Chapter 10: The Old Blacksmith
He quickly set his sights on Saltpans, just over 110 miles from his current location at Harrenhal.
He could ride there in less than three days (two days if he pushed his horse hard). In such a short timeframe, even players rushing to rendezvous points right from the start wouldn't necessarily run into each other.
In other words, in the best-case scenario, he could even snag the first kill.
Even if that didn't happen, if he could successfully hunt down a player within the next two months, the four points alone would be enough to keep him safe from assassination threats for a while.
But wait, that wasn't right. While other classes wouldn't notice their starting equipment being easily identifiable, traveling merchants would definitely spot it. Therefore, they'd likely sell off some of their assets, buy more mules and horses, or even dismiss a few servants or hire some additional farmhands.
So, how could he identify them?
After pondering for a while, Ian found the answer: their starting capital. Their starting capital of 100 gold dragons remained constant.
Ian had done careful research during character creation, and he clearly remembered that, aside from the final class choice, the previous options had minimal impact on starting capital.
This meant that even if a Traveling Merchant maxed out their starting capital, they wouldn't have more than 110 gold dragons. Given this amount, if they wanted to earn 1,000 gold dragons or more within two months, they'd have to go all in.
"Once I reach Saltpans, I just need to find out the local salt price. I'll also check what percentage the merchants can profit after transport costs. Based on these two factors, I can calculate the range of purchases merchant players would make, and then, based on the volume of goods they're transporting, I can identify suspected merchant players." Ian mentally formulated his plan.
Without wasting any time, he quickly gathered all his equipment on the table.
He planned to sell these items and his horse, then buy a machete and an old draft horse, disguised as an ordinary caravan guard, and head to Saltpans.
The Caravan Guard was actually one of the starting classes available to players, but due to its poor equipment, weak stats, and lack of money, Ian had relegated it to Tier 3.
Furthermore, the Caravan Guard's starting equipment was a shortsword and leather armor, and Ian would distinguish himself from actual Caravan Guards in these details.
Anyway, with the Traveling Merchant's pathetic stats, as long as he approached them without arousing suspicion, they could be easily taken down.
The advantage was his!
With this in mind, Ian began to estimate the value of his equipment.
The entire set of armor could fetch around 500 silver stags, while the longsword could fetch over 200.
And his horse, currently tethered in the inn's courtyard, was a five-year-old rounsey, freshly matured and in its prime, according to memories gained from the backstory. It should fetch over 750 silver stags.
All in all, that came to over 1,450 silver stags.
After completing the valuation, Ian packed everything into a bag and left his room.
After reaching the ground floor, he inquired with the innkeeper about the location of Harrenhal's blacksmith and paid ten copper pennies for his lodging. Then, he went to the backyard stables, retrieved his horse, and left the inn.
Outside the inn's gate, Ian paused.
Less than two feet in front of him stood an incredibly thick stone wall. The moss-covered stone was riddled with cracks, weathered and ancient.
Ian took two steps forward and peered through the cracks to see the other side.
It was a completely abandoned hall, roofless, piled with rubble and refuse. Banners hung on the walls, their heraldry now obscured by dust and grime, seemed to speak of a distant past.
The eerie atmosphere and the musty stench emanating from the cracks made Ian's skin crawl. He didn't linger, but turned away and hurried toward the alley's exit.
As he turned the corner, a sudden gust of northern wind blew, and an eerie wailing echoed from above.
Though Ian knew it was the sound of air passing through the cracks in the stone of the Wailing Tower, it still unnerved him. He quickened his pace, gradually shifting from a quick walk to a jog.
The clatter of hoofbeats echoed through the narrow alley, creating an eerie harmony with the wailing in the air.
After passing through several deserted, debris-strewn streets, Ian finally reached the square where the innkeeper had mentioned the blacksmith's shop.
"What terrible luck! Sell my gear and get the hell out of this cursed place!" he muttered, tying his horse to a post outside the door and entering the smithy.
The smithy was quiet, occupied only by an old blacksmith and two young apprentices.
The old blacksmith was short and stocky, his brown hair turning gray. When Ian entered, he had just finished hammering an iron blade, deftly drawing it out and plunging it into a nearby bucket of water to quench it.
The red-hot iron sank into the water with a hiss, sending up wisps of white steam.
"Young man, what can I do for you?" the old blacksmith asked, noticing Ian's arrival.
Ian glanced around the room, quickly ruling out the possibility of other players.
First, he had learned about the old blacksmith from the innkeeper. Given the fact that player characters appeared out of thin air with no prior history, this old blacksmith, who had worked his entire life in Harrentown, must be a native.
Then there were the two apprentices, barely in their teens, clearly below the minimum age requirement for players.
Ian breathed a sigh of relief, then opened his pack and pulled out his sword and full set of old mail.
"Sir, I'd like to sell this equipment," Ian said, placing the items on the table.
The old blacksmith, Eton, gave Ian a suspicious look, then carefully examined the armor. There were no cracks or significant surface wear, suggesting it would fetch a good profit after some refurbishing.
'But...' Eton looked at Ian again, somewhat puzzled. "You should be a knight, shouldn't you? You're so young—why would you want to sell your equipment?"
Ian was indeed very young, or to be more precise, too young.
When creating the character, Ian had tested it and found that age would have no effect on the stats, so he'd simply set the age to the minimum: 16.
A knight of this age should have a bright future in the eyes of the old blacksmith, so he couldn't understand why Ian would want to sell his equipment.
Because I took an arrow to the knee? Ian thought with dark humor, but he showed a wry smile on his face and made up a story: "Because I'm tired of the life of a hedge knight. People say that we and the bandit knights are two sides of the same coin. There's no honor in it. I don't want to continue living like this."
(End of Chapter)
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