Chapter 93: Case's Confidence
After Ian clicked to confirm the purchase, a prompt box appeared in his vision.
[Transaction successful. You have received the Blessing of the Supreme Shepherd. (To use, apply evenly on the injured area). Remaining Points: 11.]
Then, under Bronn's bewildered gaze, Ian produced a small vial from somewhere within his armor and began to remove Rohr's breastplate, leather gambeson, and mail.
He opened the small bottle and poured the green ointment within onto Rohr's mangled chest, carefully spreading it across the wound.
"What in the Seven Hells is that?" Bronn asked, looking at the green paste with revulsion.
"Some kind of magic potion," Ian said, his talent for weaving lies now honed to perfection. "My father and I met a pagan witch doctor while sailing through Slaver's Bay. I bought it from her then."
"Will that thing even work?"
"I hope so," Ian whispered, his own voice laced with uncertainty.
He wanted to pray, but after breaking countless oaths, he no longer knew who to pray to.
Desperation began to creep into his heart.
***
Bronn directed the remaining men to barricade the entrance with whatever they could find in the basement, posting guards behind the makeshift barrier. Then he returned to Ian's side, ready to ask his ever-capable employer for a plan.
He walked closer, only to find that the young man had fallen asleep.
"Damn it! Is this really the time to be sleeping?" Bronn muttered, planning to shake Ian awake. He reached out, but as he placed a hand on Ian's shoulder, another hand clamped down on his own.
Bronn looked back and saw it was the 'Mute,' Sir Lucian's strongest servant, Case.
"You're telling me not to wake him?" Bronn asked with a frown, knowing perfectly well the man couldn't speak.
Case nodded.
"You're well aware of our current situation, I hope," Bronn spat. "We're as good as dead! Oh, you mean it's useless to wake him?"
Case shook his head.
"You think he can come up with a plan?"
Case nodded again, his expression certain.
"Then why are you stopping me from waking him up?" Bronn cursed, trying once more to rouse Ian. Case's hand shot out again, stopping him.
"What in the hells do you want?"
Case touched the hilt of his sword, then gestured toward the barricaded entrance.
"Fight our way out? It was Sir Lucian who got his brains rattled, not you."
Case shook his head and made a few more gestures.
"You're saying we should just guard the entrance and wait for him to wake up on his own?" Bronn guessed.
Case nodded.
"Damn it all! What's he going to do when he wakes up? Turn us into mice and have us dig our way out?"
This time, Case's expression was deadly serious. He nodded once more.
Bronn was stunned into silence.
***
Ian didn't sleep for long. His high-strung nerves brought him back to consciousness only half an hour later. In truth, it was more accurate to say he had fainted than slept.
During that time, the Gold Cloaks had launched one tentative attack. After being repelled by Case and the others, they had fallen silent. It seemed they were either planning to besiege them until they starved, or they were gathering materials for a more direct assault.
Ian suspected the latter. He knew players were not the type to sit still.
That was right. The knight commanding that company of Gold Cloaks had to be a player.
After a short rest, Ian's mind was clear enough to piece together the puzzle.
First, the Gold Cloaks' sudden attack utilized non-standard equipment. They carried crossbows and war hammers, weapons specifically chosen to counter fully armored opponents. This meant they had been prepared from the very beginning to face an elite player force.
Second, their crossbows were light crossbows, the kind that could be purchased on the open market, not the heavy military-issue crossbows from the royal armory. This proved it was a private action initiated by a Gold Cloak captain, not an official order from the City Watch command or the Royal Council.
Third, and most importantly, if the Gold Cloak captain in charge of security in Flea Bottom was the player, it would perfectly explain the string of strange murders.
As the official authority in Flea Bottom, this player had a ready-made network of spies. Every beggar, every homeless wanderer, every landlord renting a room was a potential informant. Any unfamiliar, armed individuals who had entered Flea Bottom in the past week would have been immediately reported to their captain. Every move these suspicious persons made would have been under constant surveillance.
The Gold Cloak player only had to identify the targets who acted alone, have a landlord report when they were isolated, and then he could boldly break in and kill them. Afterward, he could simply claim he was arriving at the scene after receiving a report, finding only a body and no murderer.
It would not only conceal his actions but also create the illusion among the other players in Flea Bottom that a powerful, invisible assassin was on the loose. Under normal circumstances, who would ever suspect that the Gold Cloak who 'rushed to the crime scene' was the perpetrator himself?
From the looks of it, the Gold Cloak player probably hadn't bought a single clue. He had simply waited in Flea Bottom, first picking off lone players and then monitoring the stronger alliances. He was waiting for well-developed players like Ian to lead him to the treasure. Then he could annihilate them, claim the chest, and eliminate his biggest rivals in King's Landing all at once. Kill two birds with one stone.
*Son of a bitch,* Ian cursed in his mind.
The Gold Cloak had clearly reacted the moment Ian's team made their move tonight. But because he didn't know the treasure was in an underground chapel, he hadn't come prepared with the right tools to storm it. It wouldn't take him long to rectify that. He only needed to gather some flammable materials, stuff them through the entrance, and light a fire. He could smoke them all to death.
Thinking of this, Ian felt a wave of depression. He saw no way out.
But he was unwilling to give up. He had figured out nearly the entire plan, but the first step still eluded him. How, in just one month, had that player managed to gain command of an entire company of Gold Cloaks? Ian couldn't fathom it, no matter how hard he tried.
*Then again, this is probably how other players felt when they couldn't figure out how I got my fine armor, thoroughbred horse, and arming sword on the very first day,* Ian thought with a humorless, internal laugh.
"Sir Lucian, let me tell you a joke." Bronn's voice cut through his thoughts. The sellsword walked over to where Ian was sitting in the corner, looking defeated. "While you were sleeping, your squire, the 'Mute,' told me that as long as you woke up, you'd find a way to get us out of here, even if you had to turn us into mice and have us dig a hole."
Ian looked up. He found that every man left alive in the basement was staring at him, their eyes filled with a desperate, waiting hope.
---
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