The order confused everyone, but the farmers were used to doing what nobles told them. They walked over without a word and started packing the crates.
"M'lord, what's all this for?" Griff asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.
Leo gave him a flat look. "Don't ask questions that aren't your business. I pay sellswords to work, not to interrogate me."
Griff shut his mouth, face tight.
Varyn, standing nearby, stayed smart and silent. He followed orders without prying. Leo liked that.
Leo caught Varyn's eye and headed back into the inn. Varyn followed right behind. As they passed Griff, Varyn shot him a quick, mocking glance. Griff's expression soured even more.
Up in his room on the second floor, Leo pointed at the table. "You've been running around all morning. Eat something."
Cured venison, hard bread, and a jug of Northrend honey mead waited there.
Varyn didn't hesitate. He sat down and dug in. The moment he bit into the venison and took a swig of the golden mead, his eyes lit up.
He'd never tasted anything like it. The sweet, rich honey wine was smoother and better than anything he'd ever drunk.
"M'lord… what is this?"
"Specialty from my homeland. Good, right?"
"Better than good! I'd swear it beats Arbor gold from the Reach!"
Leo smiled, satisfied.
He'd discovered yesterday that he could summon the Traveler's Tundra Mammoth and the Grand Expedition Yak mounts—and the NPC vendors riding them came along too. That meant he could buy their goods and store them in his bag. These were the exact items he'd pulled out for breakfast.
He'd called Varyn up here to test whether the food and drink would actually appeal to Westerosi tastes.
Looked like it passed with flying colors. If it really was better than Arbor gold, he could make serious coin selling Northrend honey mead later. The other vendor items might turn into steady money too.
A single large jug only cost him fifty copper back in the game.
"Enough small talk," Leo said. "I brought you up here for something important."
Varyn straightened at once, face serious.
"You already know my men and servants crossed countless seas to reach Westeros with me. We got caught in a storm at the very end and were scattered."
"The few of us who made it ashore at Massey's Hook got lost in the Kingswood on the way to King's Landing. That's when the damn bandits hit us. They killed my servants and stole several chests of my valuables."
"I intend to wipe every last one of those bastards out. That's why I came to this inn and hired all of you."
Varyn shot to his feet and bowed low. "M'lord, your command is my duty. Varyn Storm swears by the Seven—I will not fail you."
"Good." Leo clapped him on the shoulder. "Sit down and finish eating. When you're done, bring me five trustworthy sellswords. I've got something for them."
"No need, m'lord—I'm full. I'll fetch them right now!"
Varyn bolted out the door and thundered down the stairs.
A few minutes later he returned with five men. The moment they stepped inside, their eyes went wide. Seven or eight full suits of chainmail lay neatly on the floor.
"These are…?"
"Armor for you. Pick whichever set fits best. Once you've got it on, throw a robe over it so no one outside sees the mail."
"Yes, m'lord!"
The men were visibly excited.
In Westeros, a decent suit of chainmail with greaves and a full helm cost a small fortune. In the stories, even a plain set ran about four gold dragons—over eight hundred silver stags.
Sellswords like Varyn and the others lived one fight at a time. They drank their pay the same day they earned it. Most couldn't afford anything better than patched leather. A real metal harness was every sellsword's dream.
With proper armor they'd be far harder to kill and a hell of a lot more effective. Mail turned an even fight into a slaughter.
And now this generous lord was handing them full sets for free.
They chose quickly, pulled the mail over their clothes, then layered their old tunics and ragged robes on top. Unless someone touched them, no one would know they were armored underneath.
The sets came straight from Leo's transmog collection. The system let him pull out mounts and cosmetic gear, but anything with real magic refused to come through. No Ashbringer or fiery legendaries here—just plain, basic chainmail.
Leo had picked the cheapest, most ordinary sets on purpose. These men were temporary hires, but for the fight ahead he wanted them as safe and effective as possible.
"I'm giving you this armor on Varyn's recommendation to keep the journey safer," Leo told them. "I expect you to honor your oaths as sellswords. Don't make me regret it."
"We won't, m'lord!" they answered eagerly, too thrilled by the gift to wonder where the hell the armor had come from.
Varyn had questions too—he'd been in this room earlier and seen no mail—but he kept his mouth shut. Orders first, questions later.
"Alright, head back down. Keep the armor hidden. Once the innkeeper finishes buying the vegetables and supplies, we move out."
"Yes, m'lord!"