Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

Facing Red Viper's challenge, Lynd did not hesitate and agreed immediately. Since acquiring the Sword of the Banished Knight, he hadn't had the opportunity to truly measure his strength against a worthy opponent. And as the foremost swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms—and possibly the entire world of ice and fire—Red Viper was more than suitable for such a test.

Lynd casually tied his horse to a wooden stake nearby, gestured for Glory to move away, and approached Red Viper. As he walked, he unsheathed the two greatswords hanging at his waist.

The moment Lynd's greatswords were drawn, Red Viper's relaxed demeanor vanished. His eyes turned fierce, his body lowered into a stance of readiness, and he adjusted his grip on the lance repeatedly. His feet moved quickly, circling Lynd, probing for weaknesses in his stance.

Nymeria, who had just left the tavern, felt a hunch and walked toward the edge of the village. There, she came upon the sight of Lynd and Red Viper squaring off in an open area. She stopped to watch, her expression wary.

Though Nymeria had heard the Bear Hunter's Song and knew of Lynd's reputation as a formidable warrior, she doubted he could defeat Red Viper. Only days ago, she had faced Oberyn herself. She had once defeated dozens of suitors with ease, but against Oberyn, she had been completely outclassed. He had parried her every strike effortlessly, treating her attacks as though they were from a child wielding a sword for the first time. By the end of the encounter, she was utterly spent.

The memory of that humbling defeat lingered as she watched the two men. To her, Red Viper was more legend than man, and the tales of Lynd paled in comparison.

Meanwhile, the standoff between Lynd and Red Viper remained unbroken. Oberyn continued circling, shifting his stance, searching for a vulnerability in Lynd's defense. Yet, despite Lynd's seemingly open stance, Oberyn sensed an overwhelming threat from each perceived gap, as though any attack would provoke a devastating counter.

Red Viper understood that allowing the standoff to continue would only erode his fighting spirit. If he delayed further, he feared losing any chance to challenge Lynd effectively. With this in mind, he opted for the safest course of action—an aggressive charge. Lunging with his spear, he aimed to capitalize on its reach and test Lynd's defenses.

But as soon as Oberyn moved, Lynd responded. It was as though he had anticipated the attack. With astonishing speed, Lynd sidestepped diagonally, narrowly avoiding the spear. At the same time, his right hand wielded a knight's greatsword in a motion akin to a spear thrust, aiming directly for Oberyn's chest.

The combined length of Lynd's greatsword and his extended arm rivaled the reach of Oberyn's lance, catching him off guard. He hadn't expected anyone to wield such a massive weapon with such dexterity and control using only one hand. Forced to act quickly, Oberyn dodged by rolling to the side, barely avoiding the blade's tip.

Though the roll seemed ungainly, Oberyn used it to retract his lance and immediately countered, lunging again with a stab aimed at Lynd's thigh.

Lynd, however, reacted with unorthodox agility. Leaping into the air, he executed a mid-air somersault. As he descended, his two greatswords swung downward in a wide arc toward Oberyn.

The sheer force and range of the attack left Oberyn with no time to dodge. He raised his lance with both hands in an attempt to block the strike. Though the steel shaft of the lance withstood the blow, the immense impact bent the weapon and sent a shockwave down Oberyn's arms, numbing them. The force drove him to one knee, leaving him defenseless as Lynd's swords crossed at his neck.

Lynd didn't linger with his blades poised over Oberyn's throat. He quickly stepped back, sheathing his swords, and stood silently, waiting for Oberyn to recover.

Although Red Viper accepted his defeat, his face betrayed disbelief. Before the duel with Lynd, he had never imagined he could lose—let alone so decisively and swiftly.

He replayed the fight in his mind, analyzing the simplicity of Lynd's Swordsmanship. The techniques were nothing extraordinary: straightforward thrusts with a straight sword and slashes with dual swords. Yet, he, the Red Viper—renowned as one of the greatest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms—had been bested by such unadorned moves.

