Chapter 189 Tyrosh
The *Kiss of the Breeze Goddess* sailed south. After nearly a week at sea, she finally crossed the Sea of Myr and approached Tyrosh, one of the nine Free Cities, situated on the northernmost of the Stepstones.
During the voyage, Ian fell into a steady routine: feeding his dragons, studying foreign languages, practicing his swordsmanship, and honing his shapeshifting abilities.
He also found time to speak with Celia and Rohr.
From Celia, he learned that her second main quest had been to become a high priestess of the Red God, a goal she had already accomplished back in Pentos.
Her third main quest, like Ian's, was a series of objectives. It primarily consisted of three parts: acquiring a certain number of followers, converting a number of high-ranking heathens—whether by persuasion or by force—and forming a holy order of at least B-rank quality.
Furthermore, the "epic victory" requirement from Ian's quest line was replaced in hers with the objective of destroying a religion with more than five hundred thousand followers, the fine print specifying that the remaining flock must number no more than five hundred. The sheer difficulty of her task made Ian wonder what the system would even consider an "epic victory." It certainly wouldn't be as simple as the standards in a game of *Total War*.
The objective to rule a city of half a million people, however, remained unchanged in Celia's quest. She had received the exact same task, which specified a spiritual rule in the manner the Papal States historically governed Rome, without retaining direct secular authority. This dashed Ian's hopes of earning double points for every city of that size they conquered.
Interestingly, although Celia's class was a priestess of the Red God, her mission did not require her to gather followers for R'hllor. On the contrary, the standard for her followers was that they must 'regard Celia as a representative of that god'.
In Ian's view, this wasn't so much a hint as a direct encouragement for players to become prophets and found their own religions. Theoretically, this was far more difficult than preaching for an established faith; it meant a player could expect no help from any existing church. But for Ian, it was hardly a problem. Secular support was paramount for missionary work.
As everyone knows, proselytizing by the sword is the most effective form of evangelism. With sufficient military victories, all of Celia's tasks could be easily solved. This was likely the entire point of player alliances. Cooperating across different domains to earn points was far more efficient than acting as a lone wolf, limited to a single sphere of influence.
From Rohr, Ian gained very little. Although Rohr had led men in the Disputed Lands, that had been a decade ago. In recent years, he had been wandering across Westeros, which was why Ian and Kase had found him there at the start of their journey. Rohr mentioned having some old friends in Myr and Tyrosh, but after ten years, Ian doubted they could even be found. He placed little value on such tenuous friendships.
Instead, he hoped his new captain, Kolu, could reclaim some of his former influence.
***
Shortly after Daeron informed him that they were approaching Tyrosh, Ian spotted the shadow of the port city on the horizon. As they drew closer to the coast, he could gradually make out the high walls protecting the city. From a distance, it looked like an indestructible fortress. It was said that the inner walls of Tyrosh were made of fused black dragonstone. Ian didn't know what dragonstone was, exactly, but his intuition told him it couldn't be dragonglass—obsidian could hardly be used to build a city wall.
Under Daeron's command, the *Kiss of the Breeze Goddess* methodically began to furl her sails, slowing to meet the inspection boat from the Tyroshi customs.
Ian's ship was laden with a cargo of miscellaneous goods that turned a modest profit. Celia had purchased the ship fully stocked; its previous owner had lacked the connections to acquire the lucrative cargoes monopolized by the powerful. The situation had been urgent at the time, so Ian hadn't bothered arranging for different cargo, simply letting it remain in the hold.
This turned out to be for the best. Compared to an empty ship or one carrying highly profitable goods, a vessel hauling simple sundries was the least likely to attract attention.
What Ian didn't expect was for reality to so quickly slap him in the face.
Just as the customs officers were finishing their inspection of the mundane goods in the cabin, Ian assumed they would lose interest, collect a small token, and be on their way. Instead, they demanded a bribe so large it would wipe out the entire voyage's profit.
Only then did Ian recall reading that the Tyroshi were famously greedy.
While Daeron negotiated with the customs officers, Ian watched from a short distance, not hurrying to intervene. A protection fee that would be sky-high for an ordinary captain was little more than pocket change to him now. The dilemma, however, was that paying such a sum would inevitably arouse suspicion, while refusing would certainly invite trouble.
