Game of Thrones, Ice and Fire, I hatched the Black Death.

Chapter 21 After Helping

"Screech!" The scimitar grazed the horse's leg, missing its target, but the packhorse was startled, reared up, threw the bandit off its back, and knocked down another accomplice next to it.

The scene immediately became even more chaotic.

"Damn it! Someone's asking for it!" The bandit with the knife abandoned his threat to the boy and glared menacingly at Will.

Several bandits from the vicinity also realized what was happening and gathered around, cursing and swearing.

Will had already picked up another long-handled logging axe that someone had dropped on the ground, held it horizontally in front of him, leaned against a dilapidated cart piled with junk, and calmly scanned the four approaching bandits.

Instead of charging out to be a hero, he chose a position that was advantageous for defense and could limit the enemy's mounted charge.

"Kid, you're tired of living?" The one-eyed bandit leader licked his lips, his eyes flashing with ferocity.

Will didn't answer, but slightly adjusted his grip on the axe handle, his eyes fixed on the possible attack route of his opponent.

He could feel his heart beating fast, but his hands were steady.

These past few months of brushing shoulders with wild animals, treacherous environments, and death have honed my fear into a cold, focused intensity.

Just as the bandits were about to make their move—

"Fight them! We can't let them take everything!"

"Protect our things!"

Several angry roars rang out from different corners of the market. They came from several stall owners who usually seemed honest and unassuming, the grandson of the old woman who had been kicked to the ground, and two other hot-blooded young men.

Armed with whatever weapons they could find—kitchen knives, wooden sticks, iron hooks—they rushed over with trembling hands and red eyes, standing beside or behind Will.

The standoff on Will's side, along with the chaos he had created earlier, was like a spark that ignited the anger and last vestiges of courage in the oppressed and plundered in the market.

More people stopped running and picked up the "weapons" that were within their reach. Although they were still afraid, there was something else in their eyes.

Seeing this, the mercenary squads exchanged glances, slowly drew their weapons, and took a few steps forward.

They might not care about the stall owner's life or death, but the bandits' arrogance and potential disruption to the camp's order touched their bottom line.

The bandit leader, with his one eye, glanced at Will and the growing number of "resisters" gathered around him, their weapons rudimentary, then at the mercenaries with menacing eyes who were slowly closing in from a distance. His expression shifted.

They had the advantage of surprise and ferocity, but if they were to get into a real fight, in this complex market with its outnumbered men and dismounted horses, they might not come out on top.

"Damn it, what bad luck!" One-Eye spat, glaring fiercely at Will as if trying to memorize his face. "Kid, I'll remember you! Let's go!"

He blew a sharp whistle, and the other bandits, unwilling to give up some of their less valuable or inconvenient loot, mounted their horses one after another.

A group of people came quickly and left quickly, kicking up a cloud of dust as they disappeared behind the scree slope.

The market was in a mess, but most of the valuable or easily portable goods were saved.

The survivors breathed a sigh of relief, and then burst into various voices—jumps of relief, angry curses, groans of the wounded, and gratitude to Will and the few people around him who had stepped forward first.

The old woman, holding her grandson's hand, walked up to Will and was about to kneel down.

Will quickly helped her up.

"Thank you, kind young man... thank you..." the old woman choked back tears, pulling a small cloth bag from her bosom and pressing it into Will's hand. "This is my last bit... a little spice, it's not worth much, but you must accept it..."

The other stall owners also gathered around, thanking him all at once. Some handed him a piece of smoked meat, while others stuffed him with a small bag of beans. The irritable mercenary leader walked over, looked Will up and down, snorted, and tossed him a money bag that jingled with about a dozen silver coins and a lot of copper coins.

"Kid, you've got guts," the mercenary leader said gruffly. "But in this place, guts alone get you killed. Take it, consider it extra money for repairing your knife."

Will accepted them without hesitation, thanking them quietly.

At this moment, an elderly man who looked to be a respected figure in the market walked up to Will, patted him on the shoulder, and whispered, "Young man, well done. Those 'Bloodhoof' bastards need someone to stand up so they won't dare to be too presumptuous."

He changed the subject, lowering his voice even further, a hint of admonition in his cloudy eyes, "However, listen to old Tim, take these and find a chance to leave this place."

Will looked at him.

Old Tim glanced around, especially at the various figures in the distance who seemed indifferent to the commotion but whose eyes kept glancing at him—Pentos's spies, the mysterious maester, and the sharp-eyed agents.

"The water at Shipwreck Hill is much deeper than you can see," old Tim said in a voice only the two of them could hear. "The Morrison family's possessions aren't so easy to take. And the people watching this place aren't just desperate treasure hunters or fools like Bloodhoof. There are many eyes... many eyes you can't even see, watching this land."

He paused, gave Will a meaningful look, and then glanced casually in the direction of Will's simple shack in the distance.

"Let's go before things get too complicated. Take your little companion and head south or west to find a safe place to live. Something big is bound to happen here sooner or later."

After saying that, Old Tim said no more and turned to comfort the other frightened stall owners and organize people to clean up the mess.

Will clutched the heavy money bag and meager gifts in his hands, looking at old Tim's hunched back, then at the shipwreck hill that resembled a giant beast silhouette in the twilight, and at the gazes cast overtly and covertly from all over the camp.

He heeded Old Tim's warning.

This is definitely not a place to stay for long.

Bandits are just a minor ailment; the real danger lurks in the shadows.

But should we leave now?

Shadowflame's unusual focus on those hills, the rumors that the Morrison family might be hiding "something else," Pentos's ambiguous attitude, and the money they currently had in their pockets—enough to ensure they wouldn't have to worry about basic survival for the foreseeable future...

Will lowered his head, looking at the rough little cloth bag containing spices and the leather money bag containing silver and copper coins in his hands.

He needs to make a decision.

Should he heed the advice, take Daenerys and Shadowflame, use this "windfall" to run away, and go in search of that elusive "peace of mind"?

still is……

Taking advantage of the current conditions and chaos, risk venturing deeper into this vortex to explore the potential opportunities that are crucial to Shadowflame, while also gaining more leverage for your own and Daenerys' future.

Night fell again, and the campfires in the camp flickered, illuminating the diverse faces of the people. In the distance, the shipwreck hill stood silently under the faint starlight and moonlight, like a huge, alluring, and dangerous riddle.

Will turned and walked toward the shack. Daenerys came to meet him, her purple eyes filled with worry and lingering fear.

"Will, are you alright? That was that dangerous!"

"It's alright." Will handed her the purse and spice packet. "Here, keep it safe. We... might need to make some serious plans."

Daenerys took the item, felt the weight of the purse, glanced at Will in surprise, then seemed to understand something, nodded vigorously, and her eyes regained their resolve.

Behind the shack, deep in the shadows, a faint, dark golden light, like the most loyal watcher, silently streaks across the night sky.

Shadowflame is back too.

……