"How many were there?"
The tall, burly man had a thick red-gold beard that reached his waist. When he spoke, he stared intensely with his pale green eyes.
The young Dothraki lowered his head and answered in a muffled voice:
"Thirty. Maybe fifty."
"Fourteen hounds went out, and all that came back were you stray dogs."
Mero, known as the "Titan's Bastard," threw away the gnawed bone in his hand and casually wiped his greasy fingers on his beard.
He and his Second Sons were under a long-term contract with Braavos.
Under the Sealord's instructions, the five hundred men of the Second Sons, along with other mercenaries, regularly raided villages in Andalos that paid tribute to Pentos. Any Andal or Rhoynar who dared to bow to Pentos would suffer their pillaging.
Of course, the estates of the Pentoshi Magisters in the Flatlands also had to endure Dothraki raids and submit to their brutal desires.
Mero was furious. In territory he considered his backyard, a scout team of expert Dothraki riders...
...had been utterly thrashed by a fourth-rate outfit from some corner of Pentos that he couldn't even name!
"If we don't cut off their heads and f their corpses, it won't be long before the banner of the Second Sons is used as ass-wiping cloth."
Ben Plumm, known as "Brown Ben," the company's commander, had messy grey hair, brown skin, and a broken nose on a broad face that made him distinctly unattractive to women.
"Those Braavosi lords are already unhappy with our excessive actions lately. They say we only care about killing unarmed civilians for sport.
"Yet they turn a blind eye to the mercenaries and bandits breaking into their homes. I think we can use these people's heads to shut those lords up."
Kasporio, cunning and thin with a pointed beard, looked unremarkable but served as the company's second-in-command.
"You're right. The lords of the Free Cities are having doubts about hiring us. We can't afford to lose the golden thigh of Braavos," Mero nodded, his fierce gaze sweeping over the Dothraki who still hung his head.
"I told Inkpots to pay you well, not for you to shame my Second Sons. Since the unlucky bastard who brought you here is dead, starting today, you are the Scout Leader. Don't disappoint me again!"
The young Dothraki didn't reply, retreating with a grim face.
"Inkpots!" Mero turned and shouted at his men feasting by the campfire.
Soon, a balding fat man hurried over, panting.
"What are your orders?"
"Issue fifteen Gold Dragons to every brother. Distribute the remaining silver and copper too. We march. We're going to wipe out that fourth-rate mercenary company!" Mero's eyes flashed cold as he barked.
"Roar! Long live the Second Sons!"
"Kill those fourth-rate scrubs!"
"Let our steel teach those brats that mercenary work isn't for everyone!"
Hearing Mero's order, the nearby mercenaries raised their weapons and howled like demons.
Watching the chaotic scene, Tybero Istarion, known as "Inkpots," pursed his lips and pulled out a parchment scroll containing the names of every member of the company.
Resting in a village, the Thunder Hall and Heroes Guild had no idea they were being targeted by a notorious mercenary company.
Of course, even if they knew, the players wouldn't care. In their eyes, it was just a bunch of mobs. If it bleeds, we can kill it. What's there to be afraid of?
---
"Damn, finally logged in!"
Not far from the village where the Thunder Hall and Heroes Guild were resting, Pineapple_Pizza_Lover logged in with a weird shout.
Unlike the guilds of Lin Yan (Storm_Dominator) and Ming Yu (Nebula_Breaker), who paid their members to play overtime, the Knights Templar was a small operation. Its members had to work their day jobs and could only log in after hours.
As soon as they logged in, the Knights Templar players had to start marching. Work all day, then log in just to suffer. No relaxation here.
Fortunately, after walking for a while, the scouts spotted a village nearby. The players suggested to Guild Leader Pizza that they rest there.
Pizza didn't think much of it and waved his hand, leading his team into the village.
As soon as they entered, they bumped into the players from Thunder Hall and Heroes Guild.
Nebula_Breaker, who was currently trying to convince Storm_Dominator to team up, saw nearly a hundred players flood into the small village. His face lit up like a blooming chrysanthemum, and he grabbed the confused Pizza.
"Alliance?"
Hearing Nebula's proposal, Pineapple_Pizza_Lover hesitated for only a moment before agreeing on the spot.
He had just learned that these two bosses had already snagged the "First Blood" achievement yesterday, with the Heroes Guild even scoring a Bronze Chest. He and his brothers were drooling with envy.
Right now, although the Knights Templar had the most players among the three guilds in the village, they were also the poorest. Their armor rate was barely 10%, and their archers were amateurs.
Just being able to draw the bow was a testament to the game character's stats. If it were real life, these corporate slaves wouldn't be able to pull the string even if they exhausted themselves.
Having two battle-tested teams to travel with would reduce the risk on the road and make the bandit suppression mission easier once they arrived.
Seeing how easily he convinced the Knights Templar, Nebula didn't care what Storm thought anymore. He slammed the table and announced the establishment of the Three-Way Alliance.
After a brief rest in the village, Nebula and Pizza practically dragged Storm along as they led the swarm of over a hundred players back on the road.
They had to leave. While the three leaders enjoyed commanding troops, their subordinates were a different breed.
One player was chasing chickens at the east end of the village. Another was trying to lift an old lady's skirt. One was throwing javelins at domestic pigs. Another was organizing a dog fight between his hound and the village dogs.
Seeing the village men grabbing hoes and pickaxes to chase them out, the players weren't about to take it lying down. Right or wrong didn't matter—Players First. They drew their swords and glared back at the pitiful villagers.
In the end, Nebula and the other two didn't want to waste time slaughtering NPCs. After much coaxing about "killing mobs for loot at the destination," they finally dragged away the bloodthirsty players who were ready to turn the game into GTA Medieval Edition.
Watching the whole thing through the System interface, Viserys let out a long sigh of relief. He didn't care about the villagers; he was afraid the players would turn into a bunch of psychopaths who killed everyone on sight.
No one likes a bunch of madmen. Viserys included.
How can I exercise a little control over the players in this regard?
There are 3,000 of them now. Do I need to place some restrictions on who gets to enter the game?