The Old Blacksmith

Soon, he set his sights on Salt Town, just over 180 kilometers from Harrenhal, where he was currently located.

It was less than three days' ride away for him—two days if he ignored the horse's condition. In such a short time, even players who had rushed toward the meeting point from the very beginning might not have encountered one another.

In other words, under the best possible circumstances, he might even claim the first kill.

Even if he could not, as long as he successfully hunted down one player over the next two months, those 4 points alone would be enough to free him from the threat of the assassination mechanic for a long time to come.

Wait, that still was not right. While other classes would not realize that their Starting Gear could easily expose them, Traveling Merchants certainly would. They might sell off part of their assets, buy extra mules and horses, dismiss a few servants, or hire more farmers to help out.

If so, how was he supposed to identify them?

After pondering for quite some time, Ian found the answer—their starting funds. Their 100 Gold Dragons in starting capital would not change.

Ian had deliberately studied this during character creation. He clearly remembered that, aside from the final class, the previous options had a negligible effect on starting funds.

In other words, even if a Traveling Merchant maxed out their starting capital through the options, they would not have more than 110 Gold Dragons on hand. With that amount of money, if they wanted to earn 1,000 Gold Dragons—or even more—within two months, they would have to go all in.

Once I reach Salt Town, I only need to find out the local price of salt. The overseers might take kickbacks too, so I'll find out the percentage of those as well. Based on those two points, I can calculate the range of goods merchant players would purchase, then identify suspicious merchants by the volume of cargo they transport. Ian refined the entire plan in his mind.

Without wasting any more time, he quickly gathered all his equipment onto the table.

He planned to sell these things along with his horse, then buy a machete and an old Packhorse, disguising himself as an ordinary caravan guard on his way to Salt Town.

Caravan guard was actually one of the starting classes available to players, but because of its poor equipment, weak attributes, and lack of money, Ian had placed it in the T3 category.

Moreover, caravan guards started with a Short Sword and Leather Armor, details that Ian had deliberately distinguished himself from.

In any case, with a Traveling Merchant's pitiful strength, as long as he could approach without arousing suspicion, he could take them down with certainty.

The advantage was his!

With that in mind, Ian began estimating the value of his equipment.

The full set of armor could be sold for around 500 Silver Stags, while the Hand-and-a-half Sword could fetch more than 200 Silver Stags.

As for the horse still tied up in the inn's courtyard, according to the memories he had gained through his backstory, it was a five-year-old Trained Horse from The Riverlands. It had only recently reached adulthood and was in its prime, so it should sell for more than 750 Silver Stags.

Altogether, that came to over 1,300 Silver Stags.

After finishing his appraisal, Ian packed his full set of equipment into a bag, pushed open the door, and left.

After reaching the first floor, he asked the innkeeper's wife where Harrenhal's smithy was located, paid 10 Copper Penny for his lodging, then went to the stable in the rear courtyard to retrieve his horse before leaving the inn.

Outside the inn's front entrance, Ian stopped.

Less than half a meter in front of him stood an unbelievably thick stone wall. Its moss-covered surface was filled with countless cracks, giving it the weathered appearance of something that had endured wind and rain for ages.

Ian stepped forward twice and peered through the cracks at the other side of the wall.

There stood a completely abandoned hall with no ceiling. Rubble and trash had piled up everywhere, while banners hanging from the walls were so caked with dust that their heraldry could no longer be seen, as though they were recounting a distant history.

The gloomy surroundings and the foul stench wafting through the cracks made Ian's heart pound. He did not linger, instead withdrawing his gaze and striding quickly toward the exit of the alley.

As he turned the corner, a gust of north wind suddenly swept in, and eerie crying rang out from the sky.

Although Ian knew it was the sound of air passing through the cracks in the stones of Howling Tower, it still sent chills down his spine. He had no choice but to quicken his pace once again, gradually breaking from a brisk walk into a jog.

The footsteps of man and horse echoed through the narrow alley, forming a strange harmony with the wailing overhead.

After passing through several abandoned streets littered with rubble, Ian finally reached the square where, according to the innkeeper's wife, the smithy was located.

"What rotten luck. I should sell the equipment quickly and get out of this damned place." Muttering to himself, he tied his horse to a wooden post outside the door and entered the smithy.

The smithy was extremely quiet. There was only an old blacksmith and two young apprentices.

The old blacksmith looked short but sturdy. His brown hair had already turned gray. When Ian entered, the old man had just finished repeatedly hammering an iron sword. With practiced ease, he pulled it out and placed it into a nearby barrel of cold water to quench it.

The red-hot iron sword plunged into the water with a sizzle, releasing thin wisps of white vapor.

"Young man, what do you need?" The old blacksmith noticed Ian's arrival, turned around, and asked.

Ian swept his gaze around the room and quickly ruled out the possibility that there were other players here.

First, he had learned of this old blacksmith from the innkeeper's wife. According to the setting that player characters appeared out of nowhere, this old blacksmith, who had worked in Duskendale all his life, was undoubtedly a native.

Then there were the two little apprentices, barely over ten years old and obviously younger than the minimum selectable age.

Ian let out a breath, opened his bag, and took out his sword and full set of old chainmail.

"Sir, I want to sell this set of equipment." Ian laid the items on the table.

The old blacksmith, Aedon, gave Ian a suspicious look, then carefully inspected his equipment. There were no cracks, and the surface wear was not serious. After polishing it again, there would be plenty of profit to make.

But... Aedon looked back at Ian, puzzled. "You should be a knight, right? You're still so young. Why would you want to sell your equipment?"

Ian was indeed very young. More accurately, he was far too young.

When creating his character, Ian had tested it and discovered that age had no effect on the data, so he had directly set it to the minimum limit of sixteen.

A knight of that age should have a boundless future in the old blacksmith's eyes, so he could not understand why the other party wanted to sell his equipment.

Because I took an arrow to the knee? Ian joked inwardly, but he still put on a bitter smile and casually made up a story. "Because I've had enough of life as a Hedge Knight. People say we are the other side of the same blade as bandit knights. There's no honor in it at all. I don't want to keep living like this."