Still, Red Viper was no ordinary man. He quickly identified the real reason for his loss. While Lynd's techniques were simple, his speed and strength were anything but ordinary. His ability to wield two knight's greatswords with such ease, even executing mid-air maneuvers, was something Red Viper had never encountered before.

Even more concerning was his realization that knowing Lynd's methods wouldn't change the outcome. Lynd's sheer physical superiority in speed and strength placed him on a different plane entirely. Without resorting to poison or underhanded tactics, defeating him seemed almost impossible.

"Who taught you swordsmanship?" Red Viper asked, standing up and discarding his warped lance.

"The Warrior," Lynd replied, making the sign of the Seven Gods.

Red Viper raised an eyebrow, his expression briefly incredulous before turning wordless. Without further inquiry, he pivoted and walked away.

Lynd watched Red Viper leave, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. The duel had given him clarity—if Red Viper was the benchmark, he no longer had reason to fear any opponent in direct combat. His only vulnerability now lay in other methods, such as poison or deceit.

Mounting his horse, Lynd adjusted the reins, preparing to leave. As he glanced back, he spotted Nymeria standing on a small hill overlooking the area. Bowing slightly in her direction, he spurred his horse into motion, riding toward the distant forest.

Nymeria remained rooted to the hillside, her mind reeling. She had never expected the Red Viper to lose, much less in such an overwhelming fashion. It felt surreal, as though she were trapped in a dream. For a long while, she stood there, struggling to calm herself.

"My lady, there is news from over there," a voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see an older man dressed as a Maester but lacking a chain around his neck.

His expression was grave. "It seems they're growing impatient. They've begun using threats. I suspect they might not even wait for the supposed bandits to arrive before launching an attack under the guise of bandits."

"No, Maester Yevs," Nymeria responded seriously. "The bandits are coming. They're already very close. Distribute the weapons. At the very least, the villagers should be able to defend themselves."

The Maester sighed but nodded. "Yes, my lady," he said, turning to carry out her orders.

"Wait, Maester," Nymeria called after him. When he turned, she continued, "Draft a document authorizing House Tyrell's Bear Hunter, Lynd, to use the Old Castle as a base for suppressing the bandits. The authorization will be valid for four years."

"House Tyrell?" Maester Yevs froze briefly, then bowed and departed without comment.

The following day, as Nymeria signed the document granting Lynd authority, his scouts returned with critical information. They reported the current position and movements of the bandit alliance.

The bandits were roughly 15 miles northeast of Tumbleton, moving slowly and making no effort to conceal their approach. They were expected to arrive within a day.

However, the scouts also uncovered additional, troubling details. Another force was trailing the bandits—a group of about 300 men, well-armed with long spears and clad in leather armor. They moved in a disciplined, military fashion but bore no identifying badges or insignias, making it impossible to determine their allegiance.

Despite the lack of outward identification, Lynd quickly deduced their origins. Only a handful of powerful Lords in the surrounding region had the resources to field such a covert, well-trained force. Given their apparent interest in Tumbleton, Lynd was confident he already knew the identity of the Lord behind them.

"Scar-Eye, you will lead the second cavalry patrol and the logistics team to the ruins of Old Tumbleton to set up a camp," Lynd said as he handed Scar-Eye the permission order. He then turned to the head craftsman of the logistics team and asked, "How is the preparation of arrows going?"

The head craftsman responded, "Lord, there are enough arrows for everyone—four quivers each. However, only three of those quivers are equipped with iron arrowheads; the remaining quiver has stone arrowheads."

"What about shortbows?" Lynd asked.

"Each person can be equipped with two," the craftsman replied.

"Bring them all," Lynd commanded. He then turned to Bryn, Raul, and the others, adding, "Go tell them we're going hunting."

Following Lynd's instructions, everyone except the members of the second cavalry patrol equipped themselves with as many arrows as they could carry. Each person strapped on two shortbows and a longbow. Along with daggers, they carried horn hammers at their waists, designed specifically to break through armor.

