Coin sounded different when you'd earned it.
Not the clink itself—that never changed—but the way it sat against the body. Heavier. More deliberate. Every step I took back through King's Landing, the purse at my hip reminded me that today had not been a dream spun up by adrenaline and cheering crowds.
The city felt altered.
Not transformed—King's Landing never changed for one man—but subtly adjusted, like a room where the furniture had been moved while you weren't looking.
People looked at me now.
Not openly. Not foolishly.
But heads turned. Conversations stalled. Eyes followed the line of the greatsword at my back and slid up to my face with new calculation.
Recognition.
That was more dangerous than anonymity.
The Gold Cloaks at the nearest junction noticed too. Three of them stood half in shadow, helmets tucked under their arms, posture loose in the way of men who knew the streets belonged to them. As I passed, one straightened.
"Evening," he said.
Not hey you.
Not hold there.
Evening.
"Evening," I replied, not slowing.
He didn't stop me. None of them did. I felt their eyes on my back until the noise of the street swallowed me again.
Word traveled fast in King's Landing.
Especially when the king laughed.
The Copper Gull was louder than usual, its common room swollen with bodies and heat and rumor. Someone had hung fresh cloth near the hearth—cheap but clean—already trying to dress the place up for the attention. The air buzzed with retellings, each version a little wilder than the last.
"He spun through five men at once—"
"—no, seven—"
"—cut a blade clean in half—"
"—king himself stood up—"
I pushed through without comment.
Marra saw me immediately.
She didn't wave. Didn't call out. Just met my eyes from behind the bar and tipped her head once, toward the stairs.
I took a seat first.
Let them see me settle in like I belonged.
Let the story catch up to the man.
Ale appeared at my elbow without me asking. I drank half of it in one go, feeling the tension finally start to bleed out of my shoulders. The system stayed quiet. No new prompts. No sudden rewards flashing across my vision.
That, more than anything, made it real.
When the crowd thinned just enough, Marra wiped her hands on a cloth and came around the bar.
"Upstairs," she said simply.
I followed.
The room she led me to was not the one I'd been staying in. This one was larger, cleaner, the window shuttered tight. A candle burned low on the table, its flame steady.
She closed the door behind us.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Up close, she smelled faintly of smoke and herbs, the kind of scent that came from a life spent near kitchens and hearths. She studied me without hurry, eyes moving over my face, my armor now marked with the day's work, the dried flecks of blood I hadn't yet scrubbed away.
"Well," she said at last. "You didn't die."
"I set a low bar," I replied.
That earned a quiet laugh.
"You also didn't kill anyone," she added. "People noticed that."
"I noticed it too."
She leaned back against the table, folding her arms—not defensively, just comfortably. "That wasn't fear out there today. Not all of it. Some of it was… consideration."
"That's worse."
She smiled. "You learn fast."
I reached into my pouch and set a small stack of coins on the table—just enough to be noticeable, not enough to boast.
"Room for the week," I said. "And whatever trouble comes with my name now."
Marra glanced at the coins, then back to me. "You think trouble's included in the price?"
"I think it's unavoidable."
Her gaze sharpened at that. "Good answer."
She swept the coins up without counting them. "You'll keep the same room. Less conspicuous. This one stays mine."
"Disappointed," I said mildly.
"Liar," she shot back, but there was warmth in it now. "And don't mistake tonight for an invitation."
"I wouldn't."
She stepped closer, just inside arm's reach. Close enough that I could see the faint lines at the corners of her eyes—laugh lines, not worries.
"Men like you," she said quietly, "don't get to stay uncomplicated for long."
"I was never uncomplicated."
"That's the first honest thing you've said tonight."
She held my gaze for a heartbeat longer, then turned away, opening the door.
"Get some rest, Garen Storm," she said over her shoulder. "We'll talk tomorrow."
The door closed softly behind me.
I stood there for a moment longer, listening to the sounds of the inn seep back in through the walls. Laughter. Footsteps. A city digesting a story it hadn't finished telling yet.
Outside, the Red Keep loomed unseen but present, a crown pressing down on the life below it.
I returned to my room and finally stripped off the armor, setting each piece down with care. My body felt heavy now, fatigue settling in properly for the first time since morning. I sat on the bed, rolled my shoulders, and let out a slow breath.
Coin.
Reputation.
Attention.
All things I'd wanted.
All things that attracted knives.
As I lay back and stared at the ceiling, the system stirred—not intrusively, not brightly—but with quiet acknowledgment.
[STATUS UPDATE] Reputation: Established (Local)
• Funds: Significantly Increased
• Threat Level: Elevated
"Fair trade," I murmured.
Somewhere below, King's Landing carried on, already looking for the next thing to consume.
And now, I was on the menu.