The solution was to pay, but how to pay and how much to offer were questions Ian left to the expert. He stood aside silently, waiting for Daeron to handle it. It was Ian's style to let professionals deal with professional matters; in areas where he was ignorant, he was content to be humble.
Soon, the negotiation was complete. Daeron ended up paying half the amount the officer had demanded, mostly in silver stags, with only a few gold dragons and copper pennies mixed in. It was clear Daeron had come prepared.
After the customs officers departed and returned to their own boat, Ian approached Daeron.
"That was a much larger customs fee than I expected," Ian said in a low voice. "I thought paying a quarter or even a third of their asking price would have been enough. The profit margin on our cargo is thin. How could they demand such an exorbitant price?"
"It's precisely because our profits are low that these little sharks dare to blackmail us. The port is never short of ordinary captains like me," Daeron said with a helpless shrug. "With the ships that have real backing, they're all perfectly honest, clearing them through without a fuss. Otherwise, if one of Illyrio's captains complained to the Archon of Tyrosh, none of them would be able to keep their heads, let alone their jobs."
How very realistic, Ian thought with a dry laugh. He should have anticipated something like this, but for some reason, the possibility had simply slipped his mind.
*Is it because these small fry are no longer worthy of my notice?*
Ian's usual habit was to put himself in the shoes of every person he interacted with, to consider what he would do in their position, and then to speculate on every possibility based on their motives and circumstances. But he hadn't done that just now. He had only considered the problem from his own perspective.
The incident had no real consequences, but it served as a warning. Ian realized that with his growing power and status, he was becoming arrogant, perhaps inevitably so.
Arrogance was a dangerous affliction.
Taking a deep breath, Ian recalibrated his state of mind. He saw Daeron on the quarterdeck, directing the crew as they finished furling the sails and dropping the anchor. Waving Bronn and Dorian over, he gave his orders.
"Once we're docked, your mercenaries and all the sailors are to remain on board until I give the order."
"We can't go ashore?" Bronn was the first to object. "Do you know what Tyrosh is most famous for?"
He answered his own question a moment later. "Sellswords, slaves, and the pillow houses."
Chapter 190 News from Westeros
"We finally get to Tyrosh with a ship full of gold, and you're telling us we can't go ashore?" Bronn asked, his voice thick with disbelief.
"I need you on board, my friend," Ian said earnestly. "The sailors know the ship's secrets. It isn't time for the world to learn of the dragon's existence."
*The players already know, of course,* he thought, *but at least they can't be told exactly where the dragon is.*
"As compensation," Ian continued, "I can buy the slaves you need and bring them aboard." He glanced at Daenerys, seeing this as her first practical lesson on the matter of slavery. "But they can't leave the ship either. I need the two of you to oversee them."
"There are nearly two hundred sailors on this ship," Bronn complained. "I'm sure they won't like this order."
"And I'm sure you're the man to solve that problem."
"Fine," Bronn agreed without his usual demand for more coin. "I'll keep them as quiet as novices in a sept."
He wasn't short on money. Though the unrest in Pentos had cost him the thousand gold dragons promised by Prince Hazan, his generous new lord—Lord Darry, that was his name—was more than willing to pay. The generous Lord Darry had compensated him with five hundred gold dragons on Prince Hazan's behalf, ensuring the fight hadn't been for nothing.
These days, Bronn's desire for gold dragons was not as strong as it once was. He was more interested in the castle and the lordship Ian had promised him. And seeing the Targaryen queen with a living dragon, that promise no longer seemed so far-fetched.
Having secured Bronn's assurance, Ian turned to Dorian. He had no concerns about Dorian refusing; the young man had executed his orders faithfully since the day he swore his oath.
"Of course, my lord," Dorian agreed at once. He then added, "But I must correct a slip of the tongue. The Black Falcons are not a mercenary company. We are your personal guard. We swore our allegiance to you at the Sept of the Stranger."
Ian was stunned for a moment, then laughed aloud.
Dorian was only two years older than him—well, two years older than his current body. When Ian first met him at the Inn at the Crossroads, he was still a reckless youth. He hadn't expected him to be capable of such a speech now.
