The next morning, Ian slept undisturbed until he woke naturally.
Though he'd had a nightmare the previous night, the full eight hours of rest left him feeling refreshed and far clearer-headed than before.
After washing up—a habit from his past life—Rore came to report.
"Master—"
"No, no," Ian quickly interrupted. "Don't call me 'master.' Just address me as Ser Lucian, like everyone else. That's my identity now."
"As you wish, Ser Lucian," Rore shrugged. "The innkeeper Martha's niece, Janey Hyde, knocked earlier."
"Why her? Where is she now?"
"I told her you were still asleep, so she left."
"Then go ask her to return."
"Should I also order some food? None of us have eaten yet."
"Fine."
Rore left and returned two minutes later with Janey in tow.
Janey Hyde was a girl barely eighteen, not a great beauty but pleasant-looking, with lively, intelligent eyes.
She wore a fine navy-blue linen dress—likely her most expensive—with her chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders. The hem revealed a glimpse of slender, well-shaped calves.
*Probably the best dress she owns,* Ian guessed.
"M-my lord," Janey curtsied hastily upon seeing Ian, though he could still feel her subtly sizing him up.
"What did Martha tell you yesterday?" Ian's expression darkened slightly.
"Nothing, my lord. She only asked me to recall which guests from yesterday were first-time visitors and report to you today."
"Why didn't she come herself?"
"She's in the kitchen. You may not know, but our inn has only her as the main cook. If she leaves, the whole place grinds to a halt. So she sent me to attend to your needs."
"Aren't you curious about what I want?"
"Of *course* I am! But Auntie refused to explain. She just told me to serve you well." *She said you're the richest man in the world, a guest of honor to the Archon of Volantis and the Emperor of Yi Ti. She told me to seize this chance—even one night, or just once, with your generosity, could set us up for life.*
"So she dressed you in your finest gown and sent you to 'serve' me, hoping you'd climb into my bed and lift your fortunes, eh?" Ian rolled his eyes.
"Oh, my lord!" Janey's face flushed crimson as her scheme was laid bare. "I just... didn't expect you to be so *young*."
*Two years younger than you, actually,* Ian thought dryly.
"Enough of that," Ian cut straight to business, having zero interest in toying with women like Janey. "Tell me about the strangers who stayed here yesterday."
"Of the fourteen guests who lodged here yesterday, eleven were newcomers," Janey replied promptly, seeing Ian's seriousness.
"That many?"
"Yes, my lord. That's how it is here—most guests are just passing through for a night, so unfamiliar faces are common."
"What were these eleven like?"
"I'm afraid I can't answer that fully."
"Why not?"
"Only three remain. The others bought provisions and left before dawn." Janey wrung her hands nervously. "I wanted to report earlier, but this knight stopped me. I couldn't very well detain them myself, could I?"
"You didn't explain why you were here," Rore frowned.
"I didn't know *how* to explain..." Janey averted her eyes. Her ulterior motives had made her retreat at Rore's refusal.
"It's fine," Ian interjected. Departing before dawn suggested ordinary travelers, unlikely to be players. "Just describe the three who stayed."
"O-of course," Janey exhaled in relief. "One's a sellsword drinking in the hall now. I chatted with him—he said he's here looking for work."
"But he doesn't *look* like a mercenary at all. He's *so* thin, like he's never lifted anything heavier than a spoon. I'd bet even our scullery maid could thrash him."
*A player.* Ian's instincts fired immediately.
In the game, combat stats weren't tied to physique. Just as age didn't affect attributes, character creation had no bearing on strength. If some scrawny fellow claimed to be a sellsword, he very well might be one.
"Other details? Armor? Weapons?"
"That's the *weirdest* part! No armor, no weapons. He wore a threadbare silk shirt, carried a gold-threaded purse, and his face was powdered—"
"Skip to the last two," Ian chuckled.
"The other two are master and servant—a middle-aged knight and a boy of eleven or twelve. They took a fine room and asked for extra straw bedding, likely for the boy. They're still abed now."
Janey suddenly recalled something. "Oh! When they arrived yesterday, Auntie asked the knight to aid Ser Wylde at House Wydell's estate. But he *refused* outright, saying he had no time for 'backwater Riverlands knights playing war'—he's bound for King's Landing."
"His house name?"
"Unknown. He never gave it."
"Any sigil?"
"Yes! His cloak bore an emblem—a tower, I think."
"One or two?" Ian's first thought was the Frey twin towers.
"*One*, ser. I'm certain."
"Other details? Tower color? Cloak color? Anything else on the sigil?"
"The tower... yellow. The cloak was black—no, red?" Janey scratched her head. "I didn't pay close attention."
"Black *and* red field... yellow tower..." Ian muttered, rifling through his memory. After a minute, he asked, "Was the cloak divided into red and black sections, with a yellow tower on the black side, topped by four little flames?"
"Eh? Those were *flames*?" Janey blurted before catching herself. "Yes! Exactly as you described!"
**(End of Chapter)**