Chapter 56: Abandoned Fishing Village
"And you actually found them?" Ian asked.
"No, none of the men we sent to search around Whitewalls returned with anything." Wilder shook his head. "Instead, my son Roger stumbled upon something.
That was about ten days ago. He was returning from the Quiet Isle with four of his men—he'd gone there to pray." Ser Wilder paused, not continuing immediately.
Ian knew of the Quiet Isle. Legend claimed that two thousand years ago, a holy man visited the island, settled there, and left many sacred relics behind. People often journeyed there specifically to seek forgiveness or pray.
"Anyway," Ser Wilder continued, "Roger rowed back from the Quiet Isle and landed at the abandoned fishing village. After coming ashore, he encountered a group of men in the village, led by a knight.
Roger passed them without any interaction, but the moment he drew level with the knight, he noticed the man was missing his right forearm."
"I recall you fought a Whitewalls ghost knight and severed his right forearm, correct?" Ian immediately remembered.
"Exactly! Wait—when did I tell you about this?" Wilder asked in surprise.
"It's not important." Ian shook his head and urged, "Continue."
"Roger grew suspicious then, but he didn't dare act rashly since he wore no armor and they numbered seven men total. He thought he had no chance of winning.
After Roger left the abandoned fishing village, he stationed two men to watch the place, then rode to Willy's manor as fast as he could. As I said, the fishing village is only six leagues from here. I was present at the time. When I heard Roger's news, we immediately gathered over ten men and rode to the fishing village with Roger.
However, before we arrived, we met one of the two men Roger had left behind on the road. He hurried to report that a caravan of more than twenty people had entered the abandoned fishing village to join those already inside."
"Why would any legitimate caravan visit an abandoned fishing village?" Ian began to believe Ser Wilder's assessment.
"Precisely. I judged immediately that this was a Whitewalls ghost company, and they were moving the Blackfyre treasure to that fishing village." Ser Wilder nodded. "This was an excellent opportunity, but we lacked the forces to attack them. We dared not advance toward the fishing village in strength for fear of alerting them.
So I simply had Ser Willy wait with the guards while Roger took me alone to the abandoned fishing village. We found a concealed position to observe the men in the village, hoping to discover some way to break the stalemate." After Wilder finished, he looked at Ian.
"Why are you looking at me? Keep going," Ian said, puzzled.
"Oh, Ser Lucien, I simply thought you might have some unique insight." After Wilder spoke, he laughed.
"Continue, my friend, continue."
"In the fishing village, there are over thirty men counting both the knight's company and the caravan. We'd stand no chance in a direct fight. And since they're there, it means at least one ship will come for them. That makes our odds even worse.
I was nearly in despair.
However, just when I thought we'd lost the treasure, the caravan appeared again! They left the abandoned fishing village and headed west, toward the Kingsroad."
"They didn't transport all the treasure in one trip?" That was Ian's first thought.
"Yes, my assessment matched yours exactly."
"You said it was a caravan of over twenty men. How many wagons did they have?"
"Seven? Or eight? Regardless, it was a sizable caravan."
"Then here's the question—the so-called Blackfyre treasure we're discussing wasn't left by Daemon Blackfyre himself, but only by Lord Ambrose Butterwell of Whitewalls. How much wealth could he have hidden? Even a hundred thousand gold dragons weighs only about sixteen hundred pounds, which could be transported in two or three large chests."
"Seven save us, how could Lord Butterwell possibly have amassed so much gold? Most of the treasure he left should be silver stags, shouldn't it?" Ser Wilder rolled his eyes. Damn Lannisters who shit gold! Have you never seen silver in your life?
And a hundred thousand gold dragons? You're dreaming! If this treasure's worth twenty or thirty thousand gold dragons, that would be a blessing from the Seven. A hundred thousand? Why don't you go home and have Lord Tywin shit it out for you?
"Ah..." Ian rubbed his forehead awkwardly. It was because the system had given him three thousand gold dragons all at once, making him subconsciously treat them as common currency.
Right, if the treasure was silver stags or even copper coins, a caravan like this would need multiple trips to transport everything. After all, the exchange rate between gold dragons and silver stags in this world was a staggering one to two hundred ten.
But why does something still feel wrong? Ian asked himself. After long consideration, he couldn't pinpoint it, so he gave up. "Continue, ser."
"Did you just think of something?" Ser Wilder noticed Ian's expression. He valued Ian's judgment now, just as he'd always valued Blackwing's and Ser Simon's opinions. He'd learned to heed those with sharper minds.
"No." Ian shook his head. "I just sense something's off, but I haven't figured out what yet. Don't worry—if I work it out, I'll tell you immediately."
"Continue, Ser Wilder. Finish your tale," Ian urged again.
"Very well." Wilder nodded. "When I realized they hadn't moved all the treasure in one trip, I had two ideas. One was to immediately attack the abandoned fishing village and seize what treasure had already been delivered. The second was to send men to follow the caravan and discover where they'd hidden the rest."
"But you chose neither," Ian continued. If you had, you wouldn't be acting only now.
"You truly see everything, like the Crone herself descended." Ser Wilder sighed.
"Believe me, I'd rather hear praise comparing me to the Warrior." Ian rolled his eyes. "Continue—I think your story's nearly finished, isn't it?"
"Yes, just as you said, I chose neither option, because if we alert them, we won't recover the complete treasure."
(End of Chapter)
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