Chapter 23: The Chase (Part 2)
Fortunately, the sellsword was intent on escape and had no desire to finish Ian. After knocking Ian's sword away, the man glanced at Rolf—now dangerously close—and spurred his horse hard, attempting to continue his flight north.
Unfortunately, his struggle with Ian had cost him momentum, and for a critical moment, his mount couldn't regain full speed. Within seconds, Rolf caught up and ran him through from behind.
Seeing this, Ian breathed a sigh of relief, yet at the same time, he remained shaken by what had just happened.
He couldn't believe that he—someone who always prided himself on keeping a cool head—had rushed headlong into danger like that. As his horse broke into a full gallop, all reason had vanished, as if every drop of blood in his veins had turned to liquid fire. He couldn't help but recall an old saying about cavalry charges: a drunk man on a runaway horse.
Shaking his head and resolving never to undertake such a reckless act again, Ian began to reflect on his first true battle since entering the world of Ice and Fire.
His performance wasn't particularly impressive. Disgraceful, more like.
During the fight, his mind had been practically blank. Although he'd acquired the necessary riding and swordsmanship skills from the system, these borrowed memories had no connection to his actual body. Without any muscle memory, he'd had no instinct for what to do next. While this was partly due to his lack of real combat experience, it also highlighted the limitations of the system's data.
He was seriously considering having Rolf train him properly when they had time.
Looking back, Rolf had already returned to the other bodies, leading the dead sellsword's riderless horse. He and Kevan were sorting through the spoils.
But Ian's attention wasn't on the plunder. Instead, he was studying the equipment of his two knights.
For once, Ian had to give credit to the game designers—the reward was truly exceptional.
It was clear that S-rank NPCs provided by the system came equipped with top-tier gear. Never mind their armor—Ian's gut had clenched when he'd seen Camel's lance strike Kevan and fail to penetrate his defenses.
While this was partly because Kevan had dodged successfully, allowing the lance tip to strike his most heavily armored left shoulder, there was no doubt that Kevan's plate was the finest of the fine, especially given the speed of the charge.
Then there were the warhorses. Considering that both Rolf and Kevan wore full plate, yet had caught up to their already-engaged foes within seconds, their destriers were clearly superior even to Ian's own courser!
Such equipment was a rare stroke of generosity from the game's creators.
Soon, Rolf and Kevan had collected their spoils: two horses, an excellent longsword, a dozen gold dragons, a large pouch of other coins, and a suit of plate-and-mail.
Of course, while it was called plate-and-mail, this armor was merely a breastplate riveted to a coat of mail—similar to what Stannis Baratheon wore in the show.
Ian had never understood that choice.
Stannis was still a king, even if an impoverished one. Couldn't the costume department have given him armor with better protection? If he had to wear mail, at least make it proper brigadine or a coat of plates. Then again, historical accuracy had never been the show's strong suit.
Anyway, after his recent humiliating performance, Ian felt uncomfortable parading around in fine clothing. So he stripped off his outer garment, seized the blood-stained armor from the deceased Camel, and donned it without hesitation.
Then, with Rolf's help, he put on the mail. Ian and Camel had been of similar build, and the armor fit surprisingly well.
After quickly completing this, Ian ordered a return to the salt pans near Harroway's town.
When they arrived back at the site, the fighting still hadn't ended. The surviving sellswords had split into two groups facing each other—three on one side, four on the other. They all looked exhausted.
It was clear the situation had spiraled further out of control after Camel's departure. The sellswords, likely grouped by prior acquaintance, were still fighting over the gold bar.
Three men lay critically wounded on the ground. Even if their respective groups won the final confrontation, these poor bastards likely wouldn't live to see a copper of it.
The appearance of Ian and his two knights shattered the tenuous standoff between them.
The sellswords, seeing the blood-drenched blades carried by Rolf and Kevan, seemed to understand their situation. In that instant, countless thoughts raced through their minds.
Should they fight to the death? Flee? Or throw themselves on their knees and beg for mercy?
All of these were possibilities, but none of them mattered—Ian had already given the order to attack. It was too late for choices.
The battle ended in less than a minute. The two knights cut through the remaining sellswords like a scythe through wheat, then dismounted to finish the wounded who already lay collapsed and bleeding out.
After confirming no one remained alive, they began collecting the spoils.
Throughout this, Ian's eyes remained fixed elsewhere.
The night swallowed the last glimmer of sunset. A brilliant field of stars slowly illuminated against the velvet darkness.
Perhaps, somewhere among those stars, there lay a distant blue world—a place without ruthless slaughter, sellswords begging on their knees, or the screams of the dying.
There, civilization held sway. Laws meant something. And a game designer named Jake Chen had died far too young.
Ian and his companions quickly completed their second round of looting.
This time, Ian ordered most items abandoned. He kept only Camel's family sword—a fine bastard sword—two excellent daggers, three sound river horses, and Camel's plate-and-mail.
Of course, the most important items were the coin.
Camel and the sellswords' personal funds were negligible. What truly mattered were the two payments Ian had made and the remaining eighty gold dragons from Harry's purse.
Ian placed all the gold bars into his system inventory, while the remaining five hundred gold dragons went into Rolf's saddlebag.
They then left the salt pans and made their way to the nearby Green Fork, where they began washing the blood from their bodies and gear.
"Can you tell me why you were so confident you could turn Camel's sworn men against him?" Rolf suddenly asked as Ian was scrubbing his borrowed armor.
Ian paused, his hands stilling in the cold water. He looked up at Rolf, considering how much truth to share.
"Greed," Ian finally said. "And fear. Those two forces move men more reliably than honor ever could."
"Yet Camel himself was moved by honor," Rolf pointed out.
"Camel was one man. His sworn swords were many. And I only needed one of them to break." Ian resumed his scrubbing. "Once the first man acts, the rest follow. It's easier to sin in company than alone."
"A cynical view of human nature."
"A realistic one," Ian corrected. "Honor is a luxury of the well-fed and secure. Hungry men, desperate men, ambitious men—they'll betray anyone for the right price. I just had to find that price."
Rolf was quiet for a moment. "And what of your own honor, my lord? You swore an oath on House Lannister."
Ian smiled grimly. "I swore I wouldn't hold Harry or Camel responsible for what happened that day. I said nothing about what I might do afterward, once I'd left and returned. The wording matters, Rolf. Always read the fine print."
"A lawyer's trick."
"A survivor's trick," Ian said. "In this world, the honorable don't last long. The clever do."
Kevan, who had been silent during this exchange, finally spoke. "And which are we, my lord? Clever or doomed?"
Ian looked at both knights, these men who existed because of a game system, who followed his orders without question, who had just helped him commit massacre.
"I suppose we'll find out," he said quietly.
(End of Chapter)
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