight marched to war.