Revealing One's Edge

In Westeros, the Trial by Combat is a time-honored tradition.

It is a method used to adjudicate disputes and resolve conflicts.

In a Trial by Combat, the two parties involved in a dispute engage in a fight to the death, and the survivor is declared the winner of the trial.

In the original story, Prince Joffrey often used the Trial by Combat to resolve disputes, and he always insisted that it must end in death.

But at this moment, when Joffrey heard Garon propose a Trial by Combat, his expression turned incredibly terrified.

Although he was arrogant, he still possessed a basic understanding of life and death.

Joffrey knew deep down that if he lost the duel, he would certainly not escape death.

Consequently, he put on a brave front and blustered, "What kind of thing are you to even be worthy of a Trial by Combat with me?"

Cersei, who had been smiling and watching from the high platform, could no longer sit still and coldly rebuked him.

"What qualifications does a minor house like Deepwood Motte have to demand a Trial by Combat with a prince?"

After saying this, she turned her gaze toward Ned, "Is this how the North treats its honored guests?"

"Lord Ned, why don't you refuse at once!"

As for why she did not ask Robert to refuse, it was because Cersei understood Robert too well; if she spoke up, it would only make Robert agree to it.

After all, what he loved most was an honorable duel between knights.

Stunned by the turn of events, Ned only regained his composure after hearing Cersei's rebuke.

He had not expected Garon to take such a desperate risk to protect his family's honor.

Ned sighed inwardly; since Garon had already gone this far, how could he possibly speak up to reject the Trial by Combat?

As for the panic displayed by Cersei and Joffrey, Garon had anticipated it long ago.

He was not worried that Robert or Ned would reject the Trial by Combat.

As for Cersei and Joffrey, since Garon dared to propose the trial, he had no intention of letting them refuse.

"Your Grace, Lord Ned."

"Considering that Prince Joffrey is still a child, he may designate someone else as his champion to face me in the duel."

As soon as these words were spoken, the terror in Joffrey's eyes gradually dissipated, replaced by an intense, overwhelming surge of excitement.

Even Cersei looked stunned; she looked Garon up and down, thinking to herself.

"Is he insane?"

"Or is he looking for an opportunity to withdraw from the betrothal with dignity?"

Cersei's eyes were filled with suspicion, and she still could not believe her own ears.

Meanwhile, Jaime, who had been leaning against a wooden pillar in the hall, immediately straightened his posture. His sharp eyes scrutinized Garon, as if trying to discover something about him.

The hall was filled with noisy chatter, and everyone felt puzzled by Garon's decision.

Everyone, that is, except for Ser Rodrik and Robb and his men.

Having witnessed Garon's masterful swordsmanship over the past few days, they naturally held enough confidence in him.

Robert examined Garon from head to toe, carefully and thoroughly.

Suddenly, he slammed his goblet onto the table, silencing the clamor in the hall.

With a focused expression, Robert confirmed, "Are you certain you want to let Joffrey choose a champion?"

Garon nodded, showing no fear.

"Good!"

A flash of admiration crossed Robert's eyes as he turned to Joffrey, "Whom do you choose as your champion?"

At once, everyone present knew that Robert had agreed to Garon's Trial by Combat.

Consequently, both the knights of House Baratheon and the knights of House Lannister vied to step forward, hoping Joffrey would choose them.

But how could Joffrey choose these nobodies?

Feeling completely relaxed, he wore a wicked smirk and suddenly turned to ask Garon, "Can I choose anyone I want?"

Garon stood where he was, shedding his usual humble and low-profile demeanor, and said with sharp, piercing confidence, "Of course. Whether it is a Lannister or a member of the Kingsguard, I accept!"

Garon's absolute confidence made Joffrey hesitate.

He had originally wanted to choose Sandor Clegane, the Hound, as his champion, but now he wavered.

However, Joffrey's gaze soon swept over Meryn Trant, whose beard was the color of rust, and he smirked, "I choose Ser Meryn Trant!"

Meryn Trant, who had been watching the scene like a farce, was taken aback; he had not expected Joffrey to choose him.

But since Joffrey had spoken, he naturally would not refuse.

Meryn Trant had long been annoyed by the boy who kept making big claims, and without hesitation, he stepped out to accept the challenge, saying, "I am honored to serve Prince Joffrey!"

