Swordsman against swordsman

By the time Arthas and Renly arrived, the reception hall at the Gold Cloaks' headquarters was already a shambles.

Dozens of Gold Cloak guards surrounded the place with weapons in hand.

When they saw Arthas, they immediately stepped respectfully aside, clearing a path for them.

The first thing that met their eyes was a short man holding a slender sword, standing proudly among the Gold Cloaks in an unusual stance.

Several men lay sprawled before him, the most conspicuous of whom was Gendry in his horned helmet.

"Well, well, Gendry."

Arthas's eyes seemed to hold displeasure. With a stern face and raised brows, he teased Gendry as he lay on the ground:

"What, sleepy this early in the morning?"

"If you want to sleep, go home! The Gold Cloaks' reception hall isn't a place for you to rest!"

Rebuked like this by his immediate superior, Gendry, who had only just been promoted to Arthas's personal guard, hurriedly endured the pain and climbed to his feet, hanging his head like a schoolboy who had done something wrong.

Seeing this, the others also scrambled up without a word, and the Gold Cloaks' reception hall instantly fell silent.

Only after seeing the sword marks on Gendry's and the others' faces, identical to Lancel's, and carefully checking that they had no other wounds did Arthas's expression ease slightly.

He turned toward the short yet exceptionally straight-backed man:

"Syrio Forel?"

"I hear you wish to challenge me?"

"Indeed, Lord Arthas."

Withdrawing his slender sword and sheathing it at his waist, Syrio narrowed his eyes and tensed like a cat with its fur on end, carefully studying the blond youth before him.

For some reason, he sensed something familiar about Arthas:

"You are the foremost knight in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Tales of your valor are widely told even as far away as Braavos."

He bowed slightly, his elegant bearing making him look more like a nobleman than Arthas:

"Unworthy though I am, I was once appointed First Sword of Braavos."

"I came to King's Landing to face you in a fair duel."

It seemed the man really had not deliberately come to cause trouble. Arthas nodded lightly:

"Very well. You do possess the ability to challenge me."

Then he swept his gaze over the Gold Cloaks standing there, shook his head in disappointment, and turned to lead the way outside.

Only when he saw Lancel waiting beyond the crowd did he clap him heavily on the shoulder, his booming voice ringing throughout the hall:

"Lancel, I'm very disappointed in you."

"Faced with an enemy who had already come right to our door, the personal guard under your command didn't even have the courage to attack him."

"Must I, your Commander, personally step in and solve things for you every time you encounter a powerful opponent?"

His words left Lancel and the Gold Cloaks utterly ashamed. They truly had behaved far too weakly in handling this matter.

All one could say was that Syrio's displayed skill had been too astonishing. Even Gendry, the strongest among them, had failed to last two exchanges against him.

Although Arthas had been giving them targeted training ever since taking command, when had the Gold Cloaks, who had always been half soldiers and half bandits, ever witnessed anything like this?

It was only natural that Syrio had stunned them for a time.

It looks like I'll have to push them harder.

Arthas considered this as he walked outside. They were his own men, after all, and it would hardly be a good thing if their individual abilities continued to stagnate.

These fellows drew such high wages. Even if they could not compare with the Order of the Silver Hand, they at least ought to be no weaker than ordinary knights of the Seven Kingdoms.

If they dared not draw their swords whenever they met a powerful enemy, what use did he have for them?

Stopping outside the reception hall, Arthas turned to Syrio, who had followed him out, feeling a little interest in this short man.

He wanted to see just how superb the man's swordsmanship was, to have dealt with Gendry and the Gold Cloaks so effortlessly.

"Lord Renly, might I borrow your sword?"

Arthas politely addressed Renly, who stood beside Lancel.

The moment this fellow heard someone wanted to challenge Arthas, he had become even more excited than the participants and eagerly tagged along.

"Of course. It is my honor to have the foremost knight in the Seven Kingdoms wield my sword."

Hearing that Arthas wanted to use his sword, Renly grew even more excited. He promptly drew it and tossed it straight over.

Arthas caught it precisely and carefully tested its weight in his hand.

As expected, strength was not this fellow's forte, and the sword he carried was considerably lighter than an ordinary two-handed greatsword.

But that suited him perfectly. Greatswords like Frostmourne employed broad, sweeping movements and were inherently suited to fighting on the battlefield.

Moreover, his strength had grown so quickly lately that if he used Frostmourne against Syrio, the man would probably struggle to withstand even a single blow.

Since he had decided to test the man's swordsmanship, he naturally intended to defeat him head-on with swordsmanship as well. Renly's relatively light sword was just right.

"Master First Sword."

He flicked a finger lightly against the blade, producing a clear ring. Tilting his head, Arthas spoke calmly:

"Please be sure to show me the superb swordsmanship of Braavos."

Just as Arthas and Syrio were about to begin their fierce battle.

In the North, in an abandoned tower's loft, our Kingsguard and his queen were engaged in an even fiercer exchange.