Initially, Lynd had considered arming everyone with moderately weighted curved knives or broadswords. However, both weapons required significant time and resources to forge, as well as extensive training to wield effectively. Without such practice, these weapons would struggle to cause significant damage to armored enemies.

Realizing this limitation, Lynd decided to forgo swords in favor of maces. Maces were simpler and more practical, with minimal training required for effective use. Anyone could pick up a mace and strike, and even armored opponents would feel the impact. When combined with the momentum of a warhorse, a mace could deliver devastating blows without requiring complex technique.

Once everyone was properly equipped, Lynd led over 100 cavalrymen out of the temporary forest encampment, their pace swift and deliberate as they galloped toward the bandit alliance.

Lynd made no attempt to conceal the departure of his cavalry. As a result, the movement of his force was observed by everyone in and around Tumbleton.

The people hiding in the valley were shocked to discover the presence of such a well-equipped cavalry force operating so close to their position. Their surprise revealed how poorly informed they were about their surroundings.

Meanwhile, in Tumbleton, confusion spread. Nymeria and her people wondered why Lynd's cavalry had left so quickly, especially after he had just received authorization to establish a stronghold.

Despite Lynd's departure with the cavalry, Tumbleton quickly realized he wasn't abandoning the area. With Scar-Eyed Mitt and his men staying behind to establish a stronghold in the ruins of Old Tumbleton, Lynd's intentions became clear.

Although Lynd was an outside force, Nymeria had no intention of relying solely on him. She mobilized her villagers, swiftly assembling a force of 200 men. Their equipment, though remnants of the Dance of the Dragons, was well-preserved—testament to generations of care by the Lords of House Footly. The quality of the arms and armor rivaled that of any major noble house.

Moreover, these 200 men were not mere farmers. It was evident that Nymeria had trained them to some degree in preparation for potential conflict. Their movements and organization hinted at a certain level of combat readiness.

Meanwhile, across the valley, the isolated group of people sent another messenger to Nymeria, repeating their offer: if she accepted them as subjects, they would fight for her. Yet Nymeria remained resolute, ignoring their overtures as if they did not exist.

Around midday, approximately a few dozen miles from Tumbleton, a 300-strong force marched steadily at the base of a small hill. The group followed an old, worn path carved by travelers of the past.

Aside from a few mounted individuals, the majority of the force were infantry soldiers. Their discipline was evident; heads bowed, they marched silently, showing no signs of conversation or distraction.

Among their ranks, Bert Falwell adjusted his ill-fitting sword belt with a grimace. He was the second son of Ser Lys of House Falwell, and though he had begun the journey on horseback, misfortune had struck.

Earlier, while crossing a hill, his horse had suddenly reared and thrown him off before tumbling down a cliffside. He had barely managed to jump clear, narrowly avoiding a deadly fall.

Unliked by his peers, Bert found no sympathy from the group. None offered him a replacement mount, and he was left to march with the infantry. Exhaustion quickly set in, forcing him to shed most of his heavy gear. He discarded his chain mail and protective plate armor, opting for the lighter leather armor of a common soldier. His entourage and a few obliging soldiers carried his equipment, helping him keep pace with the others.

Ser Torrhen Lefford, the grizzled leader of the company, noticed the growing fatigue within the group.

As a longtime ally of House Falwell, Torrhen took pity on Bert, though he hid it under the guise of caring for the entire unit. He called for a halt, allowing the men to rest and eat.

Bert, overwhelmed by relief, muttered a quick prayer to the Seven Gods before collapsing onto the ground. He instructed his entourage to fan him and create shade around him as he lay in the grass.

Fatigue quickly overtook him, and he fell into a deep sleep. He had no idea how much time had passed when he was jolted awake by the sound of shouts. Moments later, something heavy struck him. Opening his eyes, he was met with the horrifying sight of his attendant's terrified face—an iron arrowhead lodged through the man's eye.