A hundred?
Against ten?
And we get to fucking pick our strongest hundred?
We have the advantage!
Ser Gretly Grafton's wrinkled old face twitched violently with utter shock.
He had lived for over seventy years, competed in countless tournaments, and witnessed countless duels.
Yet he had never heard such an absurd, such... outrageous request for death!
This was no longer arrogance.
This was an insult!
A naked humiliation of every knight in the Vale!
Who did he think he was?
The Warrior descended to earth?
Or some legendary god of war?
Even the bravest legendary hero would never claim he could withstand ten knights attacking him at once!
And what was more, they only had to keep fighting until a candle burned out?
Even if those hundred men lined up for Lynn to kill them one by one, how long would that take?
This was no battle. It was an outright farce!
The cruelest mockery that Lynn, this wildling from beyond the Wall, could inflict on them!
"You... are you sure?"
Ser Marq Arryn's voice trembled.
He even wondered whether the thin, freezing air high atop the Eyrie had addled Lynn's brain.
The Vale nobles behind him wore an even more colorful array of expressions.
Some flushed crimson, feeling they had suffered an unbearable insult.
Others' eyes gleamed, their hearts pounding at a mad thought.
What if...
What if Lynn wasn't joking?
What if he really was willing to withdraw his army over a duel he was bound to lose?
Then wouldn't this... be white bread falling straight from the sky?
Served right to their mouths by the Seven themselves!
"I, Lynn, keep my word."
Lynn remained composed, his gaze slowly sweeping across everyone present, taking in every expression.
Finally, his eyes settled on the black-robed Winter Wight Legion behind