Chapter Fourteen: Trial by Combat (3)

The open ground designated for the Trial by Combat at Darry Castle's military camp was already packed with people.

Darry's bannermen, knights and their squires, and the soldiers.

They whispered among themselves, murmuring and speculating, all eyes fixed on the figures gathered in the middle of the grounds.

Most looked curious, but many more were simply baffled.

They wanted to see what had given that young lord of Foulkeep the nerve and courage to challenge the long-renowned Ser Joseth to a Trial by Combat to the death.

"Ah, why would Lord Suleiman do this?" a soldier murmured sorrowfully to his companion. They rather liked the minor nobleman Suleiman.

Another soldier lowered his voice and replied, "Nobles value their family's honor as much as their lives. Just like the legends sung by wandering minstrels. Poor little Lord Suleiman."

On the other side of the crowd, Ser Joseth, grossly overweight, was being helped into his clothes by his squire. As agreed, he wore no armor.

In his eyes, there was no need to arm himself to the teeth just to deal with a green boy like Suleiman and two peasants.

Ser Joseth glanced coldly at the three figures standing quietly in the distance. A cruel smile curled his lips.

Then he took the long sword his squire had polished to a gleam. Its blade reflected the sunlight in a cold glint.

"What a fool." His voice was full of disdain and mockery.

As far as he was concerned, Suleiman's fate was already sealed. This was where the reckless young lord would meet his end.

He was prepared to toy with Suleiman like a cat with a mouse, making him suffer before he died.

He hadn't expected Suleiman to declare a Trial by Combat, giving him the chance to kill him. Suleiman was a lord, after all. No matter how minor, he was still a landed noble with an inherited title.

Ser Ronald hurried over to Suleiman. His expression remained grim, and his voice was low.

"Lord Suleiman, this is your last chance! You can still back out! Let's put an end to this now!"

Suleiman looked at him calmly and shook his head.

"Thank you for your concern, Ser Ronald."

"I've made up my mind."

Ser Ronald let out a heavy sigh and said no more. He stepped aside.

There was no point in saying more. The young man had made up his mind. He was prepared to send Suleiman's head home.

An old man in a plain monk's robe slowly walked to the center of the grounds.

He was a septon attached to the army, there to preside over and witness the Trial by Combat.

The septon's aged voice rang out through the slightly noisy surroundings, carrying a solemnity all its own.

The noisy crowd fell silent at once.

"Today, Lord Suleiman of Foulkeep and Ser Joseth Burke of Darry Castle will settle their honor and guilt with steel!"

"Every sword is the hand of the gods. The survivor is innocent!"

"The Seven bear witness. Let the sword decide life and death!"

"May the Father judge you justly!"

"Begin!"

The septon motioned for the two sides to step forward. Suleiman and Ser Joseth stood facing each other, five meters apart.

Ser Joseth held his head high and regarded Suleiman arrogantly, his voice booming.

"I am Ser Joseth Burke of Darry Castle!"

Suleiman's voice was not loud, but it carried clearly to everyone present.

"I am Lord Suleiman of Foulkeep. I am here to judge you for your crimes."

There was nothing more to say.

The two men then stepped back to their assigned positions at opposite ends of the grounds, thirty meters apart.

Lushen and Roslyn gripped the longswords given to them by their lord, Raymun Darry. Their palms were slick with sweat as they stood nervously beside Suleiman.

Ser Joseth rolled his neck, and his body cracked all over.

He said to his two squires, "You two, don't move. Today, I'm going to kill these three fools with my own hands!"

Before he had finished speaking, Ser Joseth let out a roar, drove off hard from the ground, and charged at Suleiman with his sword in hand.

He came barreling forward, sword in hand, just as the White Pig Knight's nickname promised.

"Lord Suleiman!" Lushen and Roslyn cried out, instinctively starting to rush forward.

"Stay back." Suleiman's voice was soft, but carried an irresistible force.

The two halted, forced to watch as Ser Joseth's fearsome figure drew closer and closer to their lord.

Many of the watching soldiers even shut their eyes, unable to bear the bloody, brutal sight they expected to come next.

In their eyes, the frail young man was about to lose his head.

A massacre seemed inevitable.

But just as Ser Joseth's sword was about to cleave into Suleiman's head—

Everything changed!

A piercing shriek, sharp as the squeal of a slaughtered pig, shattered the camp's solemn atmosphere!

"Ahhh—!" The crowd opened their eyes in shock, and the sight before them made them gasp.

Ser Joseth staggered backward, his right wrist gone. Blood gushed from the stump like a fountain!

His right hand, the one that had held his sword, along with half his wrist, lay on the dirt a few steps away!

Suleiman stood where he was, his Myr Sword angled toward the ground, speckled with blood.

Those who had kept their eyes open saw that he had moved with lightning speed, gracefully as a dancer. His strike had seemed almost effortless, yet it had been deadly.

"My hand! My hand!" Ser Joseth shrieked in agony, his bloodshot eyes wide with disbelief and pain.

He had never dreamed it would end like this!

How could it have happened so fast?

The pain nearly made him faint, but years of fighting had honed his instincts, and he reacted quickly.

He yanked a dagger from his belt with his left hand. He had to kill with one strike! He lunged at Suleiman without a thought, his bloodshot eyes wild like a mad dog.

Suleiman's gaze was icy. His figure swayed lightly once more.

