For classmate Jiang Gan—who had repeatedly shattered the bottom lines of lobbyists and envoys in this world and rendered no small merit in the Battle of Braavos—Viserys was naturally generous with rewards.
A barony was pinned on him, plus several small islands as fiefs. For Jiang Gan, this was already more than satisfying.
More importantly, the man who had risen in a blaze of glory from bottom-tier intelligence operative to Assistant Minister of Foreign Affairs now received private fiefs that he did not have to share with his former colleagues. They were his personal property.
From that angle alone, Jiang Gan actually possessed the largest fief among all the players.
While the knighting ceremony was still underway inside the Sealord's Palace, classmate Jiang Gan had already begun daydreaming about his future life as a village lord: leading his subjects in medieval manor-lord OL dungeon village wars against neighboring settlements.
Meanwhile, far across the Narrow Sea, the players were hardly idle.
Ever since Hand Eddard's assassination, King Robert's days had grown worse by the hour, and his temper had turned even more explosive.
Besides the murder of his good brother, Jaime's flight back to the Westerlands had prompted the old lion Tywin to summon his vassals and muster troops. Twenty thousand lion soldiers were already assembled at Casterly Rock, with more lords, hired sellswords, and freeriders still streaming in.
At the same time, Robb Stark, son of the Duke of Winterfell, had begun calling his own banners. The northern lords answered without hesitation.
In young Robb's eyes, his father's death had nothing to do with the Targaryens—it was the damned Lannisters!
Robb swore he would avenge his father and personally cut down Jaime Lannister.
"They all forget there's still a king above their heads!"
Robert roared over his wine cup and casually backhanded his squire, Lancel Lannister. "Damn Lannisters—look at the fine mess you've made!"
Lancel shrank into his shoulders, feeling utterly wronged. Everyone assumed being the king's squire was a cushy post. Only Lancel knew how miserable it was to be a Lannister standing at Robert's side.
Ever since the Jaime incident, his life had grown even more wretched.
Head bowed behind the king, Lancel couldn't help resenting Jaime a little.
Hmph. Everyone always says I look like Jaime Lannister. Can't hit the real one? Then the substitute gets the beating.
Lancel did get time off. Robert had no desire to stare at a brainless Lannister who resembled the Kingslayer every single day.
Walking out of the Red Keep, Lancel wandered aimlessly with his head down.
Before he realized it, he had drifted into Flea Bottom.
He had no idea why, but this was already the fourth time recently that he had sleepwalked straight into this cesspit.
Damn it!
Feeling thoroughly unlucky, Lancel kicked a dirt clod at his feet.
When a man is down on his luck, even water gets stuck in his teeth.
The clod flew in a perfect arc and smacked the back of a burly bald head.
The bald brute turned around, baring a mouth full of scarred, jagged teeth in a hideous grin.
Lancel had never seen such an ugly humanoid creature in his life. He staggered back two steps, utterly flustered.
The brute weighed an apple in his hand and slowly stalked toward the young noble.
Lancel's hand instinctively flew to his waist.
Shit!
No sword!
He swallowed hard and tried to spin away—only to discover that four or five shirtless, scar-covered thugs had already sealed off his escape route.
Passersby kept their heads down and shuffled past with numb indifference. No one cared about the "small trouble" that happened dozens of times a day in Flea Bottom—even when the victim was a finely dressed noble youth.
"Kid, looks like you really like it here. Come take a little trip with us," one shirtless thug drawled, slapping a calloused, filth-black hand onto Lancel's shoulder and leaving a clear palm print on the expensive brocade.
Lancel opened his mouth to protest, but his eyes suddenly caught two Gold Cloaks at the street corner. He shouted at once:
"Over here! I am the king's squire—Lancel Lannister of House Lannister!"
The two Gold Cloaks froze. A whole pouch of silver stags clattered to the ground.
Behind them stood another shirtless brute. It was impossible not to connect the dots with the men surrounding Lancel.
What the hell? Is the king's own squire investigating us now?
The two Gold Cloaks stood rooted, at a loss.
Ever since Paro, captain of the Gold Cloaks in Flea Bottom, had been bought off, every squad leader, every lieutenant, and every captain above him had quietly joined the new money-making scheme cooked up by Iron-Pumping Superman and Rorge.
The brute behind the Gold Cloaks was momentarily stunned too, but he quickly recovered. He patted the two men on the shoulders.
"Don't worry about him. Our boss will handle everything. You don't want your kids to go without cake, your women without new dresses, or your visits to the brothel without coin, right?"
The two Gold Cloaks exchanged a glance, then looked at Lancel, who was already being gagged and dragged into the alley. They gritted their teeth and pretended they had seen nothing.
Fuck it. These days even the Hand of the King gets murdered in the street—what's a royal squire?
As for the Lannister name… they were confident Rorge wouldn't want trouble either. The boy definitely wouldn't survive. No need to worry.
"Must've misheard!"
"Yeah, how could a Lannister come to Flea Bottom?"
"Probably dyed his hair with shit, hahaha!"
Lancel's shout had reached other passersby as well. Lannister? Everyone simply wished him a long life.
No one had forgotten what the Lannisters had done in King's Landing.
And no one dared cross Rorge. These days the entire Flea Bottom belonged to him.
Between the king (or the Lannisters) and Rorge, the gutter rats of Flea Bottom unhesitatingly chose the latter.
Lancel struggled as he was hauled into Rorge's underground fighting pit.
Stink!
The stench hit like a wall—every imaginable source of rot was concentrated here. The smell punched straight into the soul; nothing outside could compare.
Lancel nearly passed out on the spot.
By the time he was shoved into a small dark room, his face was already deathly pale from the overwhelming stench.
"Lancel Lannister… that's you, right?"
The voice came from the shadows. Lancel's heart sank to the bottom of the pit.