*It seems that spending time with me has made everyone a little smarter,* he mused.
"Yes, you're right. My mistake. You are my personal guard," Ian nodded. "Kneel," he commanded, drawing his sword.
Dorian looked confused, but he knelt.
"One knee, my friend," Ian said, resisting the urge to facepalm.
Dorian understood then and quickly adjusted his posture.
"Dorian Blackfalcon," Ian announced, placing the flat of the blade on Dorian's right shoulder. "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just." He moved the sword to Dorian's left shoulder. "Arise, Ser Dorian. I name you captain of my personal guard. You shall have the right to choose a coat of arms for your house."
"I swear my life in loyalty to you," Dorian declared, striking his left breast twice with a clenched fist before rising to his feet.
"You too, Bronn. Kneel," Ian said, turning to the sellsword.
"Me?" Bronn shrugged, looking less than thrilled, but after a moment's thought, he decided a new title couldn't hurt. He knelt.
"In the name of the Warrior—"
"I don't hold with the Seven, my lord," Bronn interrupted bluntly. "Can we find a quicker way?"
"Fine," Ian said, not the least bit angered. He didn't believe in the Seven either; the oaths were purely for the sense of ceremony. "In my own name, Ian of House Darry, I command you to execute my orders and kill my enemies."
"That's what I've been doing all along."
"Then rise, Ser Bronn."
Ian concluded the brief investiture ceremony. Leaving most of his people on the ship, he disembarked with only Roel, Case, and Celia. After asking the dock guards for the location of the largest tavern near the port, they set off.
Walking through the streets, Ian suddenly felt as though he'd wandered into a madhouse. The city was deafeningly loud, and the people moved with exaggerated gestures. They had dyed their hair and beards in a riot of colors—blue, maroon, pink, purple, scarlet, and green.
Although they knew green hair held no special meaning in Tyroshi culture, Ian and Celia couldn't help but laugh in unison when they saw it.
They passed through the bustling dock district and quickly turned onto a street overlooking the river, where they found a three-story wooden building. This was the place the guard had mentioned, the largest inn outside the port of Tyrosh—the 'Three Songs' Inn.
Without hesitating, Ian and his companions entered and found an empty table. A serving man approached to take their order. Ian casually requested four flagons of the local wine and settled in to wait.
He didn't need to find Kolu's specific location. Experience told him that he only needed to arrive at the agreed-upon place; his contact would find him.
As Ian waited, however, the conversation from the mercenaries at the next table caught his ear.
"There's a war brewing in Westeros. We could try our luck there."
"Come off it. How much can those poor lords in Westeros pay? Better to wait for the war in the Disputed Lands to start up again. Myr's already signed a contract with the Golden Company. I bet you the war will restart in less than half a year."
"This time's different. I heard that Lord Tywin shits gold."
"Who's Tywin?"
"You don't know? The Duke of Casterly Rock, the man who owns half the gold mines in the west. The king of Westeros has summoned all his vassals to march against him. Think what a man like that will pay for sellswords to save his skin."
"Are you mad? The king summons every lord in the country to attack him and you want to join the fight? You might live long enough to take his golden shit, but you won't live long enough to spend it."
"My friends," a young, blond man's voice interrupted the two mercenaries. Ian leaned toward their table. "Could you tell me more about what has happened in Westeros?"
He placed two silver stags on the table. "Don't worry, I won't let you talk for free."
"Of course, my friend," the mercenary said, snatching the coins. He began to share the rumors with gusto. "You won't believe it, but the Queen of Westeros was caught fucking her own brother in Winterfell! The king beat her to death on the spot, and her brother, the son of the Duke of Casterly Rock, fled like a coward. So…"
Listening to the mercenary's tale, Ian pieced together the situation.
It was simple. Another group of players had used the lynchpin of the entire plot—Bran discovering Jaime and Cersei's incest—to brutally subvert the Westerosi timeline. It was the exact same strategy he would have employed.
After all, for any player who had gained an advantage, it was the most logical choice. Destroying the established plot was the best way to neutralize the advantage other players had from knowing the original story. It would render all their future plans useless.
