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The Black Falcon wore a piece of chainmail, with a large iron plate covering his chest. The plate was two millimeters thick, about the same as an ordinary wrought-iron breastplate. A steel crossbow bolt pierced the black metal from the front, and the two layers of defense on the Falcon's chest failed to stop it, striking his heart. "This required more than two hundred joules of energy," Ian noted, recognizing it as the kind of damage caused by a military crossbow firing an armor-piercing bolt at close range.
The Falcon had also been hit in the leg. A crossbow bolt had pierced the outside of his right thigh, an area left unprotected.
There was a large stain of blood by the door, and dragging marks led from there to the Black Falcon's body, suggesting he had been attacked the moment he opened the door.
Ian stood at the door and mimicked the action of pushing it open again.
"Judging by the angle at which the crossbow bolts hit the corpse, one of the attackers must have been standing facing the gate, while the other was crouching in the corner over there. Both were armed with military crossbows, waiting for the Black Falcon to open the door."
He opened the corpse's eyelids to check further.
The pupils had become slightly cloudy, the corpse spots on the back were merging, and the body had completely stiffened. The victim had been dead for more than six hours.
"The time of death was likely between the ghost hour and the wolf hour," Ian observed. He then turned to Black Falcon's adopted son, Jon Snow.
"Based on the situation, Black Falcon must have arrived in the middle of the night yesterday at the room of this suspected knight from the Grafson family, alone and fully armed. When he opened the door, he was immediately ambushed by the other party. He didn't even have time to scream. He was dead before he could make a sound. The knight and his page boy then dragged Black Falcon's body from the door into the room, closed it, and escaped during the night."
Ian paused for a moment, looking thoughtfully at Jon Snow. "What puzzles me is why Black Falcon brought ten of you to this inn but insisted on meeting alone in the middle of the night. Furthermore, since they had arranged to meet alone, why didn't they speak? The scene clearly shows that the murderer had no intention of talking. He came to kill from the beginning."
"Black Falcon was attacked as soon as he opened the door. What kind of hatred does that imply? The fact that he was fully armed shows he didn't trust the other party, so why would he meet them alone? It doesn't add up, does it?"
Jon Snow looked stunned. "How do you know all of this? I didn't see anything."
Ian smiled. "You were looking, and I was observing," he replied, quoting a famous saying from Sherlock Holmes.
Jon Snow's confusion deepened. "No, who the hell are you?" He turned to Grand son, "Who is this? Your new master?"
"Boss Morgan would never speak to me like that, kid," Grand son snapped back, instantly putting Jon Snow in his place.
The use of the word 'kid' ignited Jon Snow's temper. When he turned to seek support from his adopted father's two deputies, 'Knife Face' and 'Lame,' the two men also used the word 'kid' to taunt him before walking away.
Just as Jon Snow was about to draw his sword, Ian stopped him.
"I think you've misunderstood Sir Grantham," Ian said, his voice calm but firm. "Didn't you realize that he was the only mercenary captain who stayed here after your adoptive father died, and he wanted to avenge him? Unlike the others, who left immediately, he stayed. Do you want to rush back to your base and fight for the position of the next leader?"
Dorian's hand, which had just brushed the hilt of his sword, suddenly relaxed.
"It was Sir Grantham's invitation that brought me here to help," Ian continued, casting a sharp look at Grantham, signaling that he was not to speak. "Or do you think that just the few of you can handle this? Do you have the strength to avenge Black Falcon?"
"Well..." Dorian hesitated, his mind racing.
"I am the only one in the world who can help you get revenge—if you're willing to share everything you know with me," Ian said, washing his hands in the basin Jenny had handed him.
"Really?" Dorian looked at Ian, then at Grantham, clearly starting to believe him.
"Uh, of course," Grantham replied, though his voice was strained, clearly understanding Ian's intent. He nodded, but it was an unnatural gesture.
"So, should you apologize to Sir Grantham now?" Ian asked, his tone smooth. "We're all working toward the same goal, and we should remain united."
"Yes," Dorian said, nodding. He didn't even realize how Ian had subtly made him part of their team before agreeing. "I'm sorry, Sir. I beg your forgiveness for my earlier actions."
"I shouldn't have used the word 'child' to describe you," Grantham responded, his tone a bit more sincere. "In fact, you're already a fine warrior. One day, you may even become the new boss of Morgan."
In his mind, Grantham added bitterly, You'll never be the new boss of Morgan, you little brat...
"Now, please help me clear up my doubts," Ian said as he walked toward the door. "It's crucial to uncover who was behind your adoptive father's murder. Let's find another room and discuss things over drinks?"
Dorian agreed quickly, and soon the group moved to Ian's large room.
"What kind of drinks would you like?" Jenny asked, stepping into her role.
"The golden wine of the Arbor," Ian replied without hesitation, naming the best wine in all of Westeros.
"Oh, sir, how could there be such fine wine in a place like this? Our best wine is Dorne's Summer Red, and the rest is our own brew."
The thought of Dorne's Summer Red made Ian think back to someone's comment in the original novel, calling it "horse urine." "Alright, then," he said with a grimace, "I'll have Summer Red." Then, turning to Dorian, he added, "So, should we wait for the wine to arrive before we begin?"
"Can you tell me who you are first, sir?" Dorian asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Ser Lucion Lannister," Ian answered.
"A Lannister?" Dorian's heart skipped a beat. "Are you here for the Blackfire treasure?" he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.
"Is that what you're thinking?" Ian replied, his voice exaggerated in mock surprise. "That my adoptive father was killed by someone else? At that moment, you had that thought, didn't you?"
Dorian stood up abruptly, taking a step back, his hand hovering near his weapon.
"Relax, my friend," Ian said, his tone calming. "I never knew your adoptive father before. I'm here to capture a group of fugitives from King's Landing, and they can all prove it."
Dorian glanced around at Grantham and Jenny, who had just brought the wine, and nodded slowly, finally feeling a sense of trust, though still uncertain.