“Hyaaah—wooooooooh!” Riding felt damn good.
Aragorn yelled at the top of his lungs, venting every bit of frustration that had built up since he woke in this world.
The horse showed no sign of tiring.
It was his game mount, the same one that had been quietly grazing beside the tree where he first appeared.
He leaped a small stream and cut through the forest.
Then he heard sounds that didn’t belong—loud, excited male laughter mixed with a girl’s screams and desperate pleas.
Years of games and novels told him nothing good was happening over there.
He dismounted, climbed a tree, and peered through the branches.
Four men had a girl pinned down.
Her overturned cart lay nearby, goods spilled across the dirt.
Her companion was already dead in a pool of blood, throat cut.
The men were laughing as they held her.
One had her feet.
Another pinned her arms.
A third had already dropped his pants and was fumbling with himself while the fourth stood watch farther out.
“Stop struggling.
I’ll make you feel real good, hahaha—ah!” The leader’s crude taunt cut off as Aragorn released the bowstring.
Thwip.
The arrow took the man straight through the throat.
Thwip.
Thwip.
Thwip.
Three more arrows flew in the space of three heartbeats.
Two buried themselves in the chests and foreheads of the men holding the girl.
The last caught the distant lookout in the mouth.
All four dropped without another sound.
Aragorn dropped from the tree and walked toward the girl.
“You all right?
Are you hurt?” She just stared at him, frozen, eyes wide and empty.
Shock had locked her in place.
Is she in shock?
Poor kid… this fucking medieval world.
“Hey.
You okay?” “Ah—yes, I’m fine.
Thank… thank you…” She tried to stand but her legs gave out.
Aragorn reached down and helped her up.
The moment he touched her he felt the wetness.
She had lost control of her bladder from pure terror.
There was a river nearby.
“Go clean yourself up.
I’ll handle things here.” “Th-thank you.
Truly.” She nodded quickly, face burning, and hurried to the cart.
She grabbed a large piece of cloth from the scattered luggage and headed for the water.
Aragorn looked down at the four corpses.
He felt nothing.
No guilt, no rush, no satisfaction.
Just the same clinical detachment he’d felt in the game when clearing bandit camps.
Probably the character’s influence bleeding through.
He searched the bodies.
Three horses—worth a fortune in this world.
Some rusty but serviceable armor.
Fifteen silver coins and a handful of copper.
The coins looked different from the Lysene gold he carried.
Made sense.
This was three hundred years later.
Once he had everything worth taking, he dragged the bodies into a pile and pulled out a small bottle of [Corpse Dissolving Water] he’d gotten from Asshai during his game days.
A few drops and the flesh and bone began to melt away like snow under a hot sun, leaving nothing behind.
No smell.
No evidence.
No one coming back for revenge.
By the time the girl returned from the river she looked a little better, though her eyes were still red from crying.
He decided to ask a few questions.
“My name is Jenny Hyde.
My companion and I were out buying supplies.” “Supplies?” “My relative runs an inn.
I help out there.” “You said an inn.
Is there one nearby?” Good news.
“My lord, are you from King’s Landing?” “King’s Landing?
No.
I’m from Essos.
From Lys, one of the Nine Free Cities.” He gave the answer that matched his game background.
“And I’m a little lost.
Could you show me the way to that inn?” “Of course, my lord.” “Here.
This was on the bandits.
Take it.
Call it compensation for what they put you through.” He handed her the silver and copper he’d taken from the bodies.
“Thank you, my lord.” “Don’t call me that.
My name’s Aragorn .
Just call me Aragorn.” “Yes, Lord Aragorn.” “…Whatever you want.” “Can you ride?” “I can manage.” He helped her onto one of the captured horses, swung up onto his own, and they rode toward the inn she’d described.
At the same time, in a camp somewhere nearby… “Four of the guard’s mercenary knights are missing,” a soldier reported nervously.
“Looks like they ran.” “Have you searched for them?” “We couldn’t find them.” The soldier kept his head down, fear in his voice.
“Mercenary knights,” the leader snorted.
“No honor at all.” By the time Aragorn and Jenny reached the inn the sun had already set.
A little girl threw herself into Jenny’s arms and started crying, then noticed the stranger behind her and went quiet and wary.
“What happened?!
Where’s Ark?
And who is this man?” Martha Hyde demanded, voice tight with worry.
Regulars at the inn heard the commotion and came crowding over.
“We were attacked by bandits on the way back.
Ark is dead.
This man—Aragorn—killed them all and saved me.” The whole room went dead silent.
“Put Ark’s body on the cart.
We’ll bury him properly.” “Someone help me.” “Lord Aragorn, thank you for saving Jenny.
If there’s anything you need—anything at all that’s within my power—I’ll do it.” “I just need a room for a few days.
Do you have one available?” “We do.
Stay as long as you like.
I’ll give you half price.”