Chapter 191 Slave Cognition Lesson
"Retrieve my ship?" Koru looked surprised when he heard Ian's order. "That is impossible, my lord." He quickly explained, "I sold my ship three months ago and dismissed the entire crew."
"And the money from the sale?"
"I gave it all to my crewmen as severance pay."
*So there are no loopholes to exploit*, Ian thought. He tugged at the corner of his lip and asked with a final glimmer of hope, "Then can you still find any of your trustworthy former subordinates?"
"Perhaps. I don't know," Koru said, shaking his head. "Most of them would have found work on other ships by now. There might be some still in Tyrosh. I would have to search for them to know for sure."
"We will stay in Tyrosh for three days at most. In that time, I want you to find and recruit as many of your trustworthy former crewmen as you can," Ian ordered. "At the same time, I need you to find me a large galley with more than two hundred oars. I intend to purchase it. I'll have Darren assist you."
"Yes, my lord," Koru acknowledged.
Afterward, Ian led his men from the inn and went to a Lust Garden to buy the slaves he had promised to Bronn and the others. With no other business in Tyrosh, he then returned to the ship.
When the sailors saw Ian return with a group of slaves, an uproar rippled through the men who had been forbidden from going ashore. Ian could see the simmering dissatisfaction in their eyes.
But when he announced that the slaves had been purchased for all of them, the anger and resentment instantly transformed into thunderous cheers.
Amid the celebration, Ian walked to an empty section of the deck, waiting to see how Daenerys would react.
"Tell me," Celia said, having followed him. She waited until she was certain no one could hear them before speaking. "What good would exposing Jaime and Cersei's adultery in advance do for the players?"
"It would mean Robert declares war on the Westerlands, wouldn't it? If Robert doesn't die, his brothers won't rebel. Littlefinger wouldn't dare provoke Lysa Tully into refusing the king's summons. Casterly Rock couldn't possibly resist an attack from the other six kingdoms combined," Ian mused. "And if the Lannisters fall, many castles in the Westerlands will be up for grabs. If a player joins the war on Robert's side, they might be granted one."
"That's not enough," Celia countered, shaking her head. "Even if they get a castle in the Westerlands, once the Lannisters—a primary source of chaos—are removed, it would be much harder for Westeros to descend into a full-scale war. What trouble could they stir up from a small castle in a time of peace?"
"Unless…" Ian's eyes narrowed in thought. "What they want to take is Casterly Rock itself."
"How is that possible? In a war that's a guaranteed victory for the crown, they could never accomplish a feat of that magnitude. And even if they did, in Westeros, where bloodlines mean everything, the lords of the Seven Kingdoms would never agree to let an upstart take Casterly Rock."
"And who am I?" Ian asked simply.
"Ian Darry." Celia immediately understood his point.
"My family has a history of six thousand years. What's to stop them from inventing a ten-thousand-year-old bloodline for themselves? Besides, even without a lineage, players can always find other ways. Weren't the Lannisters themselves founded by a clever trickster?" Ian sighed. "I just didn't expect them to move so quickly. Time is running short."
"This is the advantage of a player alliance. They can work on several fronts at once to execute a plan far more complex than any single person could manage," Celia whispered. "And cooperation makes completing tasks much easier." She gave him a knowing look. "By the way, do you know how we got our start back at the beginning?"
"How could I possibly know?" Ian resisted the urge to roll his eyes, though his curiosity was piqued. He had broken out by securing the first kill, laying the foundation for his rise to the top of the leaderboard. But until the end of his journey to Pentos, he hadn't gained a decisive advantage over the other players. How had the other top players managed it?
"I wasn't expecting an answer," Celia laughed. "I still remember when we first started. We were almost helpless against the difficulty of the main quest. It was nearly impossible for players with nothing to their names to complete it in time. But when we gathered to brainstorm a way to break the stalemate, we realized we could exploit a bug."
*Just like a player*, Ian thought, *the first thing that comes to mind is how to cheat the mission.*
"Because Gini Taime started as a merchant, he had an initial capital of one hundred gold dragons. One of my mercenary teammate's three starting quests was to rob one hundred gold dragons."
