From a hired knight to a master of Game of Thrones

The silence lingered, even breathing sounded harsh.

Silas struggled violently.

But the raiders held him tightly like lovers, allowing only a faint sob to escape his lips.

"Where's the valuable stuff?! This is all just a bunch of fucking junk fish!"

A roar suddenly rang out, and soon someone came over.

A frostbitten, ugly face stared intently at Silas, then let out a sinister grin:

"Let go of him, I want to listen to what he has to say!"

The pressure vanished instantly, and Silas staggered, nearly falling, as blood rushed back to his limbs.

But the fear that followed seized all his reactions.

At this time.

A punch lands!

He rammed it hard into Silas's abdomen.

He collapsed to the ground like a rag doll.

Seras was suddenly out of breath, only able to groan and tremble.

Someone roared in his ear:

Where are the valuables?

"Tell me! You bastard! Where did you hide my valuables?!"

Silas let out broken breaths, his words trembling:

"I...I don't...have...any...valuable goods..."

"...This...is...all...my...goods..."

Another punch sent all of Silas's consciousness flying out of his mind.

"Turns out he's just a small-time fishmonger, but he dared to make such a big fuss last time."

"Pah! Last time you almost scared the hell out of me!"

"Alright, we should go. We'll be in trouble when those pretty watchdogs from White Harbor come patrolling."

"What are we going to do with these goods? We just looted a few truckloads of rotten fish, and now we have a few more truckloads of rotten fish."

"Damn it! Of course we'll drag it away, are you out of your mind?"

"These are things that can fill our stomachs!"

"Pah, what a fucking jinx! Eating rotten salted fish every day!"

A deathly silence descended.

Silas lay there, panting heavily, his mouth full of thick, rusty blood. He had fallen into the mud.

Have you... let me go?

I really regret it. If only I hadn't taken that risk and had hired some free knights...

As he was thinking, he suddenly realized that the sky had turned dark.

His heart stopped for a moment.

The next second, a black light swept across his throat, deep and swift.

Silas made a gurgling sound, his hands instinctively reaching for his neck, and warm, thick blood gushed out from between his fingers.

"...Uh...uh."

He then emitted the same thick, slicing sound.

It pressed against my ears, heavy as the fate of most people.

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 merchant leaned close to their ears and whispered:

"Have you heard? Silas's caravan was robbed by raiders, and not a single person survived!"

Upon hearing this, Rodney frowned deeply and said:

"I know about this. This time, Silas didn't hire any free knights; he just took his own guard with him."

"I tried to persuade him, but he said that the last time he went to that old town, everything was peaceful and nothing happened."

"So this time we don't want to hire Free Knights, assuming the White Harbor patrol cavalry have already wiped out all the raiders in the surrounding area!"

Dominic, the businessman who spoke first, paused for a moment before saying:

"Is he that naive? Hasn't he noticed that raiders and bandits are becoming more and more rampant every year?"

"The North is alright, but I've heard it's even worse in the South. Many lords have had to personally lead their troops to clear out the raiders from their territories!"

"Because if this isn't done, some civilians in certain territories are afraid to even leave their homes!"

Don Quixote, who had been invited to the banquet, suddenly remembered who Silas was. After a moment of silence, he explained helplessly:

"I might also be to blame for what happened to Silas."

"Three months ago, when I first started recruiting new people, I wanted to observe their true performance, so I brought them all along to protect Silas's caravan."

"As it turned out, the journey was uneventful. It seems that those scattered raiders didn't dare to show themselves when they saw so many of us."

"Oh dear, this might make Silas think that the road is safe."

Rodney shook his head and said:

"Sir Don Quixote, you need not blame yourself. During this period, many merchants have hired so many elite mercenaries and knights from your Bloodhand Mercenary Group for only a small amount of money."

"Their caravan traveled without incident, but afterwards they continued to employ free knights to protect their caravan."

"I know Silas; he always likes to take risks with a sense of luck, but he doesn't understand."

"Risk is linked to return!"

"If there were no risks in trading, how could our profits possibly be high enough?"

"If our line of work had no risks, we would probably be even more insignificant than the tenant farmers, hunters, and herders under the lord!"

Dominic smiled and nodded, saying:

"Yes, when I first started out as a merchant, I'm not afraid to tell you, but I had nightmares many nights!"

"In those nightmares, countless vicious raiders appeared before me, torturing me and killing me again and again!"

"It was only after experiencing life and death a few times that I came to take these things in stride."

"We are a group of adventurers who are always willing to risk our lives for the Golden Dragon and Silver Deer!"

"So every time I go on a business trip, I am extremely careful and cautious, and I treat it as if it were the last time I would ever do business in my life!"

"So I always hire mercenaries and knights to protect my caravan."

"Although it will reduce the amount of gold in my pocket, you can only enjoy life if you're alive, right?"

At this point, Dominic raised his glass to Don Quixote, saying:

"Sir Don Quixote, a toast to you! A toast to the Bloodhand Mercenaries! A toast to all mercenary knights!"

"You people protected my safety! You protected the safety of my caravan!"

Don Quixote also raised his glass and laughed:

"Sir Dominic, Sir Rodney! To your trust! And to our shared fate, struggling on the brink of death!"

Rodney smiled, raised his glass, and said:

"Let us raise a toast to the gods, old and new! For we are fortunate to have survived!"

"Yes, yes, yes, let's toast to the gods, old and new!" Don Quixote and Dominic added.

Just then, a lady slowly walked over from the other side of the banquet.

She was tall and slender with skin as white as milk.

The bright green silk robe clung to her body like a second skin, revealing her curves.

As she walked, her long robe swayed, revealing the smooth, delicate curves of her neck and exuding a lingering, ethereal charm.

Like a silent invitation.

She was nearly thirty, but she didn't have the stale, dull feeling that most women have.

On the contrary, it gives people a sense of satisfaction and hunger.

The most beautiful things will shine even brighter on her.

Even the priests of the Seven Gods would want to indulge in debauchery for her and offer her their deepest blessings.

"Rodney and Dominic, you two can't keep hogging Sir Don Quixote's time and words forever."

"It would be good for me to have a word with Sir Don Quixote, just one of us!"

The lady spoke.

Suddenly, the hidden tension beneath the dignified exterior was revealed.

……

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