Three Days

The next day, early morning.

Immersed in a dream, Garon rolled over and actually tumbled right off his bed!

He woke with a start, instinctively sitting upright, his forehead beaded with cold sweat.

"Was it a dream?"

Garon looked toward the extinguished fireplace, his heart still pounding in his chest.

The dream just now had been so vivid that he had mistaken it for reality, believing he was truly about to be torn apart and devoured by two dragons of ice and fire.

Only after his heart rate calmed down did he stand up from the floor.

"Dragons... tree roots... Three-Eyed Crow..."

"Was it merely a nightmare, or a prophetic dream containing specific information?"

Regaining his composure, Garon carefully recalled the dream, but the more he tried to remember, the blurrier the details became.

By the end, apart from a vague recollection that dragons had appeared in the dream, he had forgotten everything else.

"What is going on here?"

Garon was utterly baffled. Recalling that the Three-Eyed Crow had once told him to head beyond the Wall, he muttered, "Could it be that I really must go beyond the Wall to find the Three-Eyed Crow, just like Bran?"

But soon, Garon shook his head, dismissing the thought.

On one hand, this was a critical moment in the unfolding plot; Robert would arrive soon, and a series of major events were about to occur. Garon simply could not spare the time to head beyond the Wall.

On the other hand, the White Walkers beyond the Wall had already begun to stir and act. Even if the Three-Eyed Crow claimed he could help, Garon would never risk entering the lands north of The Wall without a foolproof plan.

"Better to focus on what's right in front of me!"

"As for the Three-Eyed Crow, if he truly wants something from me, he will appear again sooner or later!"

Having made up his mind, Garon finally had the time to look around—

The candles in the bedroom had long since burned out, and there was no warmth from the fireplace, only a chilling gloom.

He touched the back of his cold hand and couldn't help but shiver.

"It's almost dawn..."

"Forget it, I might as well go out and get some exercise."

Feeling no desire to sleep, Garon dressed, hung his longsword at his waist, and strode out the door.

At this hour, the morning light had yet to break, and all of Winterfell was deathly quiet.

Garon followed the corridor to the training yard, which was, as expected, completely empty.

He took a deep breath of the morning air, the frigid chill slithering through his entire body like an ice snake.

Garon shuddered, feeling fully awake.

He began his warm-up exercises, following the habits he had developed at Deepwood Motte.

After he had worked up a light sweat, Garon drew his longsword and prepared to practice his swordsmanship when a familiar voice came from behind him.

"Lord Garon, why are you up for morning practice so early?"

Garon turned to look at the source of the voice and found that the person was none other than Rodrik Cassel.

He sheathed his longsword and greeted him with a smile, "Good morning, Ser Rodrik!"

After Rodrik returned the greeting, Garon explained.

"I grew accustomed to this routine back at Deepwood Motte, practicing my swordsmanship every day at dawn."

"To me, if I don't practice swordsmanship for a single day, my skills will regress."

"That is why I do this every day, never daring to slack off."

Rodrik nodded in deep agreement, acknowledging, "That is indeed true."

Garon looked him up and down, and seeing that Ser Rodrik was already in his training gear, he suggested, "If you have the time, Ser, why don't we have a sparring match?"

"I've heard from Robb that your swordsmanship is nothing short of extraordinary."

Ser Rodrik let out a hearty laugh, stroked his white whiskers, and readily agreed.

"I would be happy to oblige; I, too, would like to witness Lord Garon's swordsmanship."

Because it was a sparring match, neither of them used their real steel blades.

Instead, they each picked up a wooden sword from the nearby weapon rack.

Garon performed a flourish with his blade, which made Ser Rodrik's eyes light up.

As the saying goes, the layman watches the spectacle, while the expert watches the technique.

With just one look, Ser Rodrik determined that Garon's strength was certainly not to be underestimated.

As for just how formidable he was, that would only be known after they crossed blades.

The two stood facing each other with swords drawn. After a brief standoff, Ser Rodrik launched the first attack.

Despite his stout build and advanced age, his movements were remarkably agile.

