From a hired knight to a master of Game of Thrones

Upon hearing this, Rodney glanced at Don Quixote in surprise and laughed:

"I didn't expect that Sir Don Quixote would also know about this business."

"That's good. The North is alright; the prices of goods in different regions have actually been fixed for a long time."

"Although traveling back and forth only earns me a small profit, it won't result in a loss."

"But in the south, on the continent of Essos across the narrow sea, it is necessary to know the prices of the goods that you want to trade in advance."

"Otherwise, we could suffer losses if we're not careful, since some goods, like grain, are quite scarce in the North."

"But in that warm, humid, and sunny South, where the wind carries the fragrance of flowers and fruits, it is a South that is always in the height of summer for the people of the North."

"Food is far from being lacking."

"As for Essos, the continent across the narrow sea, their customs are very different from ours, and their views on different goods are also different from ours."

"Therefore, merchants traveling between the North and the South, between Westeros and Essos, often earned more, but also faced greater risks!"

Don Quixote nodded and smiled:

"Profits are always achieved by taking risks."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The next day.

In the pale, bone-white sky, tinged with frost, the town was already half awake.

Merchants were organizing their goods, mercenaries were inspecting their weapons, and grooms were leading their horses to drink water.

The innkeeper pushed open the creaking wooden door.

Don Quixote and his party, along with Rodney's caravan members, had already eaten quickly.

They also sorted out miscellaneous items such as goods and luggage.

Before long, the livestock swayed gently in the early morning light, walking step by step out of the desolate village.

The wheels rolled over the wet, cold mud, heading towards White Harbor.

As Don Quixote rode his tall horse out of the desolate village, he glanced back at the scene.

The town, nestled between ancient tombs and wilderness, appears and disappears in the mist.

Like a silent giant lying on the earth, guarding this northern region.

From a distance, one can still see the four gate towers of the wooden city wall and the Dustin family's yellow banner with a black crown and crossed axes hanging on the town's watchtower.

On a golden yellow background.

Two long axes with black handles and rusted blades are crossed.

A black crown adorns the tips of the axes.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The caravan stretched out in a line that was neither too long nor too short.

Eleven four-wheeled trucks with cloaks drove in the middle, their wheels making a dull thud as they rolled over the gravel and dirt.

Rodney's bodyguards followed the convoy.

The four members of the Bloodhand Mercenary Group rode off at a greater distance from the main group.

Like four vigilant falcons, they kept a close watch on the caravan's surroundings.

They walked slowly for a while longer.

We passed a barren slope along the way, but didn't encounter a single herdsman.

The crows' calls in the wilderness gradually became fewer.

Don Quixote, riding on the right side of the caravan, suddenly had a change in his gaze.

On another barren slope some distance ahead, a dark shadow flashed by.

When he squinted and frowned to look again, the dark figure had disappeared.

Something's not right.

Don Quixote had great confidence in his excellent eyesight and keen intuition.

Although the distance in front of him was so great that most people couldn't see much even if they looked as far as they could.

No hesitation.

He drew his longsword as he shouted:

"There may be enemies ahead! Be careful and watch your surroundings!"

Upon hearing this, Tom and his two companions immediately perked up, their eyes scanning their surroundings with even greater vigilance.

But the guards were stunned, looking at each other in bewilderment, and no one moved.

There wasn't a soul in sight in this wilderness, so where could the enemy have come from?

Rodney's expression froze instantly.

He yanked the reins and roared at his guards:

"Get moving! Everyone fucking move! Listen to jazz!!"

The guards then drew their weapons and became alert.

Time passed slowly.

The air was deathly still, and there were no strangers in sight.

"Is Sir Don Quixote too nervous, mistaking a roadside stone for a human figure?" a guard began to mutter.

The guard's companion also lowered his voice and sneered:

"It's quite possible. Judging from Sir Don Quixote's youthful appearance, he probably hasn't seen any raiders before."

"Perhaps he thought those horrible raiders would be foolish enough to let him find out!"

Before the man's complaints had even completely subsided...

A sudden change occurred.

"Shut up!"

The guard who had been muttering first suddenly felt his heart stop beating and dared not breathe for a long time.

Three or four dark figures on horseback galloping at full speed approached from afar.

There are also two on the left side.

There's a dark shadow on the right too!

The guard instinctively turned around and immediately saw three dark figures rapidly approaching from behind.

Almost simultaneously, chaos erupted from all parts of the caravan!

Don Quixote reacted almost the instant the three dark figures rushed out from his right.

The gleaming sword drew a cold arc in the grayish-white light of the sky.

Don Quixote quickly encountered three raiders dressed in tattered chainmail and wielding rusty longswords.

Their eyes gleamed with ferocity, like a pack of starving wolves.

They also knew that Don Quixote, clad in plate armor, was not to be trifled with.

Therefore, they wanted to bypass Don Quixote and head straight for the caravan in the middle.

Don Quixote successfully stopped a robber.

"Damn it!"

The raider, seeing the tall figure blocking his way, cursed under his breath and hurriedly turned to leave.

The horse he was riding had just turned around.

He didn't even have time to steady himself.

The gleaming sword tip precisely avoided the loose, tattered chainmail he was wearing.

It pierced through a sizable gap in the armor plate, going straight through the chest.

"In battle, do not be distracted and do not carelessly expose your back to the enemy."

Don Quixote quickly withdrew his sword and, while reflecting on his actions, chased after the second raider.

After a while.

Don Quixote caught up with the second raider:

"Hey, look to the left."

The second raider was taken aback and subconsciously looked to the left, but saw nothing.

"We've fallen for their trap!"

By the time he realized what was happening, his right arm had already been severed by a sword.

The agonizing screams made the already chaotic situation even more chaotic.

The raider lost his balance and was falling heavily to one side of the horse.

But his feet were still stuck in the stirrups.

At the same time, the panicked horses began to run wildly.

His screams were torn apart by the sound of horses' hooves and the wind.

Within moments, only the gurgling sound of blood and froth in his throat remained, and then all sound ceased.

At this moment, Don Quixote spurred his horse and stopped the third robber, who was also the last robber on the right side.

The raider took a moment to glance at the miserable state of his two companions.

His fragile mental defenses crumbled instantly, and he lost all will to fight.

Just then, the sound of horses' hooves exploded in his ears like thunder.

The third raider hurriedly swung his sword to block, but only managed to block empty air.

He only felt a chill on his neck.

Don Quixote's sword drew a sharp arc, propelled by the horse's speed.

There is not a single fancy detail.

It precisely and ruthlessly cleaved off a head.

"I've told you so many times not to get distracted during the fight, why don't you listen!"

Don Quixote's breathing became steady as he surveyed his surroundings.

……

PS: (Please recommend and read this!)