Jarell Leger believed that the old knight had seen much of the world. He gripped the sword tightly, his whole body trembling, and his breath caught for an instant.
His eyes were fixed on the blade. In the firelight, it gleamed with a dark sheen, its twisted, rippling patterns seeming to flow in the torchlight. It truly looked like no ordinary weapon.
He reached out and touched the cold blade with his fingertips. It felt extraordinarily light, a strange contrast to its deadly sharpness.
Jarell's face twitched. He muttered, his words full of disbelief. "Impossible!"
"How could such a thing exist?"
"This is absolutely impossible! A family like theirs—how could they possess something like this?!"
He couldn't reconcile the legendary weapon before him with the lowly House Foulkeep, a family his own could crush with ease. The idea baffled him more than hearing that pigs had flown into the sky.
The old knight, Adam, ignored his mockery. His hands trembling, he swallowed and carefully took the longsword from Jarell Leger, as though cradling a sacred relic.
He held the sword up to the torch, his cloudy old eyes fixed on its distinctive dark ripples.
The old knight raised the sword high. His voice suddenly rang out, drowning out the echoes of the soldiers still digging graves in the crypt. "There's no mistaking it, my lord!"
"This is a masterpiece forged by Valyrian magic! A treasure the Lannister family couldn't buy with a mountain of gold!"
His eyes remained fixed on the sword he held aloft as he added excitedly,
"There are so few Valyrian swords in all of Westeros, you could count them on two hands!"
Jarell Leger's expression changed. Greed, like a hungry wolf, instantly devoured all the confusion and disdain in his heart.
He stared at the sword