"Knock, knock, knock!"
Matthew stood before the leather shop, looking completely out of place in a black velvet robe and fine calfskin boots.
The long alley near Flour Street was filthy, covered in swill, with every door shut tight. Even though it was morning, hardly anyone was walking around.
This was the edge of Flea Bottom—the blurred line between the chaos and order of King's Landing.
Scanning his surroundings, Matthew couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were on him. Still, he kept knocking on the wooden door, pitching his voice down to sound like a harmless, squeaky duck.
"Excuse me, is anyone home?"
His movements were small, his voice soft. He acted as if he were terrified of damaging the wood and being asked to pay for it. In Flea Bottom, getting shaken down for something that petty wasn't exactly rare.
This place was filled with stench, sin, and the poor. Even if the King himself came down here, he'd have to watch out for someone throwing a bucket of shit at him.
The alley was narrow, with shanties packed so tight you couldn't hide if you tried. You could hear even the quietest footsteps clearly.
Matthew's ears twitched. He pulled his black mask up a little higher and quickly knocked again.
"Excuse me, is anyone there?"
He spoke politely, pretending to be a noble child.
"What's all the yelling about?"
After a moment, there was movement inside the leather shop. The attitude, however, was less than welcoming.
Matthew narrowed his eyes, his hand resting naturally on the handle of the hatchet at his waist.
Creaaaak... Bam!
After a chaotic shuffle of footsteps, the door was yanked open and slammed against the wall, sending dust raining down.
Old Ron stood there, head lowered, coughing. He was gripping a short stick tightly. He roared, "You stinkin' brat, what do you want?"
Matthew immediately lowered his voice and whispered, "Boss, do you need any firewood?"
Old Ron waved the dust away from his face. His skin, wrinkled and spotted, flushed red as he raised his hand, ready to hit the kid. The nerve of someone disturbing his work for something this stupid—they deserved to die.
But as his cloudy eyes traveled upward, the curse words got stuck in his throat.
He looked Matthew up and down, taking in the boy's solid build. He had to crane his neck back nearly a hundred and eighty degrees, his thick neck swelling as his jaw practically hit the floor.
The voice sounded so young, but how was this person so tall? So strong?
And that hair—shoulder-length, a weird mix of gray and yellow. He looked like a full-grown moose.
Old Ron couldn't tell who it was, but he knew Flea Bottom didn't raise people like this. And that outfit? No poor person could afford those clothes.
How did someone like this end up here? Old Ron wondered, completely baffled.
Subconsciously, he pegged this tall, burly, masked kid—who spoke so politely—as a servant favored by some noble family.
Then, Old Ron's guard went up.
This could be a game.
having survived three long summers and two winters in King's Landing, the little old man felt he understood the twisted hobbies of the highborn lords all too well. Nowadays, even the Gold Cloaks were openly corrupt. Did King's Landing even have laws anymore?
He remembered a leather shop in the next alley over. The owner had insulted a minor noble's man. That same night, the whole family died. No one did a thing about it. Ten heads were lined up outside their door, dripping blood. It looked like hell...
Old Ron gripped his stick tighter, his eyes darting around, looking for a place to strike.
But a second later, he relaxed his grip.
There might be others behind him. If he attacked, he'd definitely wind up dead.
He admitted it—he was panicking.
Now, the old man's brain was stuck on one thing: to buy or not to buy.
If he bought the wood, these people might come back asking for money again later, treating him like a sucker. If he didn't buy...
While Old Ron was paralyzed by fear and indecision, Matthew heard whispers nearby. He glanced back and saw people peeking out.
He needed to wrap this up fast.
To make himself seem less threatening, Matthew decisively pulled down his black face covering, revealing a dirty face covered in gray freckles. He forced a pure, innocent smile and asked urgently:
"Boss, do you need the firewood or not?"
What's more disarming than a child?
But this sudden move just startled Old Ron. He heard the noise outside too, and seeing Matthew's bizarre behavior, he became convinced there were men waiting out there.
