Ian couldn't wrap his head around it. Sure, he didn't know the stats of every starting class, but he was certain—if a mercenary knight, fully equipped with armor and a trained warhorse, came across a merchant caravan like this, there was no question he could wipe them out.
The only reason he was hesitating now was because he lacked armor.
While Ian weighed his options, the player in disguise had already exchanged a few whispered words with his servant. The lean faux-merchant stepped up to greet him, and Ian feigned ignorance to their little performance, remaining silent.
"I'm Damon, a traveling merchant from Brightwater Keep in the Reach—"
"I don't care who you are," Ian cut him off. "I care about the salt."
"…May I ask who I have the honor of speaking to?"
"Ian Hillshand," he replied with a slight smile. He didn't bother pretending to be a trueborn Lannister in front of another player—playing the bastard was far easier to maintain.
And that had its advantages. So long as he didn't push too hard, most people wouldn't dig too deeply into his background. No one wanted to offend a noble's illegitimate son without cause.
"You may not have heard of me, but this shipment is for Ser Kevan," Ian said, name-dropping Tywin Lannister's brother without hesitation. "I suggest you not get any funny ideas."
The lean merchant faltered, clearly caught off guard. That line wasn't in the script his superior had given him, so he glanced instinctively at the portly servant nearby.
The fat man looked visibly frustrated but stepped forward with a respectful bow. "My lord, my name is Harui. My cousin's not the brightest, so I usually handle things for the caravan."
A clever cover story. Ian scoffed inwardly. If I were actually some noble's bastard, I might've bought it.
"I'm no 'lord,' just a knight," Ian said, shutting down the flattery—or accidental slip—with a cold formality. "Now then. Let's keep this simple. You give up the cargo, and I'll pay you triple its worth. Even if you were planning to haul it south and sell it off in bits, that's probably the best profit you'd get."
"Unless, of course… you're dodging taxes. You're not dodging taxes, are you?" Ian continued his bluff, eyes calmly analyzing the possibility of drawing his sword and ending things right here.
But the odds weren't good. From the sluggish movements of the salt workers, he had a growing suspicion that the foreman had been bought out.
He might be able to kill the merchant and ride off, sure—but if the miners joined in, that would be a different story.
Salt miners were half-gang, half-laborers in this world. Managing a high-profit site like this required a heavy hand. To a man like that, bashing in a skull was no harder than breaking through a salt vein.
And worst of all, the caravan was blocking the only exit. If he wanted to leave, he'd have to circle around the wagons again—right into potential danger from behind.
Across from him, Harui was doing his own mental calculations. He hadn't set up this whole fishing spot just to turn a quick profit—this place was bait, designed to lure in players, for the chance at a 3000-gold bounty and an S-rank NPC. And now this dumb bastard of a knight was screwing it all up.
If he abandoned this setup and moved to Saltfield Town, it would take too long to start over. There were dozens of players out here hunting for First Blood. Timing was everything.
"Of course not," Harui said with a bow. "We're honest merchants. My family's been clean for three generations. We'd never break the law."
"Oh? So what, your great-grandfather was a criminal?" Ian raised an eyebrow. "Otherwise, wouldn't you have said 'we've always been upstanding citizens'?"
"N-No, of course not! I don't even know my great-grandfather," Harui stammered. "I'm just being honest. I wouldn't lie about something I don't know."
Yeah right, Ian sneered inwardly. Next you'll tell me the Salt Mines are a charitable institution.
"I don't have time for jokes. Just answer the question—do we have a deal?"
"No need for triple payment," Harui replied, shaking his head. "Just have the mine return what we already paid. And please, do extend my regards to Ser Kevan."
"Enough! Who do you think you are?" Ian snapped, letting some Lannister arrogance bleed into his tone. "You think Ser Kevan needs well wishes from a peasant? Take your money and be glad I'm in a generous mood. Don't use this as an excuse to climb the social ladder."
Harui's expression stiffened. The line had been a reflex, part of his usual script—but he'd forgotten he was just a merchant right now, far beneath the Lannisters. Ian's harsh rebuke reminded him of his place, and he forced an awkward smile.
He dared not show offense. After all, this was how nobles were expected to treat commoners—even bastards.
Ian stared him down, forcing himself to stay calm. I've wrecked your fishing setup. Now what? Show your hand already.
Sure enough, he soon noticed Harui shoot a subtle glance at the mine foreman.
Just as I thought, Ian's eyes narrowed. He's already bought him off. Good thing I didn't act rashly.
"Then, Ser Ian, please head into the town to rest," the foreman said politely. "We'll begin taking stock immediately. You can load the shipment tomorrow morning."
Trying to get rid of me so they can keep baiting the trap, huh?
Ian's eyes flickered. "Show me the stock first. My family's supply team should arrive any time now. Once they're here, we'll help with the loading. We can finish everything by nightfall."
"Oh, and Harui," Ian turned to the merchant with a sharp gaze, finally dropping all pretense, "move your wagons. Don't block our path when we start loading."
The wagons were deliberately parked in front of the mine entrance. If Harui moved them, Ian would have a clear path for escape. Once the kill was made, he could ride out unimpeded.
"Of course, Ser," Harui replied with a bow.
Hearing that a Lannister transport team was on the way, he decided against confronting Ian. It wasn't worth the risk. The Lannisters would be gone by nightfall anyway, and tomorrow, he could just fill some sacks with sand and keep fishing.
Harui gave the order, and the wagons began to shift.
Ian's entire body tensed, muscles coiling like a spring. He was ready to strike.
No one suspected a thing. As long as he killed Harui in one blow and charged out before anyone reacted, he'd be in the clear. No one would be able to catch up with his horse.
But just as the wagons were almost clear—
An arrow split the air.
Followed by a deep, guttural cry of pain.
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