"Oh, Jaime!"

"I've missed you so much!"

Amid heavy panting, Cersei kissed Jaime behind her with a mixture of sincerity and pretense.

Over the past several days, partly because of her resentment toward Arthas and partly because their party had remained on the move, she had found no opportunity to be intimate with Jaime.

When it came to lust, Cersei and Robert truly could be called a match made in heaven.

So she, too, had been getting rather pent up...

Jaime, meanwhile, was immensely excited. After giving him the cold shoulder throughout the journey, Cersei had finally taken the initiative to invite him over once they reached Winterfell.

With her teasing him like this now, he promptly redoubled his efforts.

It had to be said that the Lannisters had rather good genes.

Apart from the exception of Tyrion, they were almost all tall, well-built, handsome men and beautiful women.

Their long golden hair flew freely through the loft, mingling from time to time.

But just as they lost themselves in the pleasure of carnal desire, somewhere they could not see, a pair of innocent blue eyes watched all this sin intently through the window from the loft's smooth outer wall!

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The clash of weapons rang out without pause.

Under the dumbfounded gazes of the Gold Cloaks, the swords in Arthas's and Syrio's hands flew ceaselessly, colliding more than a dozen times in the air in a single instant.

"In... incredible!"

Renly swallowed, his eyes wide, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never make out their movements.

Only through the sound of clashing metal could he grasp how fierce the battle was.

The others watching nearby once again felt Arthas's might.

Although he had previously fought seven Kingsguard alone and defeated ten mounted Lannister knights without suffering a scratch, those feats did not show just how superb his swordsmanship was.

What astonished everyone even more was that this swordsman who had traveled all the way from Braavos could actually hold his own against Arthas without falling behind in the slightest!

"The First Sword of Braavos truly lives up to his reputation!"

After their swords had clashed hundreds of times, both men stopped in unspoken accord. Arthas looked at the man before him, whose reach was clearly shorter than his own, making no attempt to conceal the admiration in his eyes.

Although Syrio had no advantage in height or build, his distinctive footwork was as elegant as a dance, always allowing him to evade Arthas's attacks at crucial moments and even seize opportunities to counterattack.

Combined with the astonishing speed of his sword, it perfectly compensated for his natural disadvantages.

"Your superb swordsmanship is truly unbelievable as well, Lord Arthas!"

Syrio likewise made no attempt to hide the shock in his eyes. He knew his opponent had relinquished his advantage in strength and deliberately sought out a light sword to fight him.

He had initially felt some disdain for Arthas's arrogance, but the longer they fought, the more profoundly shocked Syrio became.

The swordsmanship he had always taken such pride in was being thwarted at every turn by Arthas!

Others might not have noticed, but as the one fighting him, Syrio knew perfectly well that every attack he made at the beginning had been intercepted with extraordinary precision.

Later, when his opponent began attacking, his own defense had actually become somewhat frantic, and he had been driven almost to the point of failure!

Had he not been only thirty, at the peak of both his physical reactions and swordsmanship, and had his speed not shown faint signs of surpassing its usual limits under Arthas's relentless pressure just now, he would probably have lost long ago.

Looking at the youth before him, whose golden eyes seemed to see through him completely, Syrio found his sword hand beginning to tremble uncontrollably with excitement.

Westeros truly did have masters!

Raising his slender sword again, Syrio closed his eyes tightly, seemingly regulating his breathing.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and the slender sword in his hand thrust toward Arthas like lightning.

Syrio's heart was racing incredibly fast, and everyone around him seemed to move more slowly. The speed of this thrust had completely surpassed every stroke he had delivered in the past thirty years!

To have delivered a thrust like this, even if he lost to Arthas, he would have no regrets!

To his surprise, facing his attack, Arthas, who had already assumed a defensive stance, now had a vacant look in his eyes, as though his mind had wandered.

Squelch!

At the sound of the sword piercing flesh, Syrio looked at his own hand in disbelief. His slender sword had already sunk fully into Arthas's chest!

"Lord Arthas!"

"Syrio, how fucking dare you!"

This scene, which none of them had anticipated, instantly sent the Gold Cloaks led by Lancel into a fury. They drew their swords, ready to swarm forward and chop Syrio into mincemeat.

Syrio also stood rooted to the spot, staring blankly at his sword hand, seemingly unable to understand why Arthas had made no response and allowed the sword to pierce him.

"All of you, stand down!"

Just as their blades were about to strike Syrio, an icy chill suddenly burst outward from Arthas.

Under Syrio's disbelieving gaze, a large, somewhat pale hand closed tightly over his sword hand. With utterly irresistible strength, it pulled the sword straight out of Arthas's chest with a ripping sound.

"First Sword Syrio."

An eerie blue light rose in his golden eyes. Arthas looked solemnly at Syrio, the voice issuing from his throat like that of an ancient demon god, vast and filled with unquestionable command:

"I have no time to play games with you."

"I have more important matters to attend to!"