Why else would this kid be so fearless?
Looking at Matthew's dirty, awkward smile, Old Ron felt like he was looking at the true face of a demon. It was eerie. It was bad luck. It felt like the boy was mocking him, waiting for him to make the wrong choice.
"I'll buy it! I'll buy it. How much?"
Gritting his teeth, Old Ron decided he'd rather lose money than his life. Worst case scenario, he'd just move.
Matthew was thrilled. He hadn't expected such an easy win right out of the gate. He thought he'd strike out today, but here was someone willing to buy without even checking the goods.
Matthew suspected the little old man was trying to destroy evidence—like a dead body or something. But he had no proof, and frankly, it wasn't his business.
He held up two fingers.
Old Ron's eyes bugged out. He shrieked, "Two Gold Dragons?!"
That startled Matthew. He immediately waved his hands. "No, no, no! Two Silver Stags."
He wasn't greedy. Greed was a fuse that led to death.
Old Ron let out a breath, but he looked at Matthew strangely. Since when are noble brats in King's Landing this reasonable?
He was suspicious, but foreign nobles often visited the city, so it wasn't impossible.
I just hope these bastards don't come back to bother me, Old Ron thought. He turned his body sideways, hiding his actions from view, and with a trembling hand, fished out two Silver Stags.
This was half a month's savings. But if paying it meant avoiding disaster, it was worth it. If you offended a noble, forget the shop—you'd vanish by the next morning.
That was just the way this rotten world worked.
It hurt, but Old Ron gritted his teeth and handed the coins over.
Matthew's dark eyes lit up instantly. He snatched the money almost violently, then lowered his head and whispered:
"The firewood is half a mile to the left of the Mud Gate. There's a rocky beach with a lot of bushes. The wood is hidden in a cave covered by the shrubbery. Absolutely worth the price."
With that, ignoring Old Ron's look of absolute disgust, he turned and walked away without leaving a trace.
---
"You bastard! You lied to me! Get back here..."
Old Ron's roar echoed through the long alley. He didn't know exactly what was going on, but he knew a real noble wouldn't take the money and then just give verbal directions.
Matthew, terrified the man would chase him, ran even faster, his feet making a loud clomp-clomp-clomp sound.
The shoes weren't his, so they didn't fit right. Fortunately, they didn't slow him down enough to get caught, and he managed to shake the old man.
Exhausted, Matthew followed his plan and dove into a secluded dark alley he had scouted earlier.
The alley was tight, but it was a good spot to rest. Leaning against the earthen wall, Matthew let out a long sigh.
Honestly, he didn't understand how that old guy with such short legs could run so fast. And he didn't get why the man flipped out so suddenly.
People are impossible to figure out.
Matthew assumed Old Ron was angry because he hadn't brought the goods personally. The guy is so old, yet he doesn't understand the rules, Matthew thought. How could I possibly transport that much wood into King's Landing?
The lumber industry belonged to the lords. The fact that he managed to scavenge that wood and hide it was impressive enough.
However, for the sake of the two Silver Stags, Matthew decided to forgive him.
He gently opened his fist. The two silver coins lay obediently in his palm, slightly damp with sweat.
He picked one up, brought it to his eye, blew on it hard, and then held it to his ear to hear the crisp ringing sound.
"It's real!"
He grinned, moving the Silver Stag into a sliver of light to admire the pattern. The stag engraved on the silver was beautiful, with no rust on either side. It had been well-kept.
He only needed a thousand of these beautiful coins to buy a set of high-quality armor and a decent weapon.
Just a few days ago, Jon Arryn had been poisoned.
Matthew knew King's Landing was about to descend into chaos. He had to be ready—ready to rise up amidst the turmoil. Armor and weapons were non-negotiable.
For this goal, in the two and a half years since he had crossed over into this world, he had been working day and night. Including these two Silver Stags, he had about four hundred coins saved up.
He was still short a lot, but adding the value of the velvet robe and the ill-fitting boots he was wearing, he should be close. Both were high-quality items.