Ser Rodrik swung his sword toward Garon's arm, but Garon parried skillfully, neutralizing the force before launching a counterattack.

The two traded blows, locked in a fierce struggle for over a dozen rounds.

Seeing Garon perform with such ease, Ser Rodrik could not help but grow even more curious about the true extent of his strength.

After another attack proved fruitless.

He stepped back two paces and said solemnly, "Lord Garon, I am going to use my full strength now. I hope you will show me your true capabilities as well."

Garon agreed with a smile, though he felt deeply astonished deep down.

The moment he crossed blades with Ser Rodrik, he noticed something strange about his own body.

Although Garon's strength was already formidable, he felt that his reaction speed had improved slightly after the events of last night.

Now, he could judge the angle and force of Ser Rodrik's attacks in an instant, the very moment the knight moved, and launch a counter.

To use an analogy, it felt as if he had awakened Observation Haki, like in One Piece.

Could the bloodline of a Greenseer actually strengthen my body?

Garon pondered this secretly while keeping his focus on Ser Rodrik's attacks.

Although the knight asked for my full strength, I should still hold back.

If I end up hurting his old bones, that would be troublesome.

Judging by the sword stance, he intends to strike my arm...

Seeing Ser Rodrik charging in, Garon put his thoughts aside and began to focus on the defense.

No sooner said than done.

Garon didn't move his feet, instead holding his sword horizontally to block the attack with a hair-breadth margin.

Ser Rodrik was startled; he could feel the immense, restrained power contained within Garon's blade.

He dared not be careless.

With a veteran's instinct, he shifted his strike from a hack to a slice to dissipate the force, then swung his sword upward in a sweeping motion.

But Garon's blade was faster, striking where his opponent was forced to defend, and in an instant, it landed on Ser Rodrik's arm.

Suddenly, Ser Rodrik felt his arm go numb. The wooden sword in his hand fell to the ground uncontrollably.

"I am defeated!"

Ser Rodrik rubbed his arm and admitted it with a carefree spirit.

It wasn't that he hadn't considered Garon's swordsmanship to be excellent, but he hadn't expected it to be this high—he hadn't even managed to last three rounds.

"It seems you were holding back in the previous rounds!"

Ser Rodrik shook his head, clearly having realized what the earlier sparring was all about.

His eyes filled with astonishment as he sighed, "With your current swordsmanship, I fear that only Barristan the Bold could be your match in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Lord Garon, if you were to go to King's Landing to participate in the tourney, you would surely take the top prize!"

Ser Rodrik's praise made Garon laugh out loud, and it left Jon and Robb, who had just arrived, dumbfounded.

They simply could not believe their eyes.

"Ser Rodrik was defeated?"

"Even Ser Rodrik is no match for Garon?"

Hearing their voices, Ser Rodrik couldn't help but turn around and scold them: "Robb, Jon, why are you only waking up now?"

"Look at Lord Garon. He is so young yet his swordsmanship is so outstanding, and more importantly, he trains bitterly every day without ever slacking off."

"And you? All you know is how to sleep!"

"How can you have the heart to sleep at your age!"

Ser Rodrik unleashed a torrent of criticism, leaving Robb and Jon speechless.

They could only stare at Garon with resentful eyes.

It was already hard enough to compare oneself to a genius. But comparing oneself to a genius who worked this hard was even harder!

Garon shrugged his shoulders, holding back a laugh.

Once Ser Rodrik finished his lecture, he continued to practice with Jon and Robb.

As for the sparring mentioned yesterday, none of them brought it up again.

From then on, Garon's life in Winterfell finally settled into a routine.

He spent his mornings practicing swordsmanship with Robb and Jon, and in the afternoons, under the watchful eye of Catelyn, he found time to teach Sansa how to play Westeros Chess.

When night fell, Garon would try to research the bloodline abilities of Glover.

This continued for three days straight.

Through Garon's persistent efforts, his relationship with Sansa progressed by leaps and bounds.

Sansa even secretly told Garon about her mother's plan to arrange a marriage with the King.

And it was under these circumstances that the time for the King's arrival at Winterfell finally came!