Just past the Kingsroad, near the intersection with the east-west running Riverroad and Valleyroad, roughly sixty kilometers from Harrenhal and just south of the Trident, Alex identified his surroundings—it was the territory of the small town ruled by the Earl of Holloway.
At the edge of his vision stood a small brine well. Beside the woods flanking the mine, a caravan was loading cargo. Inside the mine, a foreman was barking orders as workers hefted heavy sacks of salt onto mule-drawn wagons.
And that caravan… it was unmistakably familiar to Alex.
Four aging horses, two wagons, seven mules, four servants, and one lean young merchant. A setup Alex knew all too well.
He didn't know why the player was dumb enough not to alter his default setup, but meeting such a caravan here left no room for doubt.
"Fate really does have a sense of humor," Alex muttered under his breath, his grip tightening around his sword.
In his mind, a proper hunt required advance scouting, reconnaissance of terrain and strength, followed by a carefully planned ambush or trickery—not a spontaneous face-off with zero preparation.
But now, he had no choice.
He had been traveling along the Kingsroad openly. Naturally, the moment he spotted the caravan, they saw him too.
He could've continued north without raising suspicion and passed them by. But if he doubled back later, it would be suspicious as hell.
If he wanted to get close to that merchant player without setting off alarms, he'd have to pretend he had business at the salt mine. That meant heading over directly.
Luckily, my disguise is solid enough. No one should suspect a thing. Alex glanced down at the sigil on his sword, regaining some confidence.
Decision made, he straightened his back, adopting the haughty bearing of a nobleman straight out of the British dramas he used to binge-watch, and steered his horse off the Kingsroad, riding toward the salt mine.
But after just a few steps, he could feel his heartbeat spike uncontrollably.
Don't show fear, he warned himself.
Alex realized he'd overestimated his nerve. Talking big about hunting strategies was easy when it was all theoretical—just keyboard bravado without any actual danger. And if there was one thing he'd mastered back on Zhihu, it was flame wars and verbal takedowns.
But this? This was real. Life and death. And his rational mind was struggling to suppress the anxiety churning in his gut. Was he afraid to kill… or afraid of dying?
The short distance to the mine felt like a grueling trek that lasted an eternity.
Four servants with no combat skills. No hired guards. He's totally exposed. I just need to approach without arousing suspicion. One clean slash to the neck, then ride away like nothing happened. He repeated it like a mantra, trying to keep his nerves in check. There's no real risk. I can do this.
Forcing down the fear, Alex advanced at a slow trot, eyes scanning the mine as he approached.
Then he noticed something strange.
The workers and the merchant's servants were loading the salt onto the wagons at a sluggish, leisurely pace. No one was urging them to hurry. That alone was a red flag.
An idea flashed through his mind. He had a way to test the waters.
Passing through the main gate, Alex circled around the parked wagons and approached the foreman and the merchant player directly.
"Who owns this salt mine?" he asked, adopting an aloof, domineering tone as the foreman stepped up to greet him.
"It belongs to Lord Lucas Root, my lord. He's also the lord of Holloway," the foreman replied, clearly intimidated by the sword at Alex's hip. He bowed respectfully.
"What's the mine's current trade situation? Do you have any long-term supply contracts?"
"No, my lord. We sell all our salt to passing caravans," the foreman said politely, though inwardly he was fuming. Why the hell do the Lannisters care what happens in the Riverlands?
"Perfect. I intend to purchase this mine. Show me the facilities." That was Alex's plan.
It gave him the excuse to wander around, scout the terrain, and draw the merchant into talking. After all, the merchant needed salt, and Alex was about to become the new owner of the mine.
Conversely, it would be odd—suspicious even—for a haughty Lannister noble to take the initiative and greet a lowly merchant.
So he ignored the merchant entirely, never sparing him a glance. The less attention he paid, the lower the chances of raising the man's guard.
"Well…" the foreman looked troubled, "the young earl is currently serving as a squire to Ser Andrey Charlton. He's not in town. The mayor is handling everything in his absence, including the mine."
"And the mayor doesn't have the authority to sell the mine?" Alex raised an eyebrow.
"No, my lord."
"Then I'll take all your salt stock." Alex didn't press the issue. "Refund whatever they paid," he gestured toward the merchant and his wagons at the gate, "and load the salt onto my carts instead."
Fine. If I can't buy the mine, I'll just steal his goods. That'll force him to come to me, Alex thought.
"Well…" The foreman broke into a nervous sweat. "Do you urgently need that much salt? We still have some stored in the warehouse—perhaps—"
"Do I need to explain myself to you?" Alex snapped, cutting him off. "You can't sell me the mine, and now you're trying to deny me the salt? Do you have a problem with House Lannister?"
The foreman paled and turned instinctively toward the merchant for help.
The merchant hesitated, clearly rattled. In the end, he glanced at the chubby servant beside him.
Alex's eyes narrowed.
So that's it…
No wonder the merchant had dared to flaunt his default starting gear at a salt mine. And the workers were all taking their sweet time…
He'd swapped outfits with one of his servants. The guy was fishing—for other players.
He knew how recognizable the merchant's starting kit was. So he left a deliberate opening, waiting for someone to come hunting.
And this spot—yeah, it was perfect for it.
Just north of the intersection between the Kingsroad, Riverroad, and Valleyroad, and south of the Trident crossing. Any player coming from the North, the Crownlands, or the Vale into the Riverlands—or going the other way—would pass by this very spot and see him.
But with just a few useless servants? What made this guy think he could bait someone and pull off a counter-kill?