Farewell

Three fine steeds galloped along the Kingsroad, carrying Suleiman, Lushen, and Roslyn.

It must be said that clothes make the man, just as a saddle makes the horse.

Lord Raymun Darry had gifted Suleiman and his two companions armor, fine swords, and horses upon their departure.

Suleiman was dressed in a brand-new, well-tailored black noble robe, complete with a short black cape that fluttered in the wind.

At his waist hung a magnificent Myr slender sword, a gift from Lord Raymun. Unlike the heavy, broad swords of Westeros, it possessed the lightness and sharpness characteristic of craftsmanship from across the Narrow Sea; the blade was slender, and the hilt was inlaid with delicate silver wire.

He sat atop a white horse. Though his features remained those of a typical Riverlander, his posture was upright. His face, while plain, now radiated a clanging, resolute strength. Combined with the fine horse, the black robe, and the sharp sword at his waist, he exuded an air of authority that lent his appearance a unique handsomeness and charm.

So much so that Lord Damon Ryken and Sir Ronald of Fruitwood stared in disbelief. Was this truly the same person as before? The previous Suleiman had lacked any of the noble aura or spirit expected of a young lord; with his rough skin, he had looked less like the son of a noble and more like the son of an old Riverlands farmer.

Yet, the person standing before them now was a far cry from the young man in tattered robes they had seen just days ago.

Damn! Am I really this handsome? Suleiman felt a surge of secret, wild satisfaction.

Looking back at Lushen and Roslyn, they too had undergone a complete transformation.

They were clad in soldier's light armor of the proper size, gifted by Lord Raymun, replacing their previous rags.

At their waists hung two well-made standard-issue longswords, replacing the broken scrap metal they had carried before.

Now, dressed in light armor, swords at their waists, and riding fine horses, they held their heads high and their backs straight. Gone was their previous cowering demeanor.

They looked full of spirit, no longer resembling simple farmers but appearing as true soldiers, even if they still looked a bit dim-witted.

He had bid farewell to Lord Raymun Darry three days ago with his two guards. It wasn't that he didn't want to continue sponging off the lord, but his reputation had become too foul.

He still remembered that day, pointing his sword toward the sky, majestic and imposing, casting a sidelong glance at the nobles of Darry, and shouting sharply!

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

"No mercy! No closure!"

"Only endless pain and suffering in the future!"

As these words fell, the entire arena went silent; one could hear a pin drop.

The Septon of the Seven who presided over the trial by combat had a face etched with shock and fury. Suleiman's actions were filled with chilling bloodthirst and cruelty.

Utterly devoid of tradition! Devoid of mercy! This was a blasphemy against the Seven! This was sacrilege! He would surely face divine retribution!

Fury made his aged body tremble violently, rendering him unable to utter a word of condemnation, as if his soul might return to the Stranger at any moment.

The surrounding nobles and knights of Darry looked at Suleiman with eyes full of rage.

Suleiman's methods had followed none of the traditions of noble combat, showing not a shred of the mercy expected of a noble or knight, only chilling bloodthirst and cruelty.

Suleiman had maimed his opponent in such a bloody and cruel manner—when the man had already lost the ability to resist, he had gouged out his eyes and severed his hamstrings.

He had even stripped a knight of the right to a dignified death, intending to let him bleed out or spend the rest of his life as a cripple, filled with pain and suffering.

The nobles of Darry were all incensed. They believed Suleiman had not only insulted a knight.

He had insulted the dignity of all of Darry and the noble dignity of the Riverlands, perhaps even the dignity of the Seven Kingdoms themselves.

Their anger did not stem from sympathy for Sir Joseth, for they knew the cause of the incident: Sir Joseth had insulted the dignity of a hereditary noble house!

And the insulted party had not used his noble rank to suppress or punish the other.

Instead, he had chosen the traditional trial by combat of the Seven Kingdoms to defend his family's honor. This was the right way! The true noble way! Even if the opponent were a Warden! Or a King!

Their anger stemmed from the fact that Suleiman had broken the bottom line of noble conduct as they understood it.

In their eyes, Suleiman's behavior was cruel, unacceptable, and even dangerous.

This should have been a fine tale in the Seven Kingdoms! A legendary story told by minstrels!

