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"The truth? Oh! Sir Lucien, please have mercy on me, an old man. Can you speak more clearly?" Sir Wilder's composure broke.
"I only have one last question." Ian didn't answer, but asked a question he had asked before, "Are you sure you saw three black dragons when you fought the ghosts of White Wall City?"
"Why bring this up again?" Wilder seemed to have been asked about this too many times. He raised his hand in a solemn oath.
"I swear on my honor, what I saw was a black dragon on a red background. They've asked me about it, but I've said it countless times! A black dragon! A black dragon! I'm certain it was a black dragon!" Wilder couldn't hold back, his tone almost a roar.
"I remember it was nighttime when you fought the robber knight of White Wall City, right?"
"Did the Black Falcon mercenary you recruited tell you this?"
"It's not important. What matters is, was it bright at the time? Your battle took place in a room. Was there enough light?"
"The light? The entire village was burning at that time." Wilder seemed to drift into memory. "But the house we fought in was backlit, completely dark. But my eyesight is sharp; I can see well in the dark," he added defensively.
"You can see in the dark, but you can't see colors clearly. It's impossible for human eyes to distinguish colors in the dark." Ian smiled, shaking his head. "In the dark, our eyes mainly rely on rod cells, which only detect light and dark, not color."
"Really?" Wilder was hearing this for the first time.
"Yes, I'm sure. Sir Wilder, if the room was as dark as you say, you wouldn't have been able to distinguish the colors. So why are you so sure it was a black dragon you saw, and not something else?"
"This, this..." Wilder faltered, uncertainty creeping in. "I... I don't know, I don't know," he repeated twice, then firmed up again, "But I remember it clearly! The black dragon on a red background! It's deeply etched in my memory!"
"Red background? So you also saw a red background?" Ian noted a new clue.
"Yes!" Sir Wilder suddenly became animated, "A red background! I saw it before I chased into the earthen house. The light was bright then. I can't have mistaken it!"
Wilder shouted, almost as though he had uncovered the perfect defense for his honor. "The black dragon on a red background, a red dragon on a black background—anyone familiar with heraldry knows this! A black dragon on a red background is the emblem of Black Fire!"
"But," Ian interrupted, "You cut off the other man's burqa after entering the earthen house, didn't you see the emblem on his breastplate? What did you see before entering the house?" Ian asked slowly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. It was just as he expected.
"This..." Wilder stood stunned, his mouth hanging open. "I saw it."
"The red color you saw came from the other man's burqa. That man was wearing a red burqa, right?"
"No, he wore a white burqa, but his chest was completely stained red with blood."
"Because of your knowledge of heraldry, the image of a black dragon on a red background and a red dragon on a black background was deeply ingrained in your mind. So when you saw the three-headed dragon symbol on the opponent's breastplate in the dark, you subconsciously mistook the red on the burqa for the background. Your first instinct was to think you saw a black dragon," Ian explained.
"Oh! Seven hells! This is absurd! Father, forgive me." Wilder gasped, finally realizing what had happened.
"And if your initial judgment that you saw a black dragon was an illusion, how did you end up talking about the treasure of Black Fire?" Ian clapped Wilder on the shoulder. "Alright, now it's all clear. Baymax, it's time we make that man pay for fooling you into thinking you were a fool."
It was the sixth day since Ian had arrived in the world of Ice and Fire, and the third day he had spent at Sir Willy Ward's manor.
Over the past two days, Ian had finally been granted a private courtyard where he could train in peace. Under Rohr's guidance, he began his special training. Although Ian's initial performance was disorganized, his progress was so rapid that even Rohr was astonished by his improvement.
Last night, Ian's net, cast at the Crossroads Inn, had brought him another head.
[My subordinates successfully killed a player, gaining 2 points and an additional 1 point of mental strength.]
Since it was a kill by one of his subordinates, the basic points and additional attributes were halved. Moreover, because the player had already exhausted their initial points, there were no points to capture from the player. Nevertheless, it was still better than nothing.
After the update, Ian's profile page changed to:
[Ian: Strength 26, Agility 24, Mental Strength 3
Skills: Basic etiquette, basic reading and writing in common language, advanced swordsmanship, advanced equestrian skills, intermediate lance skills
Attribute points: 0
Skill points: 0
Points: 19]
At this point, Ian had eliminated four players in just five days.
Of course, the players who hadn't crossed paths with Ian were not so fortunate.
As the players gradually completed the initial map-running process and began to encounter each other, the traps set by Gou began to take effect.
The fourth day marked a turning point. The system's settlement report on the third night showed 96 players survived. By the fourth day, that number dropped to 92. Last night, the number was updated again, now standing at 86.
Ian predicted that this first meat grinder game would end once the player count dropped to at least 70, or perhaps even less than half of the original number.
At that point, players who had earned points by hunting others would have a brief period of development. Meanwhile, those who hadn't yet earned any points would live in constant fear, vulnerable to the assassination mechanisms tied to the standings at the end of each month.
After breakfast, Ian followed Rohr to the courtyard, ready to begin today's training.
However, before training could begin, Bronn, who had been observing for the past two days, made an unexpected remark. "Maybe you should start with more basic training. Your posture is fine, but your performance is... rough, like someone who was once a good swordsman but hasn't touched a sword in years."
He paused, shaking his head. "No, wait, that's nonsense. You look like you haven't even been weaned yet. How could you be rusty?"
Ian gave him a pointed look. "I think you should show more respect to your employer," he said dryly.