Chapter 17: Assault
Ian spun around and saw an arrow buried deep beneath the fake merchant's left shoulder blade, near his heart. He collapsed to the ground, his face pale, his embroidered tunic drenched in crimson blood.
The fake merchant convulsed, but none of his companions paid him any attention.
"Get him!" Harry shouted, and his servants and the nearby salt workers drew hidden short swords from beneath the salt sacks on their wagons and charged into the nearby woods.
Then, several free riders appeared from concealment and galloped in the direction the arrow had come from.
Harry's eyes gleamed with excitement and bloodlust, completely forgetting about Ian's presence.
But this was clearly not the right time for Ian to attack him, as several swordsmen dressed as salt workers had gathered around Harry, their eyes now fixed on Ian.
These salt workers were disguised sellswords! How the hell did he recruit sellswords? How? A flicker of surprise crossed Ian's face.
Then he realized his plan had been completely disrupted.
He wasn't frightened by the revelation of the fake salt workers' true identities as mercenaries. Even knowing they were sellswords, his plan would have worked.
As long as the mules and wagons hadn't been blocking the path between him and the salt mine gate, he could have escaped in seconds after a surprise strike.
Outside the mine lay the Kingsroad.
Even if there were a few sellsword cavalry hidden outside, what would it matter?
They were merely riding rounceys. The white courser under his saddle was a prime descendant of the Dornish sand steed, renowned for its endurance. Although it had already covered nearly 40 miles, it had mostly trotted at around 6 miles per hour, resting for an hour and a half at midday.
Ian could clearly sense that its exhaustion wasn't severe. In this state, if he could break out of the mine, those rounceys wouldn't be able to catch him even if they sprouted wings.
In short, those sellsword cavalrymen had no chance of catching up with him.
Unfortunately, now... Ian looked at Harry.
Another player had suddenly made a move, and now there were 4 heavily armed swordsmen surrounding that bastard, and Ian had completely lost the opportunity for a surprise attack.
"What's going on?" Ian could only ask calmly, pretending to be confused about what was happening.
"Oh, ser, you don't know." Harry's tone became cheerful with the appearance of his prey, and he seemed indifferent to Ian's attitude. Anyway, he'd already caught his fish, so whoever wanted the salt from the salt mine was no longer his concern.
No way. There's no way someone would actually care about the profit from a few sacks of salt, right?
"I have an enemy who has been hunting me for a long time," Harry explained. He still didn't doubt Ian's identity. "So I set a trap here. Don't worry, ser, I'll be leaving soon."
It didn't matter if it was a believable explanation or not. Other people's feuds happening in the Riverlands weren't any business of a Lannister bastard. So Harry's explanation was casual.
As for whether the bastard believed it or not—screw you! I'm lying to you, come and do something about it!
"So you are the real owner of this caravan?" Ian pretended to be surprised, playing along.
"Yes, ser," Harry nodded with a smile, his attitude both contemptuous and deferential.
Soon, a commotion erupted—it was the sellswords returning from their mission to capture the assassin. A free rider was galloping toward them, dragging a man bound with rope behind his horse, dressed in plain traveling clothes, his face covered in blood.
He was clearly a Brotherhood Hunter; it was unclear whether he had come to the salt mines specifically to hunt merchant players, or if he had simply spotted Harry and impulsively attacked.
Ian leaned toward the latter. The fact that he could shoot an arrow through the decoy's heart from 130 yards proved he must have been an expert marksman in his past life.
But the fact that he'd acted without fully understanding the situation, and thus fallen directly into Harry's trap, showed he wasn't as smart as he thought.
The Brotherhood Hunter was dragged along, struggling to keep up with the rider holding him by the rope. As the horse's pace quickened, he finally fell and was dragged across the ground, his body battered by the gravel, leaving a clear trail of blood.
As the victorious free rider drew closer, wine stains on his beard becoming increasingly visible, Ian's heart grew heavier.
He glanced at Harry again. The four swordsmen remained on guard, unarmored like himself. Ian wasn't confident he could kill Harry and escape unscathed under their protection.
As the other dozen or so sellswords gradually returned, Ian knew he had completely missed his chance to kill Harry.
Why not just forget it? He hasn't discovered my identity. I can do nothing and escape with my life. Ian began to waver. Even if the First Blood quest isn't completed, with my disguise, I could still find another chance to hunt other merchants in Saltpans. If I could get four points, I'd have a solid foothold in this world. Don't be too greedy.
But as he looked up, his gaze fell on the bound Brotherhood Hunter, who was being brought before Harry by two men.
Harry raised his dagger, but paused just before stabbing the Hunter's throat. His hand trembled slightly, evidently hesitant.
"Do you need me to do it for you, m'lord?" a sellsword asked.
"No, no." Harry quickly shook his head. Do it for me? Are you kidding? I'll lose two points if you do it!
But Harry held the dagger, still hesitant to strike.
Do you hesitate too? Ian smiled bitterly. So you also come from a civilized society, so it's inevitable that you'd have a natural reluctance to kill.
As Ian pondered this, his gaze fell on the Brotherhood Hunter again.
He's so close to me. At that moment, a bold idea struck Ian, surprising even himself.
Less than six feet, including the length of my arm and my sword, is just the distance I can reach with a thrust. Their attention isn't on me right now. I can take this player's head with just one strike. I just need a reason!
Ian's eyes narrowed into slits, and the only thing in his field of vision was the captured player.
(End of Chapter)
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