Martial Arts Trial (3)

The open ground designated for the trial by combat at the Darry army camp was already teeming with heads.

Darry's vassals, knights, their squires, and soldiers were all present.

They whispered and gossiped among themselves, everyone's gaze focused on the few figures in the center of the field.

Most eyes held curiosity, but far more held confusion.

They wanted to see where that young knight of Foulkeep had found the gall and courage to challenge the long-renowned Knight Joseth to a trial by combat to the death.

"Hey, why on earth is Lord Suleiman doing this?" a soldier asked his companion in a mournful whisper; they held a certain fondness for the minor noble Suleiman.

Another soldier lowered his voice to reply: "Nobles view their family honor as their very life, just like the legendary tales told by bards. Poor little Sir Suleiman."

On the other side of the crowd, Knight Joseth, due to his excessive obesity, was being helped into his clothes by his squires; as per the agreement, he wore no armor.

In his eyes, there was no need to be fully armed to deal with a wet-behind-the-ears Suleiman and two peasants.

Joseth cast a cold glance at the three figures standing silently not far away, his lips curling into a cruel arc.

He then took the longsword his squire had polished to a shine, the blade refracting a chilling, cold light under the sun.

"What a fool." His voice was filled with disdain and mockery.

To him, Suleiman's fate was sealed today; here and now would be the burial ground for this arrogant little noble.

He was prepared to play with Suleiman like a cat with a mouse, letting him suffer every torment before he died.

He had not expected Suleiman to declare a trial by combat, giving him a chance to kill him; after all, Suleiman was a knight, and no matter how minor, he was still a landed noble with a hereditary fief.

Sir Ronald walked quickly to Suleiman's side, his expression still grim, his voice kept very low.

"Lord Suleiman, one last chance! Give it up now, and there is still time! Let this matter end here!"

Suleiman looked at him calmly and shook his head.

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

"My mind is made up."

Sir Ronald sighed heavily, said no more, and stepped aside.

There was no use in saying more; this young man had made his decision, and he was already prepared to send Suleiman's severed head home.

An old man dressed in simple monastic robes walked slowly to the center of the field.

He was the Seven-Pointed Star septon accompanying the army, responsible for presiding over and witnessing this trial by combat.

The septon's aged voice rang out in the slightly noisy environment, carrying a unique, solemn gravity.

The previously noisy surroundings instantly fell silent.

"Today, Sir Suleiman of Foulkeep and Knight Joseth Burke of Darry shall judge their honor and guilt with blade and steel!"

"All swords are the hands of the divine; the survivor is the innocent!"

"The Seven watch, life and death are decided by the sword!"

"Let the Father judge you with justice!"

"Begin!"

The septon signaled for both sides to step forward. Suleiman and Knight Joseth stood facing each other, five meters apart.

Knight Joseth held his head high, looking at Suleiman with arrogance, his voice booming.

"I, Knight Joseth Burke of Darry!"

Suleiman's voice was not loud, yet it reached everyone's ears clearly.

"I, Sir Suleiman of Foulkeep, am here to judge your crimes."

There was no superfluous chatter.

The two then retreated, walking to the positions marked at either end of the field, thirty meters apart.

Lushen and Roslyn gripped the longswords gifted by Lord Raymun Darry tightly, their palms slick with sweat as they stood nervously by Suleiman's side.

Knight Joseth twisted his neck, his entire body emitting a series of cracking sounds.

He said to his two squires: "You two, stay put. Today, I am going to kill these three idiots with my own hands!"

Before the words had even faded, Knight Joseth let out a roar, pushed off hard with his feet, and charged toward Suleiman with his sword in hand.

He brandished his longsword, full of menacing momentum; he truly lived up to his nickname, the White Pig Knight, charging forward like a boar.

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

"Stay back." Suleiman's voice was not loud, but it carried an irresistible force.

The two halted their steps, forced to watch as Knight Joseth's fierce figure drew closer and closer to their Lord Suleiman.

Many of the watching soldiers even closed their eyes, unable to bear witnessing the bloody and cruel scene that was about to unfold.

In their eyes, that thin, frail young man would be headless by the next moment.

A tragedy seemed about to occur.

However, just as Knight Joseth's longsword was about to cleave Suleiman's skull in two.

A sudden change occurred!

A shriek, sharp enough to sound like a slaughtered pig, tore through the original atmosphere of the camp!

"Ah-------!" Everyone opened their eyes in astonishment, and the sight they beheld made them gasp in horror.

They saw Knight Joseth stumbling backward, his right wrist empty, blood gushing out like a fountain!

His right hand, which had been gripping the longsword, lay severed at the wrist on the muddy ground just a few paces away!

Suleiman stood where he was, his Myr Sword pointed diagonally toward the ground, droplets of blood staining the blade.

Those who watched with open eyes saw that his movements were as fast as lightning and as elegant as a dance; it looked effortless, yet it was so lethal.

"My hand! My hand!" Knight Joseth let out a shrill, harrowing wail, his bloodshot eyes filled with unbelievable shock and agonizing pain.

He had never dreamed that the outcome would be like this!

How could it be so fast!

The excruciating pain nearly made him faint, but the instincts of a man who had fought for years allowed him to react quickly.

He drew a short dagger from his waist with his left hand—he had to land a killing blow! Ignoring everything else, he lunged toward Suleiman, his bloodshot eyes resembling those of a mad dog.