After resting, Matthew stripped off the velvet robe and boots, revealing a ragged, patched burlap tunic underneath.
He checked his surroundings. Finding some soot, he smeared it directly onto his face. Once he was evenly coated in grime, he frowned, pulled up his black face wrap, and put on his own broken horse-leather boots.
He hated wearing these tight boots. But King's Landing was full of piss and shit—especially in Flea Bottom. Walking barefoot was just asking for an infection.
Suppressing his disgust, Matthew stuffed the velvet robe and fine boots into his tunic, making him look pot-bellied, and quickly climbed over the wall.
After crossing two alleys along his planned route, he arrived at the Black Market.
Here, no one cared who you were or where your goods came from. It was perfect for Matthew.
As soon as he entered, he saw two other guys with covered faces walking out. He didn't need to guess—they were just like him. Shady.
Matthew didn't want trouble. He kept his head down, walked to a pawn shop, opened the door, and went in.
Inside was a tunnel, dark and quiet. You couldn't see much of anything. But if you walked a bit further, you could see light and an iron gate.
Some said the Gold Cloaks ran this place. Others said it was built by the Alchemists' Guild. But Matthew knew the truth: this was the Church's territory.
He pulled open the iron gate himself and skillfully approached the pawn counter.
There were seven dark windows at the counter, with seven oil lamps beside them, all lit. That meant all the windows were staffed.
Matthew went to the nearest one. Following the rules, he pulled down his face covering and passed the items from his tunic through the dark window.
Soon, a voice came from the pitch-black opening.
"The velvet robe is of average quality with quite a few holes in the back. The soles of the fine calfskin boots are heavily worn. One Gold Dragon and twenty Silver Stags, maximum."
If I sell for that, I'm still way short of the goal!
Matthew tapped his finger on the window sill. Pitching his voice low and heavy like a middle-aged man, he challenged them. "These are quality goods. Surely they're worth more than that?"
A cold sneer came from the window. "Quality goods? They're junk with an unknown origin. You can't use them, and you don't dare wear them in public. That's why you're selling them, isn't it?"
Matthew was speechless.
Seeing that playing tough wouldn't work, he coughed and immediately switched tactics. He softened his tone, sounding humble.
"My child is sick. I need money urgently to save his life. I went to the Sept to pray, and a Septon suggested I come here. Please, for the sake of the Seven, help me out."
His tone was sincere, his voice choking up, like a simple father clutching at his last straw.
But the voice from the dark window cut him off decisively. "We don't haggle in the Black Market. Sell it or get lost."
"This..."
Matthew's sobbing noise cut off abruptly. Sure enough, the Church is as ruthless as ever.
It hurt his heart, but he decided to sell. If he didn't, he'd be stuck with stolen goods.
However, just to keep up appearances, Matthew deliberately raised his voice, sounding angry and rough. "If you won't add more, then hurry up and give me the money!"
"Hmph."
A heavy grunt of annoyance came from the window.
But moments later, the clinking sound of metal rang out. After the count was finished, a glittering Gold Dragon and twenty Silver Stags were pushed out of the window by a hand.
"Money and goods exchanged. No refunds," the voice said.
The hand retracted, and the window went silent and dark, secretive as if no one had ever been there.
Matthew glanced at it and looked away. Without absolute power, curiosity was just a liability.
Staring at the shining Gold Dragon, he quickly swept the money into his right hand, terrified the person inside would change their mind.
When the Gold Dragon hit his palm, it felt a little cold. But to Matthew, it felt absolutely amazing.
Just as he shoved the money into his inner pocket and turned to leave, a line of white, blocky text suddenly floated before his eyes.
[Congratulations Host on acquiring currency. System Activating...]
---
PS:
1 Gold Dragon = 30 Silver Moons
1 Silver Moon = 7 Silver Stags
1 Silver Stag = 7 Copper Stars
(Therefore, 1 Gold Dragon = 210 Silver Stags)
Note: Further smaller denominations (groats, pennies) exist but aren't listed in the exchange above.