Led by the waiter Rory, Ethan and his companions spent the morning walking the town, viewing first the outer residence of a garrison commander and then the villa of a minor lord. After some discussion they finally settled on a small courtyard near the river on the outskirts.
The yard was modest—roughly seventy square meters—with a main house of about fifty square meters and a smaller side building of twenty. An abandoned forge still stood in one corner.
According to Rory the previous owner had been a blacksmith who lived there with his wife two children and an apprentice. Unfortunately they had all perished in an accident.
With no heirs the property—considered public domain—was seized by the duke's administration and later sold to a local vegetable merchant named Joyce.
Joyce already owned a house near the market. He bought this place purely because the price was low—a bargain—planning to rent it out.
Because of the courtyard's remote location and because Ethan was Joyce's first tenant the rent was modest: five silver stags per month plus one month's deposit and three months paid in advance.
After talking it over the three men agreed to take the place.
Through Rory's introduction Ethan paid the rent directly to Joyce. He then spent another silver stag to have Andor the owner of the Smoked Wood Tavern serve as witness while the simple rental agreement was signed.
Once everything was settled Ethan tipped Rory for his help and bought him a drink. With the assistance of five strong draft horses they moved all their belongings in one trip.
"John—what do you think that 'unfortunate accident' Rory mentioned really was?"
Inside the main house Ethan rubbed the toe of his boot against a patch of long-dried blackened bloodstain on the stone floor.
"Could the blacksmith have accidentally sliced his own artery while forging and bled out right here?"
Brother John studied the radiating black splatter and the strange claw-like scratches on the walls. He raised his hand drew a seven-pointed star over his chest and murmured:
"May the Seven have mercy on his soul."
"I hope the Seven have mercy on *our* souls even more!"
Lennar called from the doorway.
"Ethan—did you not even ask whether the house was haunted before you rented it?"
"Of course we paid attention. Otherwise who would rent it to us for just five silver stags?
What's wrong—are you afraid? Don't worry—John's here." Ethan patted the monk's shoulder. "If anything unclean is lingering he can just perform an exorcism."
John raised both hands quickly.
"No chance. The Smith I serve is no stranger to iron—but I fix things. I don't banish ghosts."
At that moment Kevin pointed to the long shadows stretching across the yard.
"Teacher—if we don't start cleaning soon it'll be dark."
"Oh—right. Enough chatting. Let's get to work."
Both houses were in poor shape after standing empty so long.
Cobwebs draped the corners and eaves.
A musty smell clung to everything.
The few pieces of furniture still structurally sound were coated in mold and stains; bright patches of colorful mushrooms had even sprouted on some surfaces.
Essentially only the walls remained usable—and even the thatched roofs needed replacing.
Fortunately Brother John had wandered the countryside for years and was extremely practiced at dealing with such conditions.
Under his direction and supervision Ethan and Kevin quickly scrubbed the place inside and out piling a large heap of refuse in the yard.
For tonight fresh straw on the floor would suffice.
And Lennar?
He sat in the corner playing lively tunes on his harp offering enthusiastic moral support.
In his own words:
"It pains me to see you working so hard while I stand idle.
But there's no helping it. For a bard healthy nimble hands are more precious than life itself.
You know—they're not only used to play beautiful songs… they also bring joy to lonely noblewomen.
I can't risk even the smallest injury—so these rough heavy tasks must fall to you.
You understand right?"
Of course. Everyone's core needs must be respected.
So after the cleaning was finished Ethan and Kevin took the smaller twenty-square-meter room while Brother John claimed the larger fifty-square-meter space—which would also serve as the embryonic chapel of the Seven.
Lennar was assigned a corner of the main house. Brother John promised that once the chapel was renovated two prayer benches could be pushed together to make him a makeshift bed.
For now the floor would do.
Lennar accepted without complaint.
What else could he do—sleep outside and feed the mosquitoes?
Staying at the tavern cost money.
Although performance fees could offset lodging costs—and the price was lower than normal rates—if he didn't stay at the inn the silver stayed in his own pocket.
In the end four strangers had settled in Winterhold the small town outside Winterfell.
After a few days the houses had new thatch the furniture stains were scrubbed away and the walls received a coat of fresh whitewash.
Everyone agreed it already felt far more livable.
With the communal cleaning finished Brother John turned all his energy to decorating his tiny chapel.
As the physical embodiment of the Faith a sept could be grand—like the Snow Sept Ethan had visited in White Harbor—or extremely humble.
A single large room able to hold ten people praying together was sufficient.
But whether magnificent or simple certain elements were essential:
a pulpit for preaching benches for the faithful icons representing the seven aspects of the Seven and the seven-pointed star symbol hanging outside.
None of these were readily available in Winterhold so Brother John had to craft them himself piece by piece.
Ethan offered to help but Brother John refused sternly.
As a servant of the Smith forging the sacred implements of the sept was itself an act of devotion—not something to be delegated especially to a "heretic."
Of course if Ethan were willing to formally convert to the Faith the matter would be different.
Brother John would gladly accept his "brother's" assistance—and could even preside over Ethan's knighthood ceremony the very day the chapel was completed.
In that case all of Ethan's support—including rent and building materials—could be considered a contribution to the Seven.
A win for everyone.
This time it was Ethan's turn to refuse.
So your first missionary target in the North was me?
Supporting Brother John hadn't cost much; Ethan hadn't even bothered to calculate the value of the wood and lime.
But the absurd feeling of "I treat you as a brother yet you want to be my spiritual father" was truly unbearable.
