Sword Duel

The training yard of Winterfell was not overly large, and in the blink of an eye, Robb had led the Wolf Guard nearly to a charge right before The Hound's eyes.

"Cease the charge!"

Robb suddenly shouted loudly, raising his left hand high and clenching his five fingers into a fist, while at the same time, his own charge came to an abrupt halt.

The Wolf Guard received his command and stopped in unison. Though inertia carried them a few steps forward before they could steady themselves, the overall formation remained well preserved.

This display by the Wolf Guard made The Hound's brow twitch beneath his helmet. As a man of renowned reputation who had killed at the age of twelve, he had personally taken part in brutal wars.

In every battle charge, the formation that began as a straight line would inevitably warp into a curved wave as the charge progressed, and then devolve into a chaotic melee where friend and foe were indistinguishable.

No army in all of Westeros had ever managed to maintain a neat formation from the start of a charge to a full stop.

Though such a tidy formation seemed useless on the surface, being able to do what others could not still earned his respect.

"All troops, dismissed!"

Robb issued the dismissal order, simultaneously sheathing his training blunted sword back into the scabbard at his waist, and said with a smile to Joffrey, who was among the group of guards, "Your Highness, our sissy training is over. What do you think of it?"

Joffrey, mocked by Robb, did not reply, but his face shifted from green to red, and the veins on his forehead bulged out.

"Haha, did you see that? He looks like he pissed himself!"

"And he calls us sissies—he should take a look in the mirror first."

"Shh, keep it down, the sissy will hear you!"

As the saying went, 'The vassal of my vassal is not my vassal.' These children of the Northern bannermen showed no respect for the prince, turning to disperse in twos and threes while loudly throwing back Joffrey's earlier taunts.

"Get out of my way!"

Unable to stomach such humiliation, Joffrey kicked aside the guard beside him and shoved his way out from behind The Hound.

He hastily drew the sword at his waist, pointing it at Robb, who had already turned to leave, and shouted loudly, "I! The ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, of House Baratheon who rules the lands of Storm's End, the eldest son of Robert Baratheon, Joffrey Baratheon.

Hereby! Challenge Robb Stark, the eldest son of House Stark who rules the North, to a duel!"

With Joffrey's challenge, everyone seemed to hit a pause button, and the entire training yard fell into silence.

Robb wiped the smile from his face, turned around, and asked him, "A duel against me? Are you serious?"

"Of course it's a joke!"

Cersei, accompanied by Jaime and their retinue of guards, walked in through the training yard gates, saying with a smile, "You children want to spar with swords, then spar. Don't go playing at duels—duels are a sacred thing!"

Dismissing the duel as mere sword practice, Cersei walked up to stand in front of Joffrey, her back to Robb, and straightened his clothes, which were rumpled from agitation.

"Just yesterday, I heard you were planning to ask Robb for sword lessons. Why not do it now!

What do you think, my son?"

Seeing the frosty expression on Cersei's face, Joffrey suppressed the rage in his heart and nodded obediently in reply, "Yes, Mother."

Cersei turned her head, her expression shifting again to one as warm as a spring breeze, and said with a smile to Robb, "Young Wolf Lord, don't beat my son too badly now!

Alright then, I won't disturb your fun."

With that, she led Jaime and the others toward the Main Keep.

How could Cersei ever feel at ease leaving her son? When she reached the edge of the training yard, she and Jaime turned around to observe how things would unfold.

Since Cersei had put it that way, Robb had no choice but to spar with Joffrey in swordsmanship.

In truth, he did harbor some thought of using the duel to 'accidentally slip up' and take care of this Emperor Joffrey.

But some people were just born to court death!

After Cersei's interruption, Joffrey's emotions gradually returned to normal.

Thinking back to his sword fights with the knights in King's Landing, where he had never faced an opponent who could last a single bout, he began to bluster, insisting on using real steel instead of training blunted swords for the spar.

"I'll go stop them!"

At the edge of the training yard, Jaime frowned and was about to step forward to halt this farce, but Cersei reached out and grabbed his elbow.

"No! Let them spar with real swords."

Cersei's emerald green eyes drifted uncertainly, not fixed on anything in particular, while the corners of her red lips curled into a smile as she spoke to stop him.

"Are you mad? You know full well that when Joffrey spars, his opponents are holding back. Our son doesn't know the first thing about swordsmanship—how could he possibly beat that wolf cub?

Real swords! What if that wolf cub 'accidentally slips up'? What then?"

Hearing this, Jaime quickly swept his gaze left and right to confirm the nearby guards couldn't hear, then leaned close to Cersei and whispered urgently.

"Yes! If only Joffrey had your talent for swordsmanship, that would be fine... but alas..."

Looking at Jaime's handsome, anxious face, Cersei instinctively wanted to reach out and touch it, but remembering their surroundings, she forcibly stopped the motion and continued, "It's precisely because he has no swordsmanship that I believe the wolf cub couldn't possibly harm him.

In fact, if he deliberately 'accidentally slipped' and injured Joffrey, I'd be even happier.

Look over there..."

After hearing Cersei's words, Jaime followed her gaze and looked up.

There, on the second-floor wooden corridor of the Main Keep, Robert and Eddard, along with a group of attendants and servants, were making their rounds to this spot.

They had clearly already been drawn by the commotion in the training yard and were now watching from above with keen interest.

"In the past, to slay the dragon, the Stag and the Wolf became friends who could entrust each other with life and death.

But the next generation won't become friends—they might even become enemies. Isn't that what we want to see?"

Cersei's words successfully persuaded Jaime.

Still, he had no intention of merely watching from the edge of the training yard. Instead, he rested his right hand lightly on his sword hilt, tapping his index finger in a steady rhythm as he slowly walked toward Robb and Joffrey.

In the middle of the training yard, the Wolf Guard and Joffrey's guards had formed a circle, with Robb and Joffrey at its center.

Joffrey had already drawn his longsword, its hilt a golden lion's head, while Robb still held a training sword.

He insisted on using a blunted blade, truly afraid that he might accidentally cut Joffrey down.

Seeing Robb full of openings and wielding a dull sword, Joffrey boldly launched the first attack.

He gripped his sword with both hands, positioned it at his right hip, and charged straight at Robb. When he reached him, he thrust both arms forward, delivering a beautiful straight lunge.

Though the force and speed of the lunge were far from sufficient, the form was clean and precise—clearly practiced.

Joffrey wanted to draw blood, so he put all his strength into this strike without holding back.

Robb lightly shifted his step to the right, turned his body slightly to dodge, and easily evaded Joffrey's elegant lunge.

At the same time, he executed a swift and fierce downward slash, precisely striking Joffrey's Golden Lion Longsword.

Hmm, before swinging that strike, Robb's mind flashed back to the iconic Iaido Slash scene from the Blue Star movie 'Embroidered Spring Knife.'

Clang!!!

The sound of metal clashing rang out. Though Robb's blunted sword failed to cut through Joffrey's Golden Lion Longsword, the sword in Joffrey's hand was instantly knocked to the ground, and the powerful downward force sent him crashing face-first into the muddy ground of the training yard.

"Pfft, the prince eats dirt!"

"Haha, 'King's Landing Swordmaster'—I thought he was something special! What a terrifying title."

"Shh, keep it down—the Swordmaster will hear you!"

Laughter first erupted from the surrounding Wolf Guard, followed by their mockingly hushed remarks.

Joffrey, his face smeared with mud, stood up with a flushed complexion. Without even picking up his Golden Lion Longsword, he shot Robb a venomous glare, then turned and ran out of the training yard.

The Hound picked up his sword and silently followed.