Game of Thrones: From a deserter to a high-ranking official

Chapter 55 Old Tom: Vito... lend me money! 3% interest... no! 5%!

"Go to the estate. Tiberius is helping Lisanro train a group of mercenaries. Go and help him out." Jules tossed the money bag to old Tom, whose legs were slightly weak, and frowned slightly.

"Be more restrained. Don't come back and throw all your money at your old flame and the bar!"

"Don't worry, boss!" Old Tom grinned. "I have a gut feeling about it; at least I didn't throw all my money into the casino this time, did I?"

"Alright! Get lost!" Jules cursed. "Don't let me find out you've been throwing all your money into the casino owner's vault again, living a life of poverty behind our backs!"

"Alright, boss!" Old Tom saluted Jules and then walked out of the tent.

[Training troops? No, Tiberius is a smart kid, and he's quite skilled in martial arts at such a young age. But...] He sneered inwardly.

Training troops? That kid's still too green!

[That's not something you can handle with just cleverness and ruthlessness! They probably messed up, that's why Chief Jules sent me to clean up their mess. Alright, first I'll go see just how rotten those 'young master soldiers' are, then I'll quickly find 'Black Dog' or 'Scarface' and ask if their mercenary groups are available for some 'emergency cover-up' work to earn some extra cash.] Old Tom thought.

Anyway, Tiberius is definitely going to be a big shot someday, so it won't hurt to build a good relationship with him beforehand.

When old Tom strolled casually to the "Lightning Brigade's" training ground, he was still scheming about how to distribute the winnings after he got them.

"Vito!" He spotted the familiar face from afar and called out at the top of his lungs, swaying as he walked over. "Boss Jules sent me to lend a hand. I mean, what new tricks has that 'Lightning Boy' up to now? Does he need us old guys to clean up his messes...?" His words trailed off.

His gaze passed over Vito and landed on the training field.

When he saw the scene in the field, he quickly rubbed his eyes.

Under the sunlight, about 150 soldiers were conducting the simplest spear thrusting training in groups of ten. Their movements weren't as fluid as those of top-tier elites, but their uniformity and discipline instantly dispelled any disdain Old Tom, a veteran soldier.

"First phalanx, turn left! Second phalanx, turn right! Third phalanx, stay put!" He heard Tiberius commanding the three phalanxes below from the high platform.

[Is it possible to issue three different orders at once? Besides, do they even know which phalanx they belong to?] Old Tom frowned.

Then, the result surprised him greatly.

There was no whispering, no laziness or perfunctory work, and no erroneous execution; only the dull thud of feet hitting the ground, the concise and powerful commands of the fifty-man commander, and a somewhat rigid but unyielding discipline ingrained in their bones.

Moreover, judging from their appearance, although they were not very fleshy, they were ruddy-faced and surprisingly not pale.

"Hiss..." Old Tom gasped, his injured eye widening slightly. He patted Vito's shoulder forcefully, his voice filled with incredulous admiration. "Good heavens! Vito, you're something else! Where did you find such a good bunch of recruits? Which disbanded mercenary group? Or perhaps the guards trained by some bankrupt noble family? The discipline, the spirit! Damn, they're better than many free men who've been around for years! Just getting them to stand like that must have taken a lot of work! Not bad at all!"

He assumed that this was a recruit Vito had poached from some elite mercenary group or the private army of a fallen nobleman.

Vito crossed his arms, a complex smile playing on his lips—a mixture of smugness, mockery, and a "you've finally taken the bait" grin. He spoke slowly, in a deliberately drawn-out tone that could stop old Tom's heart:

"Where did you dig it? Right here, Reese."

"Huh? Where did you find these soldiers? And so many good ones at once? What are their backgrounds? I'll have to find out too!" Old Tom said excitedly.

"As for his origins..." He leaned closer to Old Tom, lowered his voice, and spoke slowly and deliberately, each word like a thunderclap in Old Tom's ear:

"Bundles, Tom! All the soldiers here are indentured slaves hired by Tiberius!"

"Contract slave...a slave??!!"

Old Tom's admiration froze instantly, then shattered like a cheap plaster mask. His mouth gaped open wide enough to fit an egg, as if he could hear Targaryen dragons tap dancing in Rhys Square, while the governors of Rhys played trumpets and flutes nearby.

He glanced at the disciplined soldiers on the field, then at Vito's suppressed laughter. His mind went blank for a moment, and the conversation in the tavern, his own mockery, and the fifty gold coins he had bet flashed through his mind like a revolving lantern.

"A bondage slave?! Are you fucking kidding me?! Vito, this isn't funny!" Old Tom scoffed, seemingly seeking the truth rather than a joke. "What kind of crooked poetry have you been writing lately, or has the alcohol finally clouded your judgment? Don't lie to me!"

"Who's kidding you?" Vito scoffed, gesturing towards Tiberius's direction. "They were all hand-picked by our 'Lightning Boy,' sifted through the market and our own farm like panning for gold, and then... well, trained using his 'little methods.'"

The shock lasted less than three seconds.

The next second, Old Tom jumped up like a monkey with its tail on fire, his disbelief turning into extreme terror and... a chilling ecstasy?!

He grabbed Vito's arm tightly, with such force that he almost crushed Vito's bones, his voice shrill and distorted with excitement:

"Vito! Brother Vito!!! My dear brother! Lend me money! Quick, lend me some money!"

"Huh?" Vito feigned ignorance. "Why do you need to borrow money again? Didn't the boss just pay the soldiers' salaries these past few days?"

"Not enough! Stop talking nonsense! Three percent interest... no! Five percent! Five percent will do!!!" Old Tom was sweating profusely, rambling incoherently. "Where are Calvin, Leon, Harwin, and those other bastards? Tell me! I need to borrow money from them too! Hahaha! So that's it! So that 'rich kid' is actually our Tiberius's army! By the Seven Gods! It's all safe! Everything's safe!!!"

He laughed wildly as he shook Vito violently, as if that would make the jingling gold coins fall from Vito's body.

Disdain, mockery?

Now all of that has vanished, replaced by ecstasy.

How could we possibly lose this round?

I'm going to win!!!

Seeing his expression, Vito finally couldn't help but burst into laughter, patting Old Tom on the back: "Now you're in a hurry? But for the sake of our brotherhood... come on, I'll take you to get my stash of cash, and while I'm at it, I'll tell you which tavern Calvin and his gang might be hanging out in! Remember, five percent interest, not a penny less and I'll skin you alive!"