Martial Arts Trial (2)

Sir Ronald's face was livid. He strode up to Suleiman, his voice thick with suppressed rage and bewilderment.

After the incident at the camp, Raymun Darry and Sir Ronald summoned Suleiman to the lord's tent.

"Sir Suleiman! Have you lost your mind?"

He practically roared the words.

"Do you even know who Joseth is?"

"He is a knight who ranks in the middle tier at the kingdom's tourneys!"

"You and your two peasant guards? This isn't bravery; this is stupidity, this is courting death!"

Suleiman looked at him calmly, his eyes devoid of the slightest ripple.

"Sir Ronald, I thank you for your concern."

Sir Ronald took a deep breath, trying to force himself to calm down.

"Listen to me, Suleiman."

"Darry will provide you with satisfactory compensation, for the sake of your family's honor!"

"It will be enough to satisfy you, I guarantee it!"

He glanced at Lord Raymun Darry not far away, who gave a slight nod, clearly supporting Sir Ronald's proposal.

"Sir Suleiman, there is no need to let things escalate to a point of no return!"

Sir Ronald believed that this young lord of Foulkeep was simply blinded by the fury of humiliation, failing to realize what foolish words he had spoken or what foolish things he had done.

How could a boy who had merely survived a battle by luck hope to contend with an experienced, highly skilled knight?

A faint, imperceptible curve tugged at the corner of Suleiman's mouth.

"Sir Ronald, I appreciate your good intentions."

His voice remained calm, yet carried an unquestionable resolve.

"But there are some things that cannot be resolved by backing down. My guards were insulted because of me, and my family has been shamed because of me."

"I will absolutely not retreat at this moment; otherwise, how could I or my family ever hold our heads high in this world again?"

"This is not recklessness, Ser. The outcome is not yet set in stone."

Suleiman turned toward Ronald.

"Besides, this is a necessary declaration. Some beasts can only be made to understand when you speak to them in a language they comprehend."

Sir Ronald looked into Suleiman's young yet unnervingly steady eyes, the fire in his heart gradually replaced by a sense of powerlessness.

He could not fathom why this youth was so stubborn, so ungrateful, and so foolish.

It was just like when he heard that Suleiman's father had brought three noble kin to the battlefield; were all the members of this Riverlands house actually Northmen? Was their blood filled with nothing but ice?

"Foolish! Too young, and far too foolish!"

Sir Ronald finally shook his head, threw out those words, and stormed off, filled with disappointment and irritation.

He felt that saying another word would be a waste of breath.

Lord Raymun Darry watched Suleiman in silence.

Then, he walked slowly toward him.

Raymun's voice was low: "Is your mind made up?"

Suleiman nodded: "Yes, my lord."

Raymun Darry was silent for a moment, then suddenly unbuckled the sword at his waist.

It was a magnificent blade, unlike those of Westeros; the edge was slender, and the hilt was inlaid with intricate silver filigree. One look was enough to tell it was of great value.

"This sword comes from Myr. I give it to you."

Raymun Darry handed the sword to Suleiman.

"Your own blade is far too decrepit."

Suleiman was slightly taken aback, looking at the precious longsword before him, then down at the rusted iron sword he had brought from Foulkeep.

He did not feign modesty or refuse; he accepted the sword solemnly, engraving this kindness in his heart: "Thank you for your generosity, Lord Raymun."

Raymun Darry nodded.

"Your guards will also need decent weapons. I will have them sent to you."

He paused, his gaze fixed quietly on Suleiman's eyes.

"Before the trial by combat officially begins, you may forfeit at any time. I will help you."

Suleiman gripped the Myrish sword, the cold touch of the hilt bringing his spirit back to reality.

He looked up and offered Raymun Darry a smile—a smile of confidence that took the lord by surprise.

"I will remember your gift of the blade, my lord."

After saying this, he bowed slightly, ceased speaking, and turned to leave.

Raymun Darry watched Suleiman's retreating back, his expression complex, remaining silent for a long time.

He sensed that this young lord seemed remarkably confident.

Suleiman arrived at the field medic camp.