"So you had him rob Gini Taime?" Ian was slightly dumbfounded. "Isn't that just a mission deliberately designed for allied players to exploit?"
"Yes. Just like that, the mercenary earned three points for the main quest. He lent one point to me and one to Gini Taime, and the three of us essentially guaranteed that we wouldn't be in the bottom ranks after the first month. After that, we could act more freely and focus on getting close to Daenerys."
"Are you suggesting I give you greater authority?" Ian raised an eyebrow.
"I'm hoping you'll give me more trust."
"As long as a certain queen isn't watching, I trust you unconditionally, my dear," Ian said, reaching out to pinch Celia's cheek.
"Daenerys is behind you," Celia said with a sly smile.
Ian's hand froze for a second. What Celia hadn't expected was that Ian, with brazen arrogance, would lean in and kiss her, knowing full well that Daenerys was watching.
"Lord Darry?"
It wasn't until Daenerys's voice called out that Ian finally released Celia.
"Oh, Your Majesty. What brings you here?" Ian turned around as if nothing had happened and offered the queen a polite bow.
"I…" Daenerys had come to speak with Ian about the slaves, but the scene she had just witnessed had left her so upset that the words she had prepared vanished from her mind.
"Did you have an order for me?"
Only when Ian asked again did Daenerys remember her purpose. "I heard you brought a group of bed slaves aboard?"
"Life at sea is dull and tedious. To protect the secret of the dragons, I've forbidden the sailors from disembarking, so I promised to find them some entertainment. It's an effective way to prevent mutiny and riots," Ian said, deliberately exaggerating the slaves' importance.
"This…" Daenerys genuinely hesitated.
Ian's assessment had been correct. Having grown up wandering the Free Cities, Daenerys was accustomed to the existence of slavery. The reason she had come to speak with Ian was that, in her own mind, she was their queen. Her kind nature compelled her to do something for these slaves. But the moment Ian mentioned serious words like 'mutiny' and 'riot,' she immediately faltered.
Chapter 192 Tyrion
***
In the stories, Daenerys's fury had always been ignited by visceral sights. She had commanded Khal Drogo to give up his spoils after witnessing the rape and slaughter of the Lhazareen. She had unleashed the Unsullied upon Astapor after seeing the cruelty of the Good Masters, who made their soldiers kill newborn babes. She had nailed the Great Masters of Meereen to posts as repayment for the slave children they had crucified along the roads.
But none of that was happening on Ian's ship.
Here, the slaves showed no signs of resistance or suffering. The word 'slave' alone, stripped of immediate, visible horror, was not enough to awaken the righteous fury in Daenerys's Targaryen blood.
And so, she relented, dropping her demand that Ian free them.
Seeing this, Ian knew his goal had been achieved. So long as the slaves were not subjected to inhumane torture, getting Daenerys to acquiesce to the existence of slavery under her rule had been his initial plan.
"In addition," Ian said, pretending not to notice the conflict in her eyes, "I also purchased two female slaves for you, to serve as handmaidens. We left Pentos in such a hurry that we brought no servants, but as a queen, you cannot be without attendants."
"Oh?" A blush crept up Daenerys's cheeks. She suddenly remembered the maids Illyrio had bought for her, and the lessons they had taught.
"Your Majesty, are you feeling unwell?"
"No, it's nothing." Daenerys shook her head quickly, realizing that Lord Darry had meant no such thing. She was no longer a commodity to be sold by Viserys in exchange for an army; she was the Queen of Westeros, the Mother of Dragons. She did not have to marry a khal, and she certainly did not have to learn how to please anyone.
But then, she recalled Ian's earlier jest: *"You can give yourself to me in exchange for the army."*
*Infuriating!* To think she had hesitated for days over his proposal. Daenerys's eyes flickered toward Celia, and the more she thought, the angrier she became.
"If there is nothing else, I will take my leave." Forgetting that she had been the one to seek him out, Daenerys bid a hasty farewell and departed.
"Your queen seems angry," Celia observed, looking at Ian with an interested glint in her eyes.
"I'll wager a pouch of peppered jerky that she's angry with *you*," Ian replied with a shrug.
Celia paused for a moment, then the realization dawned. She cursed under her breath, "You truly are a scoundrel."
