Chapter 50: Change of Plans
[Successfully killed a player. Earned 4 points, 1 point for loot, and 2 additional Agility points]
The updated profile card read:
[Ian: Strength 26, Agility 24, Mental Strength 2
Skills: Basic Etiquette, Basic Common Reading and Writing, Advanced Swordsmanship, Advanced Horsemanship, Intermediate Lance
Attribute Points: 0
Skill Points: 0
Points: 17]
Ian walked out of the cellar, breathing in the fresh air, his bloodied sword in hand.
Though his movements had become more practiced than his first kill, the moment he'd sliced open the stranger's throat, he'd still felt the urge to vomit.
He didn't like this feeling.
He felt caught in a strange contradiction: on one hand, he felt a sense of power at being able to kill at will; on the other, he felt deep repulsion toward such acts.
This is probably what they call having your cake and eating it too. I'm such a hypocrite, Ian thought to himself.
"If you're uncomfortable with killing, I can handle it for you," Roll said, seeming to see through Ian's turmoil.
"No." Ian shook his head. "No, I have to do it myself." There'll be many more such moments in the future.
He inexplicably recalled Eddard Stark's words: "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps he does not deserve to die." A ruler who hides behind paid executioners will soon forget what death means.
A moment later, Ian laughed.
He wasn't doing it himself to remember what 'death' meant—he was simply collecting the full reward for the kill.
After taking a deep breath, Ian prepared to sheath his sword.
Unexpectedly, Roll handed him a piece of linen. "Wipe the blood off first, or it'll dry in the scabbard and rust the blade. You won't be able to draw it."
"Really?" I've seen movies where people sheath bloody swords, and it looks pretty cool. Ian chuckled, taking note of this practical wisdom. He took the linen from Roll and carefully wiped the blood off before sliding the sword back into its scabbard.
"Ser Lucien, you killed him?" Dennet, who'd been waiting above ground, finally had a chance to speak. "Wasn't he one of the criminals you wanted?"
"He was, friend. But this scum doesn't need to be taken back to King's Landing for trial. I've already passed sentence on them." Ian patted Dennet's shoulder. "You did excellent work. Come to my room later—I'll give you an extra ten gold dragons as a bonus."
"That's nearly two-thirds of our entire contract fee, ser. I don't know how to express your generosity, but I assure you, you've earned our devotion."
The money earned your devotion.
"You should know—the man you just executed tried to turn us against you. But we beat the hell out of him on the spot, and he shut up real quick. Like we'd betray you? Even if the Seven themselves descended before us, they'd still catch that beating!"
At those words, Ian's eyes immediately narrowed. "Get Ser Grayson and Keith to my room. I'm changing the plan." He ordered Dennet.
Ian had noticed Grayson held a negative opinion of Dorian, so he'd left only Grayson's men with Dorian to help reorganize the company, bringing Grayson himself back.
After giving Dennet his instructions, Ian returned to his new room—a luxury single at the end of the corridor.
Following Ian's instructions from before he'd left yesterday, Dennet and his men had walled up the original door to the luxury room and cut a new door through the wall to the adjacent room.
Ian arranged for himself to occupy the inner room while Roll and Keith would take the outer one. This way, anyone wanting to reach him would first have to go through two knights.
The advantage of this arrangement was absolute security while also eliminating the need to endure their infernal snoring.
Due to time constraints, the renovation was crude, but Ian was already satisfied.
A few minutes later, Dennet and the other two entered Ian's room.
"Ser, I thought you'd rest immediately," Ser Grayson spoke first. Ian had expected him to be upset about leaving his men with Dorian, but surprisingly, he remained as respectful as ever.
I can only say this ability to swallow frustration is a natural gift for a turncloak—well worth the nickname I gave him.
"You mentioned changing plans earlier? Did something happen with the Blackwing Company?" Dennet still didn't know what had occurred at the Blackwing castle. He'd just asked Ser Grayson, but the man remained tight-lipped.
"It has nothing to do with that." Ian shook his head. His decision to change plans stemmed from what Dennet had just reported—the player attempting to turn his own sellswords against him.
It was truly terrifying.
Clearly, the player's persuasion skills weren't good enough, which was why he'd failed.
But what if a silver-tongued player suddenly appeared? While Ian was ninety-nine percent sure his sellswords wouldn't defect—he always paid triple the going rate—Murphy's Law was always a concern.
He had to nip this potential threat in the bud, even if it meant sacrificing some profits.
"I'm referring to the plan to capture the criminals I mentioned earlier." Ian looked at Dennet. "As you saw, I don't intend to bring these people back to King's Landing for trial. I only need to bring back their heads.
And since those who are mistakenly captured will be silenced by you anyway, and a person's dead once you capture them, why go through this extra step of identification?"
"You mean... we don't need to capture anyone anymore? Just kill them if we find them suspicious?" Dennet looked surprised. He noticed Ser Lucien's attitude had completely changed from before.
Ian said nothing but nodded in agreement with Dennet's assessment.
"Yes, ser." What in seven hells happened at that castle yesterday? Dennet grew more curious but knew better than to ask.
"Since I left the cavalry at the Blackwing castle, we won't be controlling the Kingsroad this time. We'll only secure the inn and the area immediately around it." Ian glanced at each of his three current lieutenants in turn.
"Remember—better to kill the wrong person than let one go. As long as they're suspicious and match the characteristics I described, eliminate them." I won't put on an act this time. I'm the fucking villain here.
"Isn't this a bit extreme?" A hint of hesitation flashed in Grayson's eyes.
"The Whitewalls ghosts will take the blame anyway, right? How long have they been running rampant here?" Ian casually deflected responsibility.
"Ah, I understand."
"Go. Get to work." Ian yawned again. "I can't... ha... can't take it anymore."
(End of Chapter)
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