Wandering Swordsman

Chapter 18: The Wandering Swordsman

Illyric was shocked by the sudden, swift attack.

When he looked up, he saw the person he had just restrained sitting comfortably in a chair, holding a silver chopstick.

"White Knight, I mean no harm. I'm just a poor, hungry soul looking for something tasty to eat."

Seeing this, Rhaegar quietly put down his plate and hid behind Illyric.

Judging by the speed of the attack, this person was clearly a master.

His small frame couldn't handle that.

"You are truly generous, Your Highness."

Upon seeing the pastries, the person's face lit up with joy, and he bowed to Rhaegar.

It seemed he truly meant no harm.

Taking advantage of the moment, Rhaegar finally noticed the other person's appearance.

He had curly brown hair, brown eyes, and a weathered face that always wore a smiling expression.

He was very short, no more than 160 centimeters.

While average among ordinary people, he seemed too small compared to knights skilled in martial arts.

Sensing Rhaegar's gaze, the person chuckled, "I know who you are, but it seems you don't know who I am?"

"Who are you?"

Rhaegar asked.

"An nobody."

Rhaegar: ...

His fists clenched.

Rhaegar's fists clenched.

He felt like he was being toyed with.

Before Rhaegar could get angry, the person offered the plate and said softly, "Shiryu Freyr, a wandering swordsman from Braavos, willing to share food with the Prince."

Rhaegar stared into his eyes. The black pupils were as calm as water, revealing nothing of his inner thoughts.

He glanced back at Illyric, his eyes asking for guidance.

Illyric nodded slightly, signaling him to proceed as he pleased.

Inside the Red Keep, no one would be audacious enough to assassinate the King's eldest son in public.

Rhaegar picked up a pastry, smiled, and said, "I am willing to share with you, Shiryu Freyr."

Shiryu seemed to smile forever. "You can call me Shiryu, but I'm not a noble and I'm temporarily out of work."

"Oh, what did you do before, with such incredible swordsmanship?"

The man's skills were impressive, and his hometown was an overseas city-state. Rhaegar was very interested in him.

"We can talk while we eat."

"That's precisely what I intended."

The two, one large and one small, returned to their seats. The previous tension vanished as they chatted and ate pastries.

During their conversation, Rhaegar learned that Shiryu had been a squire to a knight in his youth and had been skilled with a sword from a young age, and very good at it.

However, he had always aspired to become an elegant dancer.

He had put a lot of effort into it.

After reaching adulthood, he was noticed by a wealthy merchant from Braavos and hired as his personal dancer.

He thought his good days had arrived.

Unexpectedly, within a few years, the merchant was assassinated.

Shiryu, who was dancing for the merchant at the time, became the prime suspect.

To evade capture, he stowed away to the Westeros Continent.

And under the admiration of a noble lady, he was brought to the Red Keep to attend a banquet.

Rhaegar listened with rapt attention, as if immersed in Shiryu's story.

He occasionally felt indignant about Shiryu's unfair experiences.

Shiryu, while eating and drinking heartily, lamented the injustice of fate.

For a moment, the two felt a deep connection, as if they had found a kindred spirit.

Of course, the above was purely Illyric's personal perspective.

In reality, Rhaegar listened attentively on the surface but was inwardly full of complaints.

"A fine Braavosi dancer, skilled with a sword by talent alone, truly rare!"

Shiryu looked at his own appearance.

He had the height for swordsmanship, the looks for swordsmanship...

What kind of wealthy Braavosi would be so blind to hire such a short, ugly man to dance for them?

Did they have peculiar tastes?

"Pretending to be serious while lying, perhaps he tricked some noble girl and sneaked into the Red Keep for free food and drinks."

Rhaegar smiled without speaking, quietly watching him weave his tales.

After chatting for a while, the chocolate pastries on nearby tables were all gone, and Shiryu regretfully stopped.

He casually brought up the outer tournament.

"Prince, the duels outside are quite exciting, don't you want to go watch?"

Rhaegar shook his head, "No, I'm still too young and not used to seeing blood."

Shiryu chuckled, "That's true, but the dueling grounds are quite chaotic, even the King is angered."

"For what reason?"

Rhaegar frowned, sensing hidden meaning in Shiryu's words.

"A Dornishman brutally murdered his opponent and spouted arrogant nonsense."

Shiryu took a small sip of wine, "The Dornishman will continue to challenge. The second duel should have just begun."

"Let's go, we'll go watch."

Rhaegar immediately got up and, with Illyric, quickly walked toward the tournament grounds.

Shiryu smiled and followed.

The three arrived at the dueling grounds and found that the spectators were all cheering for one person.

Rhaegar found a spot close by and stood behind the railing to observe.

Inside the arena, a knight in silver-gray armor held a sword in both hands. With each swing, the sword moved with great force, forcing a sun-tanned youth to retreat step by step.

Every time the greatsword grazed his opponent's body, the crowd would cheer, urging him to kill his opponent.

After watching for a while, Illyric whispered, "The advantage is with Ser Xylon of the Stormlands. His opponent is a Dornishman, a shameless scoundrel."

Rhaegar nodded and focused on the duel.

Ser Xylon's offense was fierce, a typical charge-and-attack style.

His moves were precise, fast, and deadly, suppressing the opponent's actions and leaving no room for counterattack.

The Dornish youth clearly understood this. Using the advantage of his lighter armor, he dodged and weaved, evading every attack.

The spear in his hand became a shield against the longsword, its clang echoing throughout the dueling grounds.

Just as he was engrossed, Shiryu suddenly said, "The outcome is decided. The shift in offense and defense is not far off."

Rhaegar looked at him suspiciously and asked, "Why do you say that? Ser Xylon is very powerful."

"On the battlefield, he can indeed fight ten men, but the Dornish boy is avoiding direct combat. He only needs to hold on until Ser Xylon's stamina weakens to win."

Rhaegar looked at the dueling arena.

If one looked closely, Ser Xylon was indeed starting to breathe heavily under the relentless attacks, and his longsword could no longer get close to his opponent.

In contrast, the Dornish youth seemed to have more energy, fighting while retreating.

He didn't forget to taunt, "Sir Knight, if you were mounted on a warhorse, I would certainly not engage you. It's a shame you can only stand with your feet in the mud."

"Heh, even without a warhorse, I have no problem cutting off your head."

Ser Xylon's voice was hoarse, his words filled with disdain, but the sweat on his forehead betrayed his condition.

Rhaegar tugged at Illyric's sleeve, "Sir, is Ser Xylon really going to lose?"

Illyric's gaze was solemn, "It's hard to say. The cunning Dornishman isn't giving Ser Xylon a chance to get close."

"Ser Xylon's armor is very heavy. The longer this drags on, the more disadvantageous it will be for him."

Shiryu chimed in at the opportune moment, "Armor can save its owner's life at a critical moment, but it also restricts a person's agility and flexibility."

"Just like the Dothraki across the sea, they never wear armor, believing that agile movements are the key to victory on the battlefield."

"Let's keep watching. I believe in Ser Xylon."

Rhaegar's small face was serious as he silently cheered for Ser Xylon.

Thank you to several readers for their monthly votes. The author keeps his word and will add another chapter today!

Taking the readers' suggestions, a slight change has been made at the end of the previous chapter to reveal some of Shiryu's characteristics.

Shiryu is an original character created by the author, inspired by Syrio Forel, Arya's dancing master in Game of Thrones.

A mysterious, elegant, and highly skilled swordsman.