Chapter 93: Kes's Confidence
After Ian clicked "Buy," a notification popped up.
[Transaction successful, received the High Shepherd's Blessing (apply evenly to the injured area), remaining points: 14]
Then, under Bronn's puzzled gaze, Ian retrieved a small vial from his belongings and began removing Roel's breastplate, padded gambeson, and chainmail shirt.
Ian then opened the vial and smeared the green ointment onto Roel's chest, spreading it evenly.
"What in seven hells is that?" Bronn stared at the green paste, feeling nauseous.
"Some kind of healing potion. My father and I encountered a witch woman while sailing through Sothoryos, and we bought it from her." Ian's storytelling skills had become increasingly refined over time, and he could fabricate something plausible at a moment's notice.
"Will this stuff actually work?"
"I hope so," Ian said, uncertain.
He wanted to pray, but having already fooled countless gods with countless broken oaths, he didn't know which one to pray to.
A wave of despair began to build within him.
Bronn directed the remaining men to barricade the entrance with whatever they could find in the temple and posted guards behind the makeshift barrier.
Then he returned to Ian, ready to ask his resourceful employer for guidance.
As he approached Ian, he found the young man had already fallen unconscious.
"Seven hells! Is this the time to sleep?" Bronn said, attempting to wake Ian. He reached out and placed a hand on Ian's shoulder, but just as he was about to shake him, he felt another hand grip his own.
Bronn turned and saw it was the Mute (Kes), Ser Lucien's most formidable squire.
"You're telling me not to wake him?" Bronn asked, frowning, knowing full well Kes couldn't speak.
Kes nodded.
"You should know our situation," Bronn spat. "We're bloody well trapped! Oh, you mean waking him up won't help?"
Kes shook his head.
"You think he can figure something out?"
Kes nodded.
"Then why in seven hells are you stopping me from waking him?" Bronn cursed, trying again to rouse Ian, but Kes again raised a hand to stop him.
"What are you getting at?"
Kes touched his sword and looked toward the temple entrance.
"Fight our way out? It was Ser Lucien who got his head rattled, not you."
Kes shook his head and made a few gestures.
"Are you saying we hold the entrance and wait for him to wake up?" Bronn guessed again.
Kes nodded.
"Damn it! What's he going to do when he wakes up? Turn us all into bloody rats and tunnel out?"
This time, Kes's expression was deadly serious, and he nodded firmly.
Bronn froze.
Ian hadn't been unconscious long. His nerves were wound so tight that he woke after only half an hour.
In truth, it would be more accurate to say he'd passed out rather than fallen asleep.
During those two hours, the gold cloaks had launched a tentative attack, but after being repelled by Kes and his men, there had been no further movement.
It seemed they were either trying to starve Ian and his men out, or searching for materials to use for a more decisive assault.
Ian leaned toward the latter, knowing that players weren't the type to sit idle and wait for death.
That's right—the gold-cloaked knight who had just commanded this group of City Watch was a player.
After a brief mental rest, Ian had finally pieced together his earlier confusion.
First, the attacking gold cloaks weren't equipped with standard issue spears and arming swords, but instead with crossbows and maces specifically designed to counter heavily armored opponents. This meant they had been prepared from the outset to deal with elite player forces.
Second, their crossbows were commercially available light crossbows, not the heavy military-grade crossbows from the Red Keep's armory. This suggested this was a private operation initiated by this squad, not sanctioned by the City Watch command or the Small Council.
Third, and most importantly, if the gold-cloaked officer responsible for Flea Bottom's security was a player, it would perfectly explain the strange murders there.
As the official authority over Flea Bottom, the City Watch could monitor every beggar, vagrant, and landlord who rented rooms to suspicious newcomers.
Any unfamiliar faces carrying weapons who had arrived in Flea Bottom within the past week would be immediately reported to the gold cloaks by the locals.
These suspicious individuals' every move in Flea Bottom was under constant surveillance.
The gold cloaks simply identified those acting alone, had their landlords or innkeepers report when they were vulnerable, and then brazenly broke into their lodgings and killed them.
They then claimed to have arrived following a report, only to discover the bodies with no sign of the killer.
This not only concealed their crimes but also created the illusion for other players in Flea Bottom that a powerful, stealthy assassin was operating in the area.
Under normal circumstances, who would suspect the gold cloaks—who arrived at the "crime scene" after receiving a "report"—were actually the perpetrators?
Judging from the current situation, the gold-cloaked player might not have bought a single clue.
He was simply waiting in Flea Bottom, quietly killing any isolated players, then targeting the more powerful alliances.
He waited for these well-developed players to lead him straight to the treasure chest.
He only needed to wipe them out, and while claiming the treasure chest, he would also eliminate the biggest threats near King's Landing—killing two birds with one stone.
Damn! Ian cursed inwardly.
It was clear that the gold-cloaked player had reacted immediately to his actions tonight. However, since he didn't know the treasure chest was in a temple like this, he hadn't prepared the tools to assault it.
But preparing such tools wouldn't take long. He only needed to gather some flammable materials, pile them at the entrance, and light them to smoke out—or suffocate—Ian and his men.
Thinking of this, Ian felt somewhat defeated. He knew there was no conventional way to salvage the situation.
But he refused to give up. He had nearly figured out the enemy's entire plan and tactics, except for the first step—how that bastard had taken command of a large squad of gold cloaks in just one month—which was beyond Ian's comprehension.
Perhaps this was how Harroway felt when he couldn't understand how I'd managed to acquire those fine clothes, that destrier, and that longsword on the first day, Ian thought with bitter humor.
"Ser Lucien, let me tell you something funny," Bronn said, seeing Ian sitting in the corner looking dejected. "Just now, while you were unconscious, your squire, 'The Mute,' told me that once you woke up, you could dig a tunnel and get us out of here."
Ian looked up and realized that everyone in the temple was looking at him expectantly.
(End of Chapter)
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