Just past the intersection where the Kingsroad met the River Road and the High Road, Ian made a quick calculation. He was barely forty miles north of Harrenhal, approaching the Trident. This was the territory of Lord Harroway's Town.
At the edge of his vision lay a small well-salt mine. By the treeline, a caravan was loading cargo. A foreman was barking orders at workers hauling sacks of salt onto mule-drawn carts.
The caravan matched the specific loadout Ian had memorized perfectly: four old draft horses, two carts, seven mules, four servants, and a skinny young merchant.
Although he couldn't fathom why a player would be stupid enough not to change their starting appearance, the implication of meeting such a caravan here was self-evident.
"Fate has a funny sense of humor," Ian thought, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.
Ian's envisioned "hunt" involved staking out a spot, scouting the terrain and the enemy's strength, and then executing a calculated ambush—not stumbling into a clumsy, head-on encounter like this.
But he had no choice now. He was riding openly on the Kingsroad; if he saw them, they certainly saw him.
If he kept riding north, he could pass them without raising suspicion, but circling back later after psyching himself up would look incredibly strange.
To approach the merchant player without raising alarms, he had to feign business at the salt mine and ride straight over.
My disguise is solid. No one should suspect a thing, Ian told himself, glancing at his heraldic sword to regain some confidence.
Making up his mind, Ian adopted the haughty, chin-up posture of a highborn lord—a look he'd seen in countless period dramas—and steered his horse off the Kingsroad toward the mine.
However, he hadn't gone more than a few steps when his heart began to hammer against his ribs. Don't lose your cool! He warned himself frantically.
Ian realized he had overestimated himself. He could talk a big game about hunting players, but that was just theory—low-stakes "keyboard warrior" confidence. He was used to destroying people in online debates, not in life-or-death combat.
Facing the prospect of actual violence, he found his rationality struggling to suppress his nerves. He couldn't even tell if he was afraid of killing or afraid of dying.
The short distance of a few dozen meters felt like it took a century to traverse.
Only four servants with zero combat power. No mercenaries at his side. He's completely defenseless. I just need to get close without raising suspicion, take his head off with one swing, and ride away. Ian kept feeding himself positive affirmations. There is no risk. I don't need to be afraid.
Forcing down the fear, Ian rode slowly while scanning the situation in the mine.
Soon, he noticed something off.
The salt miners and the merchant's servants were loading the carts at a leisurely, almost lazy pace. No one was rushing them. That was suspicious.
Ian had a sudden inspiration and devised a probing strategy. He rode through the mine gates, bypassing the carts blocking the entrance, and pulled up in front of the foreman and the merchant player.
"Who holds the charter for this mine?" Ian asked the approaching foreman, looking down his nose at him with arrogant disdain.
"It belongs to Lord Lucas Roote, my lord. He is also the Lord of Lord Harroway's Town," the foreman replied, bowing respectfully after spotting the sword at Ian's waist.
"How are your sales? do you have any fixed long-term supply contracts?"
"None, Ser. We sell all our salt to passing caravans," the foreman explained politely, though internally he was cursing. What business is it of yours? Since when do the Lannisters micromanage the Riverlands?
"Excellent. I intend to purchase this salt well. Show me the shafts." This was Ian's plan.
This way, he could wander around under the pretense of inspecting the asset to scout the terrain. Simultaneously, it would force the merchant player to approach him. After all, the merchant wanted to buy salt, and Ian was positioning himself as the new owner.
Conversely, if a high-and-mighty Lannister knight went out of his way to greet a lowly merchant, that would be incredibly suspicious.
Ian didn't even glance at the merchant player during the exchange, knowing that ignoring him was the best way to lower his guard.
"That..." The foreman looked troubled. "The young Earl is currently squiring for Ser Andrey Charlton. He isn't in the fief. The town bailiff manages everything, including this mine."
"And the bailiff lacks the authority to sell the mine?" Ian raised an eyebrow.
"That is correct, Ser."
"Then I'll take all your current stock," Ian pivoted without missing a beat. "Refund their coin. Have your men load the salt onto my transport instead." Ian pointed a gloved finger at the merchant player and the caravan blocking the gate.
If I can't buy the mine, stealing his cargo will still force him to come to me, Ian thought.
"This..." The foreman broke into a cold sweat. "Do you need a large quantity immediately, Ser? We have stock in the warehouse, perhaps..."
"Do I need to explain myself to you?" Ian cut him off rudely. "You say you can't sell the mine, and now you make excuses when I want to buy salt? Does House Roote have a problem with House Lannister?"
Terrified, the foreman instinctively looked at the merchant for help.
The skinny merchant looked flustered and helpless, turning his gaze to the fat servant standing beside him.
Seeing this, Ian's eyes narrowed instantly.
I knew it. He had wondered why a merchant would dare run around with starter gear, and why the workers were moving so slowly... The bastard swapped clothes with his servant! He's fishing!
He knew the merchant's starting gear was a neon sign, so he intentionally exposed this flaw to bait other players into hunting him.
It was indeed a perfect fishing spot. Located north of the crossroads of the Kingsroad, River Road, and High Road, and south of the Trident ferry, anyone entering the Riverlands from the North, the Crownlands, or the Vale—or leaving for those places—would have to pass here. They would inevitably spot him.
But... reliance on a few trash servants? What made him think that once he hooked a fish, he could reel it in without getting dragged into the water?