At the names Barristan and Jaime Lannister, the smile on Davion's face remained unchanged, but deep contempt had already welled up in his heart.
In Davion's eyes, Barristan Selmy was nothing more than a coward who betrayed his master for glory.
As a member of the Kingsguard, he had failed to protect either Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen or the Mad King Aerys Targaryen, watching helplessly as the Targaryen Dynasty fell.
Yet without a shred of guilt, he had turned around and joined Robert, continuing to serve in the Kingsguard and enjoy the honors and stipends of nobility.
Later, after Robert's death, he had switched sides once again and joined Daenerys Targaryen.
He had drifted between different powers all his life, with no loyalty to speak of-a true servant of three masters!
Davion should not have felt such strong emotions toward someone who had nothing to do with him.
Yet House Whent had also produced a member of the Kingsguard in Barristan's day: his own uncle, Ser Oswell Whent.
Back then, Oswell Whent had been at the Tower of Joy alongside Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and Gerold Hightower, the White Bull.
Though they knew full well that the Targaryen Dynasty had fallen and the cause was lost, they had still upheld their knightly honor and their oaths, standing resolute at the Tower of Joy to protect Crown Prince Rhaegar's surviving child.
Later, they had fought an earthshaking battle against the party led by Eddard Stark. Outnumbered, the three had ultimately fulfilled their oaths with their lives, proving themselves true knights.
On one side stood his own uncle, who had kept his oath and died at his post!
On the other stood Barristan, fickle and willing to betray his master for glory. The contrast was stark.
Davion felt nothing but endless contempt for Barristan. A thousand words ultimately boiled down to a single derisive laugh:
"Heh!"
As for Jaime Lannister, notorious though he was, having committed the evil deeds of breaking his oath, killing his king, and betraying his realm, he could always find some high-sounding justification for himself.
Back then, Tywin Lannister had surrounded King's Landing with the army of the Westerlands. The deranged Mad King Aerys had filled the ground beneath King's Landing with wildfire, declaring that he would take the entire city's people down with him.
It was then that Jaime had killed the Mad King with his own hands!
Afterward, he had found himself an excuse: he had done it to save the people of King's Landing and prevent a catastrophe.
Yet when Tywin led the army of the Westerlands into the city, burning, killing, plundering, and slaughtering innocent people, Jaime had chosen silence. He had done nothing, neither stopping them nor resisting.
His actions and his words were two entirely different things.
His talk of doing it "for the people" was nothing more than a self-deceiving excuse!
Whether his true motive had been fear that his father Tywin would be burned to death in King's Landing by the Mad King, or genuine concern for the people, he alone likely knew best.
Davion was still smiling:
As he spoke, he raised his wine cup toward Tyrion.
The formidable strength his Dragon Blood gave him, along with his strenuous training over the past few days, gave him ample confidence to face any opponent!
Tyrion picked up his cup and lightly clinked it against Davion's, but his gaze remained full of disdain:
"Young men need to learn a few lessons before anything sticks!"
"I was once just like you, proud and full of drive. But reality taught me a harsh lesson and showed me that failing to see things as they are will cost you in the end!"
He shook his head and drained his cup in one swallow.
A barely perceptible trace of melancholy flashed in his eyes.
Amused by his attempt to act so worldly-wise, Davion asked curiously:
"Might I ask how old you are this year, young master Tyrion?"
"Twenty-six. Why?"
Tyrion set down his cup and raised an eyebrow at him.
"Only twenty-six?"
Davion feigned surprise:
"And you already talk like such an old man? You sound even older than my Maester Tosmiu!"
"It seems I was right not to like reading. Books really do make you age faster, hahahaha!"
Tyrion froze for a moment, then burst into laughter.
Davion and Tyrion drank from the afternoon until sunset, their cups crossing amid constant laughter and conversation. Only when the wine went to their heads did each drunkenly return to his room with the prostitute beside him.
As Davion passed through the hall, his gaze swept over Shataya, who was busy making arrangements. He simply reached out and pulled her into his room as well.
After all, Shataya paired with Alayaya always gave him a different experience.
In the blink of an eye, five full days had passed since Davion arrived in King's Landing.
According to his original agreement with Tobho Mott, the order would be ready for collection in three days. Figuring that his custom armor should already be finished, he headed straight to the smithy on the Street of Steel.
As soon as he pushed open the smithy's wooden door, the heavy smell of iron filings and burning charcoal hit him.
Unlike five days earlier, Tobho Mott and Gendry were not busy in the forge. Instead, they came out together to greet him.
Gendry kept his head lowered, his cheeks flushed crimson. Embarrassed and ill at ease, he clutched the hem of his clothes with both hands like a child who had done something wrong.
Tobho Mott, meanwhile, looked grim, his brow tightly furrowed.
At the sight of Davion, both hurriedly bowed, their manner even humbler than last time.
Tobho Mott cleared his throat and spoke first:
"Welcome, young master Davion. Your custom armor is finished."
Anticipation stirred in Davion.
In his previous life, he had been an ordinary person and had never had the chance to handle armor or other products of the age of cold steel.
This was his first suit of armor since coming to this world, so naturally he was curious about how it looked.
He waved a hand. "Take me to see it."
At his words, Tobho Mott stiffened slightly and shot Gendry a fierce glare, his eyes full of reproach. Then he gritted his teeth and said:
"Well... young master Davion, the thing is, this suit of armor you ordered may be a little heavy. You... you should be prepared."
Davion frowned slightly. His gaze swept over Tobho Mott's face, then settled on Gendry as doubt stirred within him:
"What do you mean, a little heavy? I ordered a knight's full plate armor. There are standard weights for that. Surely nothing could have gone wrong?"
Beside him, Gendry pressed his lips together until they went pale at those words.
He drew a deep breath and, as though summoning every ounce of courage he possessed, stepped forward with his head lowered and said in a trembling voice:
"Young master Davion, I'm sorry. It was my fault."
"Since the deadline for your armor was rather tight, Master Tobho had me help him."
"But I lacked experience and made a mistake. I used too much refined iron, so the finished suit ended up weighing far more than normal."
"I tried it on, and I could barely walk in it, let alone compete in a tourney."
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