Seeing that Meryn Trant had agreed, Robert surveyed the hall with an imposing gaze and personally presided over this peculiar Trial by Combat.

"In the name of Robert I of the House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I hereby declare—"

"The Trial by Combat requested by Garon Glover, Lord of Deepwood Motte, is officially granted!"

"The victor shall be wed to Sansa Stark, daughter of the Warden of the North."

Whoosh—

The atmosphere in the hall surged instantly, and everyone began excitedly moving tables and chairs aside.

Several long tables were shoved to the side, and no one paid any mind to the food that tumbled onto the floor.

In just a few minutes, a dueling arena was formed around Garon and Ser Meryn Trant.

Robert, Ned, and the others sat high upon the dais.

Robb, Sansa, and the others stood below the platform, watching Garon with faces full of tension.

The commotion in the hall finally drew The Imp back from his conversation with Jon outside; he squeezed through the crowd with effort and appeared beside Jaime.

"Hey, Jaime, how is it that I was only gone for a moment, and this place has turned into a dueling ground?"

Jaime did not answer Tyrion's question, instead focusing his gaze intently on Garon.

For some reason, he could faintly smell a deadly danger radiating from Garon, especially after he gripped his longsword.

"Hey, boy, do you need some time to go back and put on some proper plate armor?"

Meryn Trant looked at the longsword and leather armor that Ser Rodrik had hurriedly handed to Garon, his mouth curling into a merciless sneer.

Garon smiled faintly, "To deal with you, I don't need to wear armor!"

He returned the leather armor to Ser Rodrik, standing loosely in place with nothing but his longsword.

Garon's demeanor successfully infuriated Meryn Trant.

"Boy, I advise you not to be too arrogant!"

Garon slowly drew his longsword and tossed the scabbard onto the floor to the side.

"Are the Kingsguard only capable of empty talk?"

"Ser Meryn, what are you still hesitating for?"

Joffrey, also standing below the high seat, grew even more furious upon hearing this: "Ser Meryn, kill him! Kill him for me!"

Fully armored, Meryn Trant instantly drew his longsword, his eyes filled with murderous intent as he slashed toward Garon.

Garon stood his ground, motionless, watching him charge.

Joffrey assumed Garon had been scared witless, his eyes flashing with excitement as he watched with nervous, eager anticipation for Meryn to hack Garon to death.

But things unfolded in a way that defied Joffrey's expectations.

Clang—

With a move that left no room for error, Garon blocked horizontally, parrying Meryn Trant's attack with effortless ease.

Then, to Meryn's utter disbelief, Garon exerted force and shoved him back with a single strike.

"Thud, thud, thud."

Meryn Trant felt as if he had been struck by a giant, his body stumbling backward against his will.

By the time he steadied himself, his hands were trembling, and a flicker of fear crossed his eyes.

"What are you doing, Ser Meryn?"

"Go! Kill him already!"

Joffrey, standing behind, was still angrily cheering him on.

But Meryn Trant had no time to spare; his entire focus was locked onto Garon as he slowly circled, looking for a flaw in Garon's defense.

Seven hells, how is he this strong?

Meryn realized that if he didn't fight with everything he had, he might very well lose his life here today.

"Why keep such a distance?"

Garon held his sword in his right hand, standing in place, watching Meryn Trant with a smile.

"Ser Meryn, if you want to win this Trial by Combat, you should be closing the distance."

"Or are you afraid to get close because my sword will move faster than your reactions?"

Garon strolled forward, applying pressure to Meryn Trant with an inscrutable tone.

"If that is what you think, then it is truly laughable!"

"Distance only holds meaning when both sides are evenly matched."

"And between you and me..."

Garon suddenly tightened his grip on the hilt and lunged toward Meryn, slashing at him with blinding speed.

Meryn was horrified and instinctively raised his sword to block.

But Garon swept Meryn's blade aside, and in the next instant, the sharp tip of his sword pierced through Meryn's throat.

With a wet squelch, blood sprayed everywhere.

Garon calmly pulled out his longsword, flicked the blood off the blade, and spoke his final words.

"Between you and me, distance is meaningless!"

Gah—

Meryn Trant clutched his throat helplessly, his body convulsing before he finally collapsed with a heavy thud.

The hall fell into a deathly silence.