Asoiaf: I Have a Wolverine Template

Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Revenge
...
Third Pov

A week later...

In a dilapidated building nestled deep within the poor district of Lannisport, a dimly lit and spacious room hosted a gathering of rough, hard-eyed men. The smell of damp wood and stale sweat clung to the air, mingling with the faint scent of mildew.

A flickering lantern sat precariously on a crooked table, casting long shadows that danced across the cracked stone walls. These were the very men responsible for Richard's death, and now they sat huddled together, their usual bravado replaced by unease.

Rodric, their leader, stood at the room's center like a wolf circling its pack. His presence was commanding, and his demeanor radiated frustration barely contained beneath the surface. In his mid-twenties, Rodric had the weathered look of someone who had seen more fights than he should have at his age.

His jet-black hair hung in greasy strands, framing his lean, scarred face. His sharp brown eye gleamed with barely restrained rage, while his other eye, clouded with a cataract, was a ghostly white, adding an eerie air to his already menacing appearance. His lips thinned with tension and twitched as he clenched his jaw, a hint of missing teeth visible when he spoke.

"Alright, lads," Rodric growled, his voice a low rumble filled with frustration. "This has gone on long enough. Our men have been picked off one by one over the past week. Nine of them, gone." His knuckles whitened as his fists clenched, the leather of his gloves creaking with the pressure.

"This isn't just bad luck. It's someone targeting us, and that's bad for business." His words cut through the murmur of the room like a blade, and the tension in the air thickened. "So tell me—does anyone know who's responsible for this? Is it one of our rivals, or has the city guard turned on us?"

The room was silent for a moment, save for the occasional drip of water leaking from the ceiling. Twelve men sat around Rodric, each casting nervous glances at the others, their faces etched with uncertainty.

Some shifted in their seats, while others nervously fingered the hilts of their blades. These weren't men easily rattled, but the unseen force picking them off had unnerved even the most hardened among them.

"No idea, boss," one of the men finally muttered, his voice rough and gravelly. He was a burly brute with a crooked nose that had clearly been broken more than once. "But if I get my hands on whoever's doing this, they won't live to regret it."

"What if it's the city guard?" another man ventured, his tone wavering. He was smaller than the rest, a weasel-like figure whose eyes darted anxiously around the room.

"We've paid them off!" snapped a third, a heavyset man with a patchy beard. His tone was incredulous, as if the thought of betrayal hadn't crossed his mind until now. "They wouldn't break their word, would they?"

The room descended into nervous chatter, with the men throwing out wild guesses as to who could be behind the attacks. Some spoke of rival gangs, others of treachery from within, but none had any real answers. Their voices grew louder, fear creeping into their words as uncertainty gnawed at their collective confidence.

Rodric had enough. With a sharp thud, he slammed his fist onto the rickety table, the sound reverberating through the room. The lantern flickered from the force, and the group fell silent at once, eyes wide and focused on their leader.

"Enough!" Rodric barked, his voice cracking like a whip. His mismatched eyes, one sharp as a blade and the other a pale specter, swept over the men, daring any of them to speak out of turn. "Whoever's behind this, find them. I don't care how long it takes, or what it costs. We need to stop this before it gets worse. If we keep losing men like this, our business will fall apart, and I won't have that."