The training yard was packed. More people than Robin had expected. Word had spread fast, the cursed child challenging his healthy brother. Entertainment was rare in Winterfell, and this promised to be memorable.
For all the wrong reasons, most assumed.
Robin walked through the crowd. Whispers followed him.
"Ten coppers says he doesn't last thirty seconds."
"I'll take that bet. Twenty says he runs."
"Poor boy doesn't know what he's getting into."
Robin ignored them. His focus was absolute. The crowd, the noise, the expectations, all are irrelevant. This was just another battlefield.
The training yard was a large rectangle of packed dirt. Weapon racks lined one wall. Practice dummies stood at the far end. And in the center, a cleared space where sparring matches took place.
Leo was already there, warming up. He wore proper training armor padded leather that would absorb impacts without causing serious injury.
His practice sword was blunted steel, regulation Academy training weapon.