In the end Ethan let John do as he pleased leaving Kevin to assist (after all Kevin was a genuine follower of the Seven) while he himself headed to the Wolf's Kiss tavern to look for work.
Ethan was a transmigrator who before crossing had been an ordinary office worker on Earth earning a modest salary.
His entire understanding of job-hunting was limited to "submitting résumés online" "attending job fairs" and "answering calls from headhunters."
He had no idea how a wandering swordsman was supposed to find employment.
Fortunately Rodney Corbray had once mentioned that security problems too difficult for minor lords and garrison commanders to handle eventually funneled to the taverns of Winterhold.
So speaking with Rory at the Smoked Wood had definitely been the right move.
After ordering a glass of sweet-sour cider Ethan asked:
"Rory—do you happen to have any jobs suitable for a wandering swordsman you could share?"
Rory looked apologetic.
"Sorry friend—I really don't have anything at the moment."
Ethan frowned.
"But my friend told me it's easy to make a living here as a sellsword."
"Of course." Rory kept wiping the same glass. "After all this is the seat of House Stark.
But our Smoked Wood doesn't handle that kind of business."
He paused concentrated on polishing until another bronze star slid across the bar then continued:
"In Stone Slab Alley north of the market district there's a tavern with a sign showing a wolf's bared teeth.
That's where Winterfell's mercenaries gather.
The owner is called Howard Bello.
Take this token—he'll know what to do."
Ethan accepted the small wooden plaque engraved with a dripping longsword and made his way to the Wolf's Kiss.
The tavern looked unremarkable tucked into a corner of a stone-paved alley.
Its windows were unusually small almost deliberately dimming the interior.
The door was closed tight.
If not for the snarling wolf's head painted above it Ethan might have walked past.
After a moment's hesitation he adjusted the breastplate hidden under his tunic checked that "Sea Serpent Strike" sat comfortably at his hip and pushed the door open.
It took a few blinks to adjust to the gloom.
About a dozen men sat scattered around the room occupying only half the space.
The bar stood against the left wall.
Behind it a burly man with a long gray beard polished a glass with fierce concentration—apparently a fundamental skill for any tavern keeper.
Ethan walked up pulled out a high stool sat and placed Rory's token on the bar pushing it gently forward.
"Rory from the Smoked Wood sent me."
The bearded man lifted one eyelid saw the bloodied longsword symbol gave a short nod picked up the token and tossed it casually into a box behind him.
"Your accent sounds eastern—but your face doesn't match."
"I'm not from the east." Ethan nodded confirming the guess. "I come from a land called Seris—east of Essos. I've only been in Westeros a few months."
"Seris? Never heard of it…" The man muttered pulled a small ledger from beneath the bar. "Doesn't matter.
Introduce yourself—legions you served notable deeds and so on.
If a suitable job comes up later I'll pass your name to an employer.
Our rule here: contracts made under tavern witness pay ten percent commission. Acceptable?"
Ten percent? That was quite reasonable—some places took twenty.
"Of course. My greatest virtue is respecting the rules." Ethan smiled. "My name is Ethan Cole.
In my homeland I once led a mercenary company of twenty-five…"
After listening to Ethan's half-true résumé the bearded man closed the ledger.
"You sound capable. I hope you're not exaggerating.
If I send you on a job beyond your strength people die."
"I swear by the sun every word is verifiable."
It's all logged in the official Azeroth database—as long as the servers stay up anyone can check.
"Good. What'll you drink?"
"Hm? Uh…"
Ethan ordered his usual rye beer and was then directed to a quiet corner to wait.
He had expected the job hunt to be like queuing for a game server—overnight at most.
Instead for the next several days he simply arrived ordered a rye beer and nursed it slowly all afternoon.
Not a single offer came.
After wasting nearly a week Ethan could bear the idle powerless routine no longer.
He sat down in front of the bearded man again.
"Brother Howard—I've nearly finished a whole barrel of rye beer these past few days and you haven't said a word.
Did I do something to offend you?"
"No—not at all." Howard kept polishing. "You sit quietly in the corner never cause trouble never wave a severed hand demanding compensation. I'm very satisfied.
But…"
He nodded toward the other waiting men scattered around the room.
"Look—you're not the only one without work."
During his time at the Wolf's Kiss Ethan had made a few acquaintances.
Howard was right—none of them had received contracts either.
Those short on coin even had to share drinks with friends just to afford another day waiting in the tavern.
"How can this be?" Ethan was puzzled. "I was told it's easy to earn here."
Howard gave a dry laugh.
"A sellsword's trade is a flower watered with blood.
Only in the abyss of fire and slaughter does it bloom brightest.
But the North has been at peace for a long time.
Under the just and wise Duke Eddard Stark—may he live forever—the North enjoys tranquility.
When lords quarrel they prefer to ask the duke to arbitrate rather than hire blades to ravage each other's lands."
So all the ambitious and truly skilled sellswords had crossed the Narrow Sea to Essos leaving only the stubborn old veterans who refused to leave their homeland.
"Honestly I find it hard to understand why you gave up your career in the Free Cities."
Ethan took a slow sip and murmured:
"A sellsword's career is a flower watered with blood… how true…"
Howard smiled without replying.
Would I tell you I've polished that line for years?
Over the next ten days or so Brother John finished repairing the little sept Lennar bought himself a new outfit with performance earnings and Kevin's spear work noticeably improved.
Only Ethan remained stubbornly locked in battle with rye beer.
Just as he was seriously considering switching professions to blacksmithing an opportunity arrived—sudden and unlooked-for.
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