Ser Joseth's vision blurred, and that figure seemed to slip around him like a ghost.

Another flash of swordlight!

"Ahhh—!"

A scream even more horrific than the first rang out.

Ser Joseth's left wrist had been severed cleanly!

The dagger and severed hand fell to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Blood sprayed from both of Ser Joseth's arms. The pain made it impossible for him to stay on his feet.

At last, he dropped to his knees with a thud.

Suleiman gave him no chance to catch his breath.

He stepped forward and slashed the Myr Sword precisely across Ser Joseth's eyes.

"My eyes! My eyes!" Ser Joseth cried, clutching his face with his arms as blood trickled between them like a stream.

He had lost all ability to fight back.

But Suleiman still didn't stop. He swept around behind Ser Joseth like a gust of wind and brought his sword down twice.

Ser Joseth's legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground. The tendons behind his knees had been severed.

Like a fish out of water, or a slaughtered pig struggling to break free, he rolled and writhed on the ground, twitching and letting out piercing, terrifying screams.

The cries were so agonized, so dreadful, so desperate that the bannermen, knights, and soldiers around them felt a chill run down their spines.

Some of the more timid soldiers even turned their heads away, unable to watch any longer.

They looked at Suleiman with fear. Even awe?

"That's too cruel," someone muttered.

"He's shown no trace of a knight's mercy."

"Seven above, this man will be punished by the gods!"

Ser Joseth wriggled across the ground like a caterpillar, his blood staining the earth beneath him.

He screamed hoarsely, his voice full of terror and despair.

"Marwyn! Tobias! Save me! Save me! Come save me!"

His two squires stood nearby, so terrified by the bloody scene that their faces were as pale as paper and their legs shook like reeds.

How could they possibly bring themselves to step forward?

Suleiman watched Ser Joseth roll across the ground without emotion. He slowly raised his right arm, the tip of the Myr Sword pointing down at Ser Joseth's shoulder blade.

"Shnk!" The sword plunged down hard, piercing Ser Joseth's shoulder bone and sinking deep into the earth.

Ser Joseth let out a howl of pain, his body convulsing violently, but he could no longer move at all.

Suleiman signaled to Lushen and Roslyn behind him.

Lushen and Roslyn exchanged a glance, seeing shock and fear in each other's eyes. Lord Suleiman had always been kind and approachable toward them.

They tightened their grips on their swords, let out a shout, and charged at Ser Joseth's two terrified squires.

Suleiman did not move.

He knew that some paths had to be walked by these two farmhands themselves.

If they wanted to go further, they would have to get blood on their hands.

Just like him. In truth, his body was trembling too, just like those of his two guards. But he held it in. He knew that if he showed fear or cowardice in the world of Westeros, he would be doomed to die without a grave.

He had to go through this!

Lushen charged forward, roaring furiously, as if he meant to vent all the pent-up resentment of his life in this moment.

"You two bastards! You dared to beat me!"

The two squires were already shaken. When they saw Lushen and Roslyn charging at them like demons, they panicked.

They hurriedly drew their swords to defend themselves, but their movements were already a mess. They were nothing like the well-trained men they had once been.

They lasted only a few dozen seconds before Lushen and Roslyn cut them down.

"Mercy! Please, mercy!" One of the squires clutched his leg and screamed. His leg had been severed, and blood gushed from the wound.

Lushen panted heavily, his eyes bloodshot as he stared at the wounded squire begging for mercy. His sword paused in his hand.

He remembered Lord Suleiman's words. He remembered the humiliations he had suffered.

The next moment, he roared, raised his sword high, and brought it down hard!

"Thud!" The blade sank deep into the squire's head, splattering blood and brains across the ground.

The squire was already dead, but Lushen kept swinging his sword, hacking at his body as if venting every bit of anger he had kept buried for half his life.

Nearby, Roslyn had also felled his opponent.

The squire wept and pleaded desperately, his face streaked with tears and snot as he repeatedly bowed his head.

"Don't kill me! Please, don't kill me!"

Roslyn's sword hand trembled. He looked at the squire's face, twisted with fear, and didn't know what to do for a moment.

Without thinking, he looked toward Lord Suleiman.

Suleiman merely watched him calmly, his expression unreadable. He gave no instruction.

Roslyn took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, his hesitation had vanished, replaced by grim resolve.

He raised his sword and swung it down with all his might. A head flew up and rolled a long way.

Pinned to the ground, Ser Joseth heard his squire's scream suddenly stop and knew it was all over.

The last of his will crumbled completely, and his voice came out hoarse and weak.

"Kill me! Kill me, please! Lord Suleiman! Give me a quick death! Put an end to this!"

Suleiman slowly walked over and looked down at the knight who had just been so arrogant, so certain of victory, but now writhed on the ground like a slaughtered pig.

He slowly pulled the Myr Sword from Ser Joseth's shoulder blade.

"Shnk!" Another gush of blood spurted out.

Ser Joseth let out a scream of agony. But the end he had hoped for did not come.

Suleiman raised the bloodied sword, its tip pointing toward the sky, and swept his gaze across the crowd, now silent as the grave.

His voice rang out with startling clarity in the hushed surroundings, reaching every person's ears.

"This is what happens when you insult me! When you insult House Foulkeep!"

"No mercy! No quick death!"

"Only endless pain and torment from here on out!"