Chapter 52: The Unfortunate Darrys
"Have you ever seen a squire as old as us?" Bronn muttered immediately. "I'd rather starve than shovel your shit."
"This is just a deposit. Your pay is one gold dragon per week." Ian ignored him and continued.
He didn't offer an outrageous price—that would only raise suspicion. Anyway, this was already generous for Bronn at this point.
"Arrogant knights make their squires feed horses, shovel shit, or pull off their stinking boots. What did you just say? One gold dragon a week? Oh, by the Seven, I fucking love feeding horses." Bronn made an exaggerated expression. "When I was a boy at my grandfather's—"
"I'm not interested in your childhood stories."
"Oh? Then what are you interested in? You want me to kiss your ass?"
"I need you to feed my horse well, and when necessary, cut my enemies' throats." Ian smiled coldly.
"A fair deal. Believe me, even if a stranger's your enemy, I'll stick a dagger up his—"
"Stop, stop, stop. Don't say that word in front of me again." Ian interrupted Bronn hastily.
"As you wish."
"Ser, I can also tend horses," Chiggen quickly spoke up when Ian finally stopped. "I don't need the same high salary as him. I hope you'll hire me as well."
Ian wanted to throw Bronn's words back at him. "Have you ever seen a squire as old as you?" He'd recruited Bronn not for his horse-tending skills but for his sword. What do you have, Chiggen?
But then he realized he did actually need someone to tend the horses, so he nodded. "Your pay is thirty silver stags per week, doubled if you're in combat. Any objections?"
"None, ser." Chiggen frowned but accepted the price. Thirty silver stags weekly was the normal rate for a combat sellsword, and he'd only be doing odd jobs. If he fought, he'd earn sixty—already excellent pay.
As for envying Bronn? People only envy those slightly better than themselves, or weaker ones who got lucky. He wouldn't feel jealous of someone like Bronn, who could take on three to five men at once. Besides, he knew full well his squire position was thanks to Bronn.
Upon hearing Chiggen's rate, the sellswords around Dennet averted their gazes, secretly pleased. While their pay wasn't as high as that old bastard Bronn's, it was still significantly better than Chiggen's.
Like Chiggen, they weren't jealous of Bronn. They were all sellswords of the same generation, and they knew his abilities.
"So," Bronn said, hugging his whore, "shall we discuss this later?"
"This early in the morning?"
"Morning's the best time," Bronn replied, kissing the woman's cheek with a grin.
"Have you forgotten you're my squire?"
"But you hired me, didn't you? That was supposed to be part of the deal," Bronn argued.
"All right." Ian chuckled, turning to Chiggen. "You too, friend. It's part of the deal."
Chiggen hesitated, bowed to Ian, then went upstairs with a woman.
After seeing them off, Ian returned to the table.
Roll shook his head, indicating he hadn't noticed anything unusual in anyone's expression when Ian recruited Bronn.
"Stay alert. By the way," Ian glanced at Keith, "what took so long buying the weapons?"
Keith glanced at Ian but didn't respond, making Ian frown.
What's with this guy? Given Keith's eagerness to carry out orders, Ian had no doubts about his loyalty.
But since his arrival, Ian hadn't heard Keith speak a single word.
Is he mute?
"Keith can't speak," Roll explained.
As I thought, Ian mused.
"Keith was the first warrior in our cohort to complete training," Roll suddenly brought up Keith's past.
Ian had no objection. Though both knights were religious warriors trained by the organizers, they were free to roam after training, so their experiences would certainly enrich Ian's understanding of this world.
"In his youth, he traveled across nearly all of Essos," Roll continued. "He won the championship in Meereen's Great Pit, defeated a master water dancer in single combat in Braavos, and slew a pirate king in the Stepstones."
Holy shit! Is this really the system offering players 'extremely limited' resources requiring 'desperate struggle'?
"But those aren't Keith's proudest achievements." Roll shook his head with false mystery.
"So what was his proudest achievement?"
"Later, with the wealth from his adventures, he lived prosperously in Lys for a time, becoming a frequent guest in the homes of Lysene merchant princes," Roll said, not rushing to answer. He continued his story.
"There, with skills in wielding his lower sword that put mine to shame, he satisfied four Lysene merchant princes at once. He even claimed he could use only his tongue—"
Keith suddenly looked up at Roll, startling him into quickly ending the story. "Anyway, for some reason his tongue was injured, and he can't speak anymore."
Ian didn't catch Keith's warning look, but he saw something in his expression, so he tactfully asked no further questions.
However, he silently made Lys a forbidden zone in his mind, vowing never to set foot there.
After glaring at Roll, Keith stood and left. A moment later, he returned with the sellsword who'd accompanied him to buy equipment—one of Dennet's men.
"Ser? You wanted me?"
"Sit down." Ian raised his chin. "What's your name?"
"They call me 'Wet' Megga," the man said, sitting before Ian.
I need to apologize for thinking Dennet's nickname 'the Spike' was lame!
"It took you two days to buy arms and armor. Even if you'd gone to Harrenhal instead of nearby Darry, it shouldn't have taken this long."
"Oh, ser, we went to Darry first, but found they only had defective goods for sale, and no horses left at all. So we had to ride to Harrenhal, and there we bought everything we needed," Megga explained.
It seems Darry was punished far more severely than Harrenhal, Ian thought.
Not only had they lost their lands, titles, and wealth—they couldn't even sell off their once-stockpiled arms and armor.
Of course, the Iron Throne's harsh treatment wasn't unjustified. After all, three of Ser Raymun Darry's brothers had died fighting for Rhaegar Targaryen, and the fourth had fled across the Narrow Sea with Viserys and Daenerys.
They were truly loyal and valiant to the Targaryens. Could the new king really not be wary of him?
"All right, you're dismissed." Ian waved Megga away.
After waiting in the common room for some time, Ian finally saw Bronn and Chiggen descend the stairs together.
"You two have quite the rapport," Ian remarked.
"He waited for me a good while," the two sellswords said in unison, glancing at each other and laughing.
"Well, now that we have an agreement, it's time you got to work."
"I shall serve you wholeheartedly, my lord," Bronn said with a ridiculously exaggerated noble bow.
"Me too," Chiggen added quickly.
"Good. Now check the horses. We're preparing to depart." Ian ordered Bronn.
"Hate to bother you, but we don't have any horses."
"I'll provide horses, of course, as well as better armor and weapons." Ian turned to Keith. "I temporarily left Ser Grayson's cavalry at the Blackwing castle. Go find a mail shirt suitable for Bronn." Chiggen won't need one, Ian added mentally, then turned back to Bronn.
"By the way," he said, "you look too much like your canon appearance. It'd be bad if you accidentally attracted other players from outside." "Go shave that beard, cut your hair, take a bath, and change into cleaner clothes."
"But—" Bronn started to object.
"There's extra pay for it." Ian interrupted, handing him a gold dragon.
"You truly are a refined lord." Bronn pocketed the coin and left with a grin.
Then Ian looked at Chiggen.
"I'll go pack my things now." Chiggen bowed quickly. He knew the employer came for Bronn and he was just along for the ride, so he didn't even mention extra coin. He turned and caught up with Bronn.
After a while, when the two emerged again, they were much cleaner and fresher, wearing new shirts provided by Masha.
(End of Chapter)
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