Bastard Sword

"But this is a crested sword of House Lannister." Ian lightly stroked the golden lion head on the pommel, its majesty displayed to the fullest, and tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"A sword of the Night's Watch," Aedon interrupted Ian, his expression turning serious. "To a man of the Night's Watch, a surname no longer has meaning."

"You mean this sword originally belonged to someone from the Night's Watch?"

"Precisely."

"Then what was the relationship between that brother of the Night's Watch and Dovell?"

"You don't need to know that." The old smith shook his head. "If you accept this task, I can pay you a commission of three Gold Dragons. And after you join the Night's Watch, Dovell will take care of you as well. I believe I mentioned before that he is an experienced ranger."

Holy shit! A commission of three Gold Dragons? Was this guy really that loaded? Ian instinctively glanced around, and the thought of robbing the smithy flashed through his mind.

But the next second, he dismissed that insane idea.

This was the central square of Harrenhal! Even a starved camel was bigger than a horse. No matter how far House Rowan had declined, a lousy Sellsword Knight like him could not shit on their heads.

"Fine." Ian sheathed the Crested Sword in his hand and hung it at his waist. Then, with utter sincerity, he said, "It's a deal. I swear on my honor that I'll deliver the sword." I already told you, I have no honor at all.

Upon receiving Ian's answer, the old smith smiled. He then counted out six Gold Dragons and one hundred and twenty Silver Stags in front of Ian. Three Gold Dragons were the commission for delivering the sword, while the rest was payment for the equipment Ian had sold.

Ian stuffed all the coins into the pouch he carried with him, then walked out of the smithy and took hold of his horse again.

Thinking back on the task he had just accepted, Ian could not help showing a mocking smile.

Even if he had not planned to wait in Salt Town for merchants, he would never have accepted such a bizarre job!

What a joke. A smith in Harrenhal had inexplicably produced a Lion sigil sword and asked him to deliver it to a man of the Night's Watch? And he had even claimed the sword had once belonged to a brother of the Night's Watch.

There were simply too many suspicious points: the relationship between the sword's original owner and Dovell, their respective ties to House Lannister, and how this sword had somehow gone in a huge circle before ending up in the hands of a smith in Harrenhal, when both its owner and Dovell were supposedly men of the Night's Watch.

If Ian were sitting in front of a computer playing a game right now, then as a veteran story enthusiast, he would probably have insisted on digging every secret out of this matter.

As for now, he did not think his brain had gone bad yet.

Secrets often went hand in hand with danger, especially a secret involving House Lannister. He feared that one careless misstep might see him buried alongside some obscure family scandal.

Shaking his head, Ian looked again at the Crested Sword he had just swindled—temporarily taken into custody.

This was a truly massive haul!

Leaving everything else aside, this Lion sigil sword was clearly worth a fortune. By Ian's estimation, it had probably cost more than ten Gold Dragons to make, and its selling price would be at least twice that.

The only problem was how to sell it. Ian fell into thought once more.

Without question, aside from the sword's excellent craftsmanship, its most valuable feature was the lifelike golden lion head, a veritable work of art.

But this thing was the sigil of House Lannister, the wealthiest and most powerful family in all Westeros. In an age when sigils essentially represented one's identity, hardly any noble had ever dared forge another house's crest.

Naturally, no one would be crazy enough to buy a Lion sigil sword.

In other words, while the sword was valuable, it was also scalding hot.

"Perhaps that was why the old smith dared hand the sword over to me so casually?" Ian could not help thinking.

He had considered why the old smith had trusted him so easily.

At the time, he had concluded that the old smith believed the story he had fabricated about being about to join the Night's Watch.

After all, from the old smith's perspective, a normal Sellsword Knight would neither sell his armor nor come all this way just to scam a mere smith out of boredom. Thus, he could be almost certain Ian was telling the truth.

And what could he possibly worry about with an "upright, filial good knight" who had "sworn upon his honor," was "voluntarily donning black," and had "left all his money with his parents before departing"?

Now it seemed the old smith had also dared entrust him with the sword because he was certain Ian would have no way to sell it.

"Could I only melt down the lion head? No, if it's solid gold, that's fine. But if it's gold-plated, wouldn't melting it ruin the whole thing?" Ian rejected another idea.

"Huh? Wait, why the hell do I have to sell the sword in the first place?" Ian suddenly slapped his forehead. "Isn't my most important goal right now to change my starting traits and disguise myself as someone who could never possibly be a player?"

What identity in this world could be less likely to be a player than a knight of House Lannister?

This gold-plated crested sword was clearly the work of a master smith from a castle. Even within House Lannister itself, only someone of a certain status would be qualified to wear it.

That meant he now possessed the key prop for playing the role of a Lannister.

Next, he only needed to get himself a set of exquisite clothes and trade for a taller horse, and he could perfectly play the part of a Lannister knight.

Why the hell would he still pretend to be a caravan guard?

"No, no, that would still leave holes." Ian immediately shook his head. "I'm not dealing with natives, but players. If I rashly disguise myself as a member of House Lannister, it'll be much harder to keep the lie straight if someone asks for my parents' names."

They might not ask, but what if they did? Refuse to answer with an irritated expression? Wouldn't that just create suspicion for no reason?

So, was there a way to avoid that?

Looking at the Crested Sword in his hand again, Ian smiled. He had an idea.

This was a Hand-and-a-half Sword.

The Hand-and-a-half Sword was one of the most common types of sword in Western film and television. It possessed the "thrusting" of a knight's sword, the "chopping" of a two-handed sword, and the "handiness" of a broadsword, which was why it was also called a Bastard Sword.

So why not pretend to be a bastard too?

After all, who would be more secretive about their origins than an illegitimate child?

Under normal circumstances, as long as you introduced yourself as someone named Snow or Rivers, no one would press you about your background.

Unless they wanted to continue the conversation with swords. In the Common Tongue of Westeros—actually English—"bastard" and "illegitimate child" were the same word. Asking a bastard about his parentage was not much different from calling his mother a whore to his face.

That would perfectly eliminate the possibility of other players probing his exact identity.

Moreover, bastard was not among the available background choices for players. Given the ingrained assumption that players would use their own backstories to disguise themselves, it would be difficult for them to connect a bastard with a player.

"Ian Hill, the bastard son of some important figure in House Lannister. Since it concerns my father's reputation, I cannot reveal his name." With that in mind, Ian turned and walked toward a tailor's shop nearby.

Note: 1. The bastard children of Westerosi nobles took surnames based on their place of birth. The corresponding names were: Flowers—The Reach, Hill—The Westerlands, Pyke—The Iron Islands, Rivers—The Riverlands, Sand—Dorne, Snow—The North, Stone—the Vale, Storm—The Stormlands, Waters—The Crownlands.