Chapter 88: The Advantage Is Mine
Ian quickly assembled the forces within the Dragonpit, including Dorian the Black Falcon and his twenty-odd men, along with Captain Quhuru Mo of the Cinnamon Wind and his dozen sailors.
Since Ian had already prepared for potential conflict at the Dragonpit, everyone who'd arrived had brought their full equipment. At Ian's command, they quickly armed themselves.
"Take off your plate armor and give it to them," Ian said, glancing at Black Falcon's less-equipped sellswords before addressing Roel and Kes.
"What about us?" Roel asked.
"You two will wear your original plate armor, and I, since my build is quite similar to Ser Jonothor Darry's, will wear his Kingsguard plate armor."
"We're not disguising ourselves anymore?"
"At this point, there's no use in disguises," Ian shook his head.
The Pentos player alliance had already set their sights on the Stranger's Temple. If Ian engaged them in battle, it would undoubtedly draw the attention of every player in Flea Bottom.
If that's the case, why bother pretending?
Now all the cards were on the table.
How many players were hiding in Flea Bottom? He didn't know.
What methods did the ghost in Flea Bottom use to hunt players? He didn't know that either.
But did it matter? This was a battle royale game, not a mystery game. What mattered to him was securing the treasure chest, not uncovering the truth.
No matter what schemes the hunters employed, everything was futile in the face of overwhelming force.
Ian's plan was simple—brute force.
It was the 28th day of the game. He'd already claimed the largest chunk of the system-provided resources through the First Blood Quest, so the resource ceiling for other players was calculable.
Killing a few players would earn you some points and attribute points.
Completing [Main Quest One] would also earn you some points, skill points, and attribute points.
At most, you'd need to add one medium-level or lower trigger quest to reach the maximum difficulty threshold. After all, even something as challenging as [The Truth Behind Black Falcon's Death] was rated as medium difficulty. Ian figured a "hard" trigger quest would be something like capturing a castle.
In short, the resources players had received during this period didn't include significant funds, meaning they could only improve their own strength but couldn't build a serious military force.
Of course, even if they had the coin, whether they'd dare to recruit large numbers of sellswords to hunt for treasure would be questionable.
After all, honorable sellswords like Kemmett were rare, and whether regular sellswords would be able to resist such enormous temptation was a serious concern.
While Ian currently had a substantial force, his troops were divided into three groups: the Black Falcon sellswords, the sailors aboard the Cinnamon Wind, his new squire Denzel and the sellsword company, and the mercenaries led by Grantham.
From their perspectives, they all believed the other two groups were absolutely loyal to Ser Lucien. After all, Denzel was Ser Lucien's squire, Dorian the Black Falcon had personally sworn fealty to him, and the Cinnamon Wind's captain, Quhuru Mo, was a close friend of Ser Lucien's father.
These three groups kept each other in check, allowing Ian to easily command the whole without fear of mutiny.
As for the other players, how could they possibly command the respect of whatever sellswords they'd found?
If nothing unexpected had occurred, the dozen or so skilled fighters brought by this player alliance from Pentos should already represent the strongest hostile force among players in King's Landing. The one with the greatest individual capability should be whoever was ambushing people in Flea Bottom.
But no matter what, they weren't qualified to fight me head-on. The advantage is mine!
After removing his plate armor, Ian strode back into the building and asked Chiggen to help him don the white plate armor of Ser Jonothor that he'd seized at the abandoned fishing village.
The plate armor had a generous design, with ample padding space in critical areas. Therefore, Ian, who wasn't much different in size from Ser Jonothor, fit into the armor almost perfectly.
The only inconvenience was the gauntlets, which had to be precisely tailored to the wearer's hand size. Any slight deviation would prevent the fingers from bending properly.
Ian, left with no choice, resorted to wearing chainmail gloves instead, vowing to himself that he would commission properly fitted articulated gauntlets once he found a place to establish himself.
After donning his armor, Ian lowered his visor, transforming himself into a walking fortress of steel. With Chiggen's help, he put on his surcoat, concealing the joints between the armor plates.
"Have you located the traitors?" Captain Quhuru Mo, wearing black chainmail, approached Ian.
"Word is they're hiding in a Stranger's temple beneath Flea Bottom."
"So all our time in the Dragonpit was for nothing?"
"If I recall correctly, I've already paid the deposit." Ian's expression darkened, recognizing the man was angling for additional compensation.
"That's money for helping you suppress the rebellion, and you've had my men breaking their backs with hard labor here for days, so..."
"As I said, I've already paid. As your employer, I believe I have the authority to assign you whatever work I see fit." Ian met Captain Quhuru's gaze.
He didn't mind increasing the pay, but never under extortion. That wouldn't demonstrate generosity—it would show weakness.
Weakness was a fatal flaw in front of these half-pirate sailors; they only respected strength.
After several seconds of locked gazes, Quhuru lowered his head. "I meant no offense," he changed the subject. "I just came to ask where my first mate is."
"She's with Ser Grantham, tasked with intercepting enemy reinforcements from Pentos." Ian's harsh glare faded, his expression becoming gentler, but his tone remained firm. "This is my battle plan. It's non-negotiable."
This made Quhuru swallow back the words he'd been about to say about reuniting his sailors under unified command.
Finally, Quhuru simply bowed slightly. "As you wish, ser."
Flea Bottom was dimly lit on this rainy night. The stench of pigsties, stables, and tanneries mingled with the odors emanating from wine sinks and brothels.
With a creak, an old wooden door slid open gently, and Esther, bow in hand, cautiously entered.
Before entering this world, he'd been a veteran competitive archer, consistently dominating his league. His mastery of the bow had given him a significant advantage in this world.
From the second-floor window, he could just barely see the group of players staking out their position below.
He knew they were players because they'd targeted him the moment he'd entered Flea Bottom. Fortunately, his strong counter-surveillance skills had easily allowed him to shake them off.
He'd even managed to disguise himself and track them back to their base.
Seeing how all those scattered throughout Flea Bottom had suddenly gathered here, Esther suspected this was where the treasure lay.
But he wasn't interested in the treasure; he was interested in the players themselves. As long as he could locate a player's position in the crowd and take the shot, he could claim all of that player's points in one stroke.
(End of Chapter)
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