The Moore knight tightened his grip on his sword hilt. Every muscle in his body tensed as his gaze swept back and forth over Suleiman.
His voice dragged out, thick with doubt and shock. "You..."
"Really intend to represent these escaped slaves... in a Trial by Combat?"
The attendants and soldiers behind the knight exchanged stunned looks, their faces mirroring his shock.
In their eyes, these ragged refugees were nothing more than the Moore lord's walking property.
And Suleiman, the renowned Black Lion, was actually going to fight a true knight on behalf of a herd of walking livestock—and even offend House Moore.
The Moore soldiers fell silent too, but Suleiman's expression remained unchanged.
Suleiman merely nodded calmly. "Yes."
He offered no further explanation, yet his answer struck like a stone dropped into a still lake.
Blackfish Brynden Tully urged his horse half a step forward. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something.
In the end, he reined in his horse and went no farther. He folded his arms across his chest, his brow furrowed into a knot as his fingers unconsciously tapped his upper arm.
They really were different. He couldn't understand this young man.
The twenty riders behind Suleiman, Bryn among them, already had their hands on their sword hilts. They leaned forward slightly, like a pack of wolves ready to pounce on their prey.
The refugees raised their heads in bewilderment, tears filling their cloudy eyes. They couldn't understand anything so complicated. All they saw was a nobleman seemingly standing up for them. Deep in their long-dead hearts, a faint spark flickered to life.
Septon Meribald's eyes widened. His lips trembled as if he were silently praying to the Seven. He had seen countless nobles and lords, some kind and some generous, but never