A week was long enough to transform a person inside and out—and long enough to turn a ten-square-meter room into a strategic supply depot.
Standing in the middle of his rented apartment, Luke could barely find a place to step.
The floor, the desk, and even the bed were piled high with an array of “merchandise” and packing scraps.
The air was a heavy mix of fresh bamboo, sweet sugar, and the complex chemical fragrances of perfume and Florida Water.
During this week, he had operated like a precise, hyperactive machine.
First was “brand packaging.”
He spent a “fortune”—7,000 Long Yuan—to custom-order a thousand bamboo canisters.
Five hundred were carved with ornate cursive reading “Mithril Salt,” and five hundred bore the same stylish script for “Velvet Snow.”
The names had to sound imposing, and the backstory needed to be ironclad:
Premium seasoning sanctified by dwarven craftsmen and elven sorcerers from mysterious islands east of the Narrow Sea.
Next was “product line expansion.”
Two hundred bottles of Florida Water—half in classic glass bottles, half in modern spray-top plastic bottles—were all relabeled “Summer Snow.”
One thousand 3 ml bottles of Essential Balm, slapped with stickers reading “Dragon’s Cold Flame,” were positioned as “alchemical potions” designed to clear the mind and ward off evil spirits.
The main attraction was perfume: six hundred cheap off-brand bottles sorted and labeled with six dramatically melodramatic English names: “Rose Water,” “Siren’s Tears,” “Demon’s Whisper,” “Lady’s Kiss,” “Dragon’s Blood,” and “Lionheart.”
He had even concocted short, mysterious origin stories for each scent, ready to scam…
err, perform “cultural outreach” to the nobility of Westeros.
But that was still not enough.
He stocked up on massive amounts of raw commodities: 1,000 jin of table salt, 1,000 jin of white sugar, 1,000 jin of rock sugar (which he renamed “Ice Crystal Honey”), and 1,000 jin of dark brown sugar.
Added to that were reams of A4 paper, two boxes of pencils, two boxes of ballpoint pens, two boxes of fountain pens, and two boxes of ink.
All packaged in cheap Blue Star bulk industrial bags, their costs were ridiculously low.
But in Westeros, these were solid commodities capable of supplying a steady, high-end brand behind the scenes.
He stashed all these supplies, along with newly acquired self-defense weapons, straight into his portable spatial storage.
The spatial storage had grown significantly, its dimensions expanding by 3 meters on each side.
Another obvious benefit of assigning points was that he had grown taller.
When he stepped on the scale and height meter outside a pharmacy, he measured 170 centimeters!
While still a ways from “tall and imposing,” compared to his previous crippled height of 160 centimeters, it was a quantum leap!
Because of this, he had to toss out almost all his old clothes and buy a brand-new wardrobe.
He spent another steep 1,500 yuan to custom-order three “Game of Thrones cosplay costumes,” far superior in fabric, craftsmanship, and detail to his previous cheap street-market clothes.
Two were exquisite, understated black noble outfits in King’s Landing style; the third was a practical, durable greyish-brown ranger suit built for mobility.
Setting all this up, along with various miscellaneous expenses, ran him nearly thirty thousand yuan.
Where did the money come from?
He had cautiously visited different pawn and jewelry shops across various districts, selling off crushed gold beans in small batches to rake in just over one hundred thousand in cash.
He had even reached out to a Douyin streamer with hundreds of thousands of followers, pretending to be a fan and mailing him a gold nugget.
The creator made a “gold melting and refining” video that brought in tons of views…
Luke naturally let him buy out that 51.9 grams of gold, earning 50,000 yuan in return.
In total, he made 150,000 yuan!
He didn’t dare sell any more, as turning raw gold into cash carried high risks—one wrong step and he’d end up in a police station!
“Modern society really puts a leash on a main character…”
Luke decided to shift his focus to jewelry, jade, antiques, and other hard assets in Westeros that were far easier to liquidate on Blue Star without raising suspicion.
Right now, it was the darkest hour before dawn.
Luke stood in the middle of his transformed apartment and took a deep breath.
First, he put on a lightweight stab-proof vest purchased from an outdoor supply store as a base layer.
Though unsure how well it would hold up against Westerosi blades, it provided at least some psychological comfort and basic protection.
Over it, he put on the crisp black King’s Landing noble outfit, which fit sharply, accentuating his height, legs, and newly grounded aura.
On his feet was a pair of black Erke running shoes.
At his waist hung a Longquan sword worth a thousand yuan.
The young man in the mirror was handsome, sharp-eyed, and upright—a far cry from the battered, pathetic, unemployed youth from a week ago.
“Time to go back.”
He muttered softly, staring into the empty air as if seeing through the barrier between two worlds.
The alleyway he had fled in terror over ten days ago.
The feeling of weightlessness vanished in a flash.
King’s Landing’s distinct stench—a heavy mixture of rot, moisture, and distant hearth smoke—washed over him.
Dawn was breaking faintly, a few lingering stars clinging to the deep blue sky while the narrow alley lay shrouded in the darkest shadows before dawn.
From below came a muffled murmur and the rustle of someone turning over.
Luke looked down.
By the faint morning light, he saw a figure wrapped in rags curled up in the corner.
A beggar, fast asleep, seemingly unaware that a person had just materialized out of thin air beside him.
Luke held his breath immediately, his body tensing up as his sharp eyes quickly scanned his surroundings.
The alley was dead quiet, appearing unchanged from when he had left.
The clutter piled in the corners remained intact.
As for the ground…
His eyes narrowed.
In the cracks between the cobblestones and the shadows near the wall not far from the beggar, dark brown stains remained, impossibly hard to wash away.
Blood.
His blood—and perhaps that of the four robbers!
A cold shiver crept up his spine, but it was quickly quelled by a stronger composure and determination—the resolve of a returnee.
Without disturbing the beggar, he slipped like a silent shadow along the wall, swiftly and nimbly departing the alley that held those bloody memories.
King’s Landing was slowly awakening in the dawn, while a transformed, fully equipped Luke officially embarked on the ambitious journey he had meticulously planned.
This time, he was no longer prey, nor an ignorant gold prospector.
He was the supplier of “Mithril Salt” and “Velvet Snow,” the purveyor of “Summer Snow” and “Dragon’s Cold Flame”…
A transmigrator equipped with a system, fluent in the native tongue, and forged in the crucible of life and death.
“Westeros, your absolute menace has arrived!”