Chapter 89: Spoils of War Distribution
Holding a torch aloft, Ian stood in the center of his men as they descended the spiral stairs into the earth.
What he didn't know was that, only seconds before, he had narrowly avoided a life-or-death crisis.
The archer in the shadows, Esther, had instantly recognized Ian as the leader, protected in the heart of the formation. But Ian was wrapped in a steel can. Knowing his arrow couldn't penetrate such heavy plate, Esther had held his fire, deciding to wait. He would see if an opportunity presented itself after they emerged with the treasure, when their guard might be down.
'Black Falcon' Dorian held up his shield, forming a solid wall with his men at the front of the column. They pushed forward cautiously, wary that the mutineers might leap from the darkness at any moment.
Their fears proved to be unfounded. They saw no sign of an enemy, even after they kicked down the basement door and tossed torches inside.
"No enemies, Sir Lucian!" Dorian reported loudly, lighting another torch and sweeping it across every corner of the room.
Captain Corian, choking on the dust that billowed from the ancient chamber, coughed and grumbled to Ian, "Is there something wrong with your intelligence?"
"Look for a box," Ian ordered directly, too lazy to spin any more tales.
It didn't matter. Once they had their money, no one would ask any questions. A fat purse with no fighting? They'd be too happy to complain.
The torchlight illuminated a vast, empty chapel. A tacit silence fell over the group, broken only by their own breathing and the scuffling echoes of mercenaries rummaging through the debris.
Inexplicably, a deep discomfort settled over Ian. It felt as if some strange magic lingered here, a palpable aura that set his nerves on edge.
*So this is the Stranger's Sept,* he thought. *No wonder no one is willing to live here, not even in Flea Bottom, where people will sleep in dog kennels.*
It was the perfect hiding place. Compared to the overcrowded warrens of Flea Bottom, where any treasure might be stumbled upon by the locals, this cursed, abandoned temple, unvisited for centuries, was the ideal spot for the game's organizers to place their prize.
The sounds of searching continued for a few moments more, then, with the sharp crack of splintering wood, a mercenary's excited shout rang out. "Here! There's a box here!"
Ian strode over at once, with Rohr and his other men gathering protectively around him.
The Black Falcon and two of his mercenaries heaved a large, long box out of the recess in the floor.
The chest was fashioned from rosewood, its leather-bound lid inlaid with lapis lazuli and mother-of-pearl. Even without knowing its contents, the box itself was an expensive work of art.
Ian could feel the men around him holding their breath, their breathing growing rapid and shallow.
Without hesitation, he reached out and threw open the lid. Gold—a sea of glittering gold—filled the chest, its brilliance flickering under the torchlight. Lying atop the fortune was a Valyrian steel greatsword.
The next moment, the system's chime rang in Ian's mind. The bounty mission was complete.
"Seven Hells," Bronn breathed, snatching a gold bar from the box as if he couldn't believe it was real.
Quickly, Rohr and Captain Corian began to evaluate the contents.
"It's four thousand gold dragons in total," Rohr whispered to Ian. "Three-quarters of it in gold bars. Since coins are minted with copper and other metals, the pure gold bars will fetch a large premium. The true value here is probably over forty-five hundred dragons."
Ian nodded, impressed. The system was certainly generous with its gold.
"Sir Lucian," Corian began, licking his lips. "About our earlier agreement. I mean, even though we didn't find those traitors, we have served you faithfully."
"Don't worry, my friends," Ian announced, lifting the Valyrian steel sword from the chest and slinging it across his back. "I will give you the share I promised."
He then pulled a two-pound gold bar from the box and pressed it into Corian's hand, delivering the classic line that had served him so well. "A Lannister always pays his debts."
"My congratulations, Sir," Corian said, his sincerity genuine. He had earned two months' pay in a single week of work without taking any real risks. He was more than satisfied with the deal.
"Open your pockets, man," Ian said, turning to Bronn. He grabbed a large handful of gold dragons and stuffed them into Bronn's pouch, then a second handful, and a third. He didn't count, but he estimated it was fifty or sixty coins.
"You provided the most men, my friend." Ian pulled out two more gold bars and handed them to Dorian the Black Falcon. "You've earned this."
Dorian seemed overwhelmed by Ian's generosity. He dropped to one knee and kissed Ian's gauntlet before declining. "You avenged my foster father. I swore to serve you. It was never about the money."
"So, in your opinion, I should be less generous to a man sworn to me than I am to a common mercenary?" Ian said, directing his words to the other Black Falcon sellswords. He knew Dorian's reputation among his own men was still shaky.
"No, my friend," Ian said, forcibly placing the gold bars in Dorian's hand and helping him to his feet. "I will never be stingy with those who are loyal to me."
"My sword is yours. My life is yours. I will fight to my last breath to protect your life, your property, and your honor," Dorian swore, dropping to his knee once more.
As he did, the other Black Falcon mercenaries knelt behind him, their voices rising in oaths of their own.
Perhaps, in a sense, they were no longer mercenaries. They were the personal guard of 'Sir Lucian.' Unfortunately, Ian knew he would have to shed that identity soon, and it would be difficult to retain this force when he did.
*I have to find a way,* he thought.
Compared to when he had decided to flee across the Narrow Sea after his first victory, he had now spent much more time with these people. He had invested more in them and earned their genuine loyalty. It was becoming much harder to simply give them up.
"Ah, Sir Lucian, sorry to interrupt this touching moment," Bronn suddenly cut in, "but perhaps we shouldn't linger in this dreadful place. If I recall the plan, we should be finding the best tavern and celebrating properly."
"You're right," Ian nodded. He turned back to Dorian. "Take up the chest. Let's get back to the riverside road."
Ian resisted the urge to expand his system backpack's capacity and store the gold there. The act would be too outrageous to explain. He would do it later, when no one was around.
After giving the order, Ian and the others began to walk toward the exit.
"You did a great job this time, Bronn. Perhaps I should make you a knight," Ian said, half-joking. But as they climbed the last of the spiral stairs and emerged onto the ground level, his jest turned into a raw shout.
"Fuck! What the hell?"
A fishing net, dropping from the sky, enveloped them completely.
---
$5 Tier – Early Access!
Read 30 chapters ahead of public platforms like RoyalRoad and Scribble Hub — with plans to increase to 40 chapters ahead once I reach 10 members!
Chapters are posted as soon as they're completed, so you'll always stay ahead of the curve.
Support the story and unlock early access:
Patreon is linked in My Profile or About.
Please select your membership carefully, as I have multiple novels ongoing. If you're on Apple, consider subscribing through your browser instead — it will be cheaper for you, and I won't have to wait 2 months for payments. Thank you!