He found Lushen and Roslyn supporting each other.

Though their bodies were covered in bloodied wounds, their eyes were exceptionally bright; it could only be said that the benefit of having thick skin was that it healed quickly.

"Master Suleiman," Lushen grinned, but the movement tugged at a wound on his lip, causing him to hiss and wince.

"Master Suleiman, we are sorry! We have caused you trouble!" Roslyn kept his head bowed, his voice filled with apology and guilt.

Suleiman stepped forward to inspect their injuries; most were superficial, though bruising and swelling were unavoidable.

He had originally expected them to be terrified of the impending life-or-death duel, as their opponents were a knight and a knight's squire.

And they were merely farmers.

"Are you afraid?" Suleiman asked, looking at the two of them.

"We are not afraid!" Lushen and Roslyn raised their heads abruptly, speaking almost in unison, their answer firm and decisive!

Lushen touched his injured cheek, choking back a sob as he said, "Master Suleiman, it's just... it's just that we are too useless. They insulted you, they insulted your family, and we had no way to defeat them. We have let you down!"

His voice was thick with emotion, the corners of his eyes reddening.

Roslyn nodded vigorously as well: "That's right, Master Suleiman! We aren't afraid of death, we are only afraid of letting you down!"

A warmth spread through Suleiman's heart, and he patted both of them on the shoulders.

"Remember this! This is not your fault!"

His voice was calm yet carried strength.

"Sometimes, the world is just like this. Trouble comes knocking, not because you did something wrong, but because others think you are easy to bully!"

Suleiman stood up, his gaze fixed on the direction of the camp where the knight Joseth resided, his eyes gradually turning cold.

He thought of his life before he had transmigrated.

He had no family, no kin, and thus no one to rely on for support.

He had entered society early, struggling and crawling on his own, tasting the cold and warmth of the world.

Over those years, he had understood many things.

"Everyone told me that suffering a loss is a blessing, but I have never seen anyone actually enjoy that blessing."

Suleiman's voice was not loud, yet it reached Lushen and Roslyn's ears clearly.

"I once thought that by being kind to others and treating people with sincerity, I could receive the same in return."

"Later, I discovered that for some people, if you are good to them, they take it for granted; if you yield, they think you are weak and easy to bully!"

"If you are gentle and friendly to everyone, then in the eyes of some, you are simply someone from whom anyone can extract benefits!"

"Remember! We will not use the swords in our hands to harm others, but by the same token, others must not think they can use their swords to harm us!"

Suleiman turned back to look at Lushen and Roslyn, his gaze resolute.

"Today, Joseth and his squire dared to beat you at will and insult my family, simply because they thought we were soft persimmons that could be squeezed at will."

"If we endure this, then tomorrow, more people will come to bully us. They will take our food, seize our land, and even take our lives!"

"Therefore, when someone comes knocking to cause trouble, the only way is to hit back even harder!"

"Hurt them! Make them afraid! Make them tremble with fear the moment they see us! Make them shiver in terror! Make them take a detour the next time they see us!"

Lushen and Roslyn listened in a daze; Suleiman's words were like a hammer, striking their simple minds and cracking them open.

They had never heard such logic; their parents always taught them not to resist the nobility, for they were merely livestock raised on the lord's land.

The noble lords always told them that because of their lowly status, they must be submissive and obedient.

The septons of the Seven always told them that because their souls were born filthy, they were meant to endure all suffering in this life just to atone for their sins.

Yet, Master Suleiman's words made them feel an inexplicable sense of relief.

Yes, why should they be bullied? Why should they have to swallow their pride?

Lushen touched his swollen head, then the back of his neck, and gave a silly smile.

Choking up, he said, "Master, I... I think I understand a little now."

Roslyn also grinned, revealing a simple, honest smile: "I think Master is right! We have lived twenty years longer than Master, yet it seems we have lived them all in vain!"

Suleiman looked at their relieved smiles.

He began to laugh as well.

"So, tomorrow, we are not going there to die."

His voice was filled with power.

"We are going there to tell everyone: the people of House Foulkeep are not to be trifled with!"