Suleiman's gaze was cold, his figure swaying lightly once more.

Joseth felt a blur before his eyes, and that figure had ghosted around to his other side.

Another flash of the sword!

"Ah------!"

A wail, even more miserable than the last, rang out.

Knight Joseth's left wrist had been severed clean!

The dagger fell to the ground along with his severed hand, splashing up a cloud of dust.

Blood sprayed wildly from both of Joseth's arms, and the agony made it impossible for him to stand.

Finally, he collapsed to his knees with a heavy thud.

Suleiman did not give him a moment to catch his breath.

He stepped forward, his Myr Sword slicing precisely across Knight Joseth's eyes.

"My eyes! My eyes!" Joseth covered his face with his arms in agony, blood flowing like a small stream from between them.

He had completely lost the ability to resist.

But Suleiman still did not stop; he circled behind Joseth like a gust of wind, his longsword descending twice.

Knight Joseth's legs went limp, and he collapsed completely to the ground, his hamstrings severed.

Like a fish out of water or a pig being bled, he writhed and convulsed on the ground in agony, emitting sharp, terrifying screams.

The sound was so tragic, so horrific, and so desperate that the surrounding vassals, knights, and soldiers all felt a chill run down their spines.

Some of the cowardly soldiers even turned their heads away, unable to bear the sight.

The look they cast at Suleiman was filled with fear. Perhaps even awe?

"Too cruel," someone cursed under their breath.

"There is no knightly mercy to be found here."

"By the Seven, this man shall surely face divine retribution!"

Knight Joseth writhed on the ground like a caterpillar, his blood staining the earth beneath him.

He shrieked in a hoarse, shrill voice, his tone filled with terror and despair.

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

His two squires stood not far away, their wits already scattered by the bloody and horrific scene before them; their faces were as pale as paper, and their legs shook like chaff.

How could they dare to step forward?

Suleiman looked coldly at the writhing Joseth, his right arm slowly raising, the tip of the Myr Sword pointing downward toward Joseth's shoulder blade.

"Squelch!" The longsword plunged down viciously, piercing through Joseth's shoulder bone and driving deep into the mud.

Joseth let out a painful howl, his body convulsing violently, but he could no longer move an inch.

Suleiman signaled with his eyes to Lushen and Roslyn behind him.

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

They tightened their grip on their longswords, let out a roar, and charged toward Joseth's two terrified squires.

Suleiman did not move.

He knew that there were some paths these two farmhands had to walk themselves.

If they wanted to go further, there was some blood they had to stain their hands with.

Just like him—in fact, like his two guards, his own body was trembling, but he was restraining it; he knew that once he showed fear or cowardice in the world of Westeros, he would have no place to be buried in the future.

He had to go through all of this!

Lushen roared in fury as he charged, as if he were venting every bit of the humiliation he had suffered in the first half of his life in this very moment.

"You two dog bastards! How dare you strike me!"

The two attendants were already shaken, and seeing Lushen and Roslyn charging at them like ferocious demons, they lost all composure.

They scrambled to draw their swords in defense, but their movements were already ragged; they were a far cry from the well-trained soldiers they usually appeared to be.

After resisting for only a few dozen seconds, the two attendants were hacked to the ground by Lushen and Roslyn.

"Spare me! Spare me!" one of the attendants screamed while clutching his leg, which had been severed, blood gushing from the wound.

Lushen panted heavily, his eyes bloodshot as he stared fixedly at the wailing, begging attendant, his sword pausing for a brief moment.

He remembered the words of Master Suleiman, and he remembered the humiliations he had once endured.

The next moment, he let out a roar, raised his longsword high, and brought it down with a vicious strike!

"Splat!" The blade cleaved deep into the attendant's skull, spraying red and white matter across the ground.

Even though the attendant had already breathed his last, Lushen's sword continued to rise and fall, hacking at the body as if to vent all the anger he had hidden for half a lifetime.

On the other side, Roslyn had also hacked his opponent to the ground.

That attendant was weeping and snot-nosed, kowtowing desperately for mercy.

"Don't kill me! Please, I beg you, don't kill me!"

Roslyn's hand trembled as he gripped his sword, and looking at the attendant's face, twisted in terror, he was momentarily at a loss.

Subconsciously, he looked toward Master Suleiman.

Suleiman merely watched him calmly, his eyes devoid of emotion or any form of instruction.

Roslyn took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, the hesitation in his gaze had vanished, replaced by a look of absolute resolve.

He raised his sword and swung it down with force. A head flew into the air and rolled a long distance away.

Knight Joseth, pinned to the ground, heard his attendant's screams come to an abrupt end and knew that everything was over.

His last remaining will collapsed completely, his voice hoarse and weak.

"Kill! Kill me! I beg you! Sir Suleiman! Give me a quick end! Give me a release!"

Suleiman walked slowly toward him, looking down at the knight who had just been arrogant and seemingly in control of victory, now twitching on the ground like a bled-out pig.

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

"Squelch!" Another spray of blood erupted.

Joseth let out a miserable, agonizing howl, but there was no expected end.

Suleiman raised the blood-stained longsword, pointing the tip toward the sky, his gaze sweeping over the silent crowd.

His voice was crystal clear in the wordless environment, echoing in the ears of everyone present.

"This is the price for insulting me! For insulting House Foulkeep!"

"There is no mercy! There is no release!"

"Only endless pain and torment for the future!"