"Alright, I have a new task for you. I want you to build a good relationship with Daenerys. And once you have, tell our little queen the story of Aegon the Conqueror."
"You mean about his dragon? Balerion the Black Dread lived for over a century and could swallow a mammoth whole. Our dragon is nothing compared to him."
"I was talking about his two wives, Visenya and Rhaenys," Ian corrected her.
"What?" Celia asked, confused. "Are you planning to give me a title?" She couldn't imagine Ian would do something like that.
"No," Ian shook his head, as expected. "I just want Daenerys to know that for a conqueror, having two wives is quite normal. By that logic, having a mistress is an even smaller matter. A triviality, really."
"What in the seven hells?"
"I told you, I'm not going to be secretive about this. Rather than letting it become a nasty surprise in the future, it's better to let her accept the idea on her own terms."
"And what if she can't accept it?"
"Then I suppose I'll just have to stop our 'language lessons'," Ian said with a sly grin. "How terrible. She can consider herself the victor in her little competition with you."
Celia was speechless.
***
## The North
Three days out from Winterfell, the kingsroad had dwindled into a track not much wider than a forest path. The farmlands had vanished, replaced by dense, deep woods, and the people had become few and far between.
By the fifth day, the hills alongside the road had become mountains, rising like grey and blue giants crowned with old snow and jagged rock.
A party of fewer than twenty men traveled this road, making for Castle Black.
Before leaving King's Landing with the king's procession, Tyrion had sworn he would one day visit the legendary Wall, stand at its base, and piss off its seven-hundred-foot height, just to see if the cold winter wind would freeze his cock off.
He never imagined his wish would come true quite like this.
Tyrion had always suspected the rumors about his brother and sister, but he had still been shocked when Ser Boros Blount had suddenly seized him and told him everything was true.
Then he was brought before Robert. In the courtyard of Winterfell, he saw his sister's body with his own eyes. Robert's furious fists had nearly caved her head in. The sight was ghastly, her once hateful face now a bloody ruin.
Tyrion had nearly been sick, but he knew it wasn't the time. The enraged king had wanted to kill all the hateful "little devils" to purge the evil from his heart.
Fortunately, there was the ever-upright Lord Eddard. Tyrion swore it was the first time in his life he had ever found Eddard Stark so agreeable. The honorable, noble, and just Lord Stark had stopped Robert's indiscriminate rage and suggested that His Grace allow the criminals to take the black.
*Wait… criminals?* Tyrion thought to himself. *I take back everything I just thought about Eddard Stark being noble.*
A criminal. Tyrion had no idea what crime he had committed. Was it that his surname was Lannister? Or that he was a dwarf?
Probably because he was a dwarf named Lannister.
If he were not the latter, he wouldn't have been implicated at all. If he were not the former, he would have been taken as a hostage to threaten his father, Tywin, not given a choice between death and the black.
Tyrion raised his head and surveyed his companions. There were only a dozen men in this company heading for Castle Black.
At the front rode Benjen Stark, Lord Eddard's brother and First Ranger of the Night's Watch. A man who had joined that legion of liars, thieves, and rapists out of a sense of honor.
Behind Benjen was another deluded fool, Jon Snow. He had no idea what the Night's Watch truly was, thinking only of so-called honor. If the business with Jaime and Cersei had never happened, Tyrion had planned to teach the silly boy a lesson on the road. Dwarfs and bastards shared a certain kinship, after all. But now, he no longer had the heart for it.
As for the third of his highborn companions, Tyrion looked on with a measure of pity.
Joffrey had no idea what it meant to go to Castle Black. He didn't even know that his mother had been killed by the man he called father. To him, this was just a journey, one he had to make because the king had ordered it.
Along the way, Joffrey was as arrogant as ever, fiddling with his sword, Lion's Tooth. He did not know that Castle Black would be the end of his road. From this day forward, the warm south, the splendor of King's Landing, and the thorny Iron Throne would be lost to him forever.
Tyrion did not enlighten him. Once they reached Castle Black, there would be plenty of men willing to help with his education.
Finally, Tyrion's gaze fell on Tommen.
He was the only one in the group for whom Tyrion felt true sorrow. Tommen had always been a good boy. It was a pity that while Eddard Stark had persuaded Robert to spare the lives of Cersei's three children, he could not persuade him to keep them near.
In the end, Robert had decreed that Joffrey and Tommen would be sent to the Wall, while Myrcella was to be sent back to King's Landing to become a septa in the Great Sept of Baelor.
*I just hope Tommen can withstand the northern cold and the hardships of the Night's Watch.*
*I just hope I can withstand it,* Tyrion thought with a sneer.
If nothing else went wrong, he would likely spend the rest of his life freezing in this barren, cold land. He wondered if there were whores at the Wall. If his 'little brother' were to freeze solid, it would be a great loss to the brothels of the world.
The only good news was that the Night's Watch would most likely not make a dwarf a ranger, so at least he could live out his days atop the Wall.
"Attack!" a horseman shouted, shattering Tyrion's thoughts.
He looked up and saw a horde of wildlings rushing out from the woods by the road.
*And so the histories turn, focusing only on those scenes witnessed by players of consequence, on moments that shape the great narrative. The quiet struggles and private schemes of lesser actors are seldom recorded, lest the scrolls grow too long with tales that do not concern the queen and the dragon.*
Chapter 193 Dream Copy
On his first night in Tyrosh, Ian returned to his room and logged into the system, ready to investigate the Dream Dungeon he had obtained from an advanced achievement.
While at sea, Ian hadn't dared to open the dungeon, fearing some unforeseen complication. Now that they were safely docked, he had time to spare.
Ian found the Dream Dungeon scroll in his data card, but when he couldn't find a description on it, he commanded the system assistant, "Explain what this Dream Dungeon scroll is."
"After using this scroll, players can choose a difficulty, and they will receive a random Dream Dungeon of that difficulty. Players can enter the dungeon by falling asleep. After clearing it, they can obtain high-grade rewards related to the dungeon's content. The higher the difficulty, the more generous the rewards will be. Different Dream Dungeons have different rules and clearance conditions, which players will learn after obtaining them," Annie read out the rules one by one.
"What happens if I'm woken up after entering the dungeon?" Ian continued to ask.
"Different Dream Dungeons have different rules. For exploration-type dungeons, players can enter multiple times, and the total time spent in the dream is cumulative. For challenge-type dungeons, players can only enter once. Waking up mid-dungeon results in an automatic failure," Annie explained.
"Is it possible for players to encounter danger in a Dream Dungeon?"
"Each dungeon has different rules, but in principle, the danger is related to the difficulty chosen by the player. Generally speaking, only Nightmare-difficulty dungeons can cause substantial harm to players. Other difficulties can, at most, leave a player with psychological trauma."
"How can substantial harm be caused? Isn't it just a dream?" Ian was confused.
"In the world of ice and fire, dreams hold a special status. Many ancient beings possess the power to influence dreams. The more complex the dream, the more likely it is to attract their attention and, thus, their interference."
Hearing this, Ian was inexplicably reminded of the scene from the show where Bran spied on the Night King through a weirwood vision, only to be grabbed and marked on the arm. Although a 'vision' isn't a dream, they serve very similar functions in the world of ice and fire. It was hard to say whether those 'beings' could accomplish the same thing through a dream.
"But…" Ian began, a strange thought occurring to him, "can't the dream worlds constructed by the system insulate me from such things?"
He regretted the question as soon as he asked it. The answer was obvious. Letting those so-called gods or demigods become part of the challenge in a Nightmare-difficulty Dream Dungeon was precisely the sort of twisted logic the developers would use.
Sure enough, the AI assistant Annie gave no answer to his question.
Ian said no more and clicked on the scroll.
[Please choose the dream difficulty: Easy / Medium / Hard / Nightmare]
Ian safely clicked on [Hard]. Although the rewards for this level were surely not as good as Nightmare, at least there was no physical danger. This was his first time trying one of these, after all. Ian had no intention of showing off, and since his current progress was going well, there was no need to seek out unnecessary risks.
The next moment, information about the Dream Dungeon Ian had received appeared before him.