A sixteen-year-old young noble, in order to defend his family's honor, had angrily challenged a renowned knight of the Seven Kingdoms and even succeeded in slaying him!

He had defended his family's honor!

Sir Ronald's face was ashen, his lips pressed tightly together, his gaze complex as he looked at Suleiman.

He could feel the towering rage of the surrounding nobles and knights; the very air seemed to grow heavy.

Finally, he spoke:

"Ser Suleiman, you have successfully defended your family's honor with your blade. Now, show mercy and grant your opponent death; let his soul return to the Stranger!"

"End his suffering. This is the mercy a noble should show, and it is a sign of respect to the Seven who watch over this place."

The surrounding nobles and knights of Darry all cast expectant gazes at Suleiman, hoping he would show a shred of traditional noble decorum at this final moment.

However, Suleiman merely stood calmly beside Joseth, staring at Ronald.

Suleiman's voice was not loud, yet it was exceptionally clear in the deathly silence, every word spoken with weight and beyond question.

"Sir Ronald!"

"My family is forever spoken of with mockery and derision by other nobles!"

"Even though my father and my two brothers died for the Iron Throne!"

"Tell me! Have they shown even the slightest respect for my family!"

"Is there even a shred of respect for noble tradition!"

He paused, his icy gaze finally sweeping across the surroundings. Ever since he had arrived at the military camp in Darry, he had frequently heard the nobles behind his back mocking and ridiculing his house!

Suleiman calmly wiped the blood from his sword, sheathed it, and spoke with a tone of absolute, unquestionable finality:

"His fate was judged by my blade, and therefore, it is decided by my words!"

"Either bleed out and die in agony, or live on, carrying his crimes and his pain, becoming the most vivid warning to all who dare to insult me or insult House Foulkeep!"

Suleiman's words completely choked off any further persuasion from Sir Ronald.

Sir Ronald's face turned silent; he opened his mouth, but in the end, nothing came out.

He could only watch helplessly as Knight Joseth wailed on the ground, hoping that the knight would bleed to death quickly, for otherwise, his future fate would be far more miserable than death itself.

To survive, only to be physically disabled, bedridden, and subjected to treatment and an environment the complete opposite of his former life—yet there was nothing he could do; he could not interfere with the verdict of the victor of a trial by combat.

Suleiman took one last look at Sir Ronald, his face still showing a hint of apology, for Sir Ronald had always treated him like an elder.

He then turned, took Lushen and Roslyn, and strode away from the blood-stained clearing.

He left Knight Joseth wailing in despair on the ground, leaving behind a camp filled with deathly silence, fear, and rage.

The memory ended there.

Suleiman actually still felt guilty toward Lord Raymun Darry and Sir Ronald.

It was said that after Knight Ciseth was rescued, he had a chance to survive, but he was left blind, armless, and with broken legs—a cripple who constantly begged those around him to kill him and end his misery.

Yet no one dared to do so, for this was the decree of the victor of a trial by combat, and they were now terrified and fearful of Sir Knight Suleiman.

It was not until Lord Raymun Darry arrived, drew a longsword from a soldier's waist, and pierced Knight Ciseth's head with a single strike.

Seeing that the atmosphere within the ranks had shifted drastically, the soldiers no longer dared to speak to the three of them, retreating three paces whenever they saw them.

When the nobles saw him, they glared with eyes full of rage; if looks could kill, Suleiman would have been killed countless times over.

There was also that old Septon of the Seven who kept chasing him, preaching frantically, following him wherever he went, as if determined to convert him into a true believer of the Seven.

In the end, he chose to bid farewell to Lord Raymun Darry and offer his apologies.

To his surprise, Lord Raymun Darry looked at him in astonishment.

He asked why he should apologize, stating that he had merely defended the dignity of his own house.

There was nothing to be troubled by; if he had not possessed such formidable strength, Ciseth's fate would have been his own, as that was exactly how he had intended to treat him.

In this world, sometimes, a notorious reputation protects you better than a virtuous one; you did well.

He even gifted Suleiman and his two companions armor, swords, and steeds, telling Suleiman that if there ever came a day when he had nowhere else to go, Darry would always keep its gates open for him.