[Name: Inner Demon Maze
Difficulty: Hard
Type: Exploration
Rules:
# Players have a total of 72 hours of exploration time. Players can re-enter the dungeon every time they fall asleep.
# Players have unlimited resurrections within the dream.
# Players can choose to resurrect at any previously experienced point in time, but all time spent by the player will be counted toward the total.
Clearance Conditions: Unknown]
This did not look easy. Ian felt a little helpless. Although the dungeon allowed for infinite resurrections and even rewinding time, that usually meant the challenge itself was incredibly difficult.
*Well, I chose the difficulty myself,* he thought. *I can't complain if it isn't a walk in the park.*
Without further hesitation, Ian lay down, closed his eyes, and entered the dream.
A sharp whistle of pierced air shot past his ear. Ian's eyes snapped open to see an arrow quivering in the bone-white weirwood pillar beside him, no more than two inches from his head.
He didn't have time to think, only to react, and he instinctively scrambled for the cover of a street corner. In his field of vision, the hunter who had just shot at him was already drawing his bow again. He had no desire to die in the first few seconds.
Ian had only taken a few steps when the sound of slicing air reached his ears again. Unfortunately, this wasn't one of those scenes from a show where the hero gets conveniently winged. He felt a jarring impact in his shoulder, and then his balance gave out, sending him tumbling to the ground.
The severe pain he expected did not come. Instead, his senses were overwhelmed by a foul stench.
He pushed himself up and looked around. He was lying in a pile of corpses. A dead man's entrails were draped over him, and his face was slick with a mixture of blood, stomach bile, and other unidentifiable fluids.
"Disgusting. Damn it! What the hell is this dungeon?" Ian's stomach churned, but he forced himself not to vomit.
He stood up and took stock of his surroundings.
Soon, he recognized the place. This was the saltpan outside Lord Harroway's Town. The night was quiet, with no sound other than the chirping of cicadas on the wind.
"So this is the Inner Demon Maze? This place is supposed to be my inner demon?" Ian scoffed. He started to walk forward, corpses littering the ground everywhere. He had no idea what the clearance conditions could possibly be.
As he lifted his leg, he tripped over something. Looking down, he saw the face of the merchant player, Harui.
Harui's body was a bloody mess, his clothes torn to shreds. His head was severed from his neck and was resting on his stomach, but his cloudy, dilated pupils were fixed on Ian.
Ian suddenly recalled the last look in Harui's eyes—a look full of anger and fear. The memory was irritating, but there was nothing he could do. The thing before him was just a corpse.
Then, in a daze, Ian saw Harui's body twitch. The corpse began to rise, holding its own head, and the bloodless face twisted into a sneer.
Ian sneered back, immediately drawing his sword and slashing down. He didn't enjoy desecrating corpses, but for an abomination like this, he would not hesitate.
His blade swung true, and the reanimated corpse of Harui was cleaved in two.
The next moment, Ian's vision flashed. A sharp pain bloomed in his shoulder. He looked down and saw the conical head of an arrow had pierced clean through, staining half his body red with blood.
He collapsed, and the scene around him shifted back to where he had begun. Judging from the milky-white buildings, he could guess this was the white-walled city before its destruction.
Footsteps sounded in front of him. Ian raised his head and saw the man who had shot him approaching. A hideous scar ran from his neck to his lower abdomen, stark against his bare chest.
Seeing the man's face, Ian smiled grimly.
So it was him—the first player he had ever killed. A man who didn't even deserve a name.
---
⭐ $5 Tier – Early Access!
Stay 50 chapters ahead of public releases on RoyalRoad, Webnovel, and Scribble Hub.
Latest available chapter: 255.
⭐ $10 Tier – Super Early Access!
Stay 110 chapters ahead of public releases on RoyalRoad, Webnovel, and Scribble Hub.
Latest available chapter: 315.
📖 Chapters are uploaded as soon as they're completed, so you'll always stay ahead of the curve.
💖 By joining, you'll be directly supporting the story while enjoying exclusive early access.
🔗 Patreon link is in My Profile/About.
⚠️ Please select your membership carefully, as I have multiple novels ongoing.
🍎 If you're on Apple, consider subscribing through your browser instead — it's cheaper for you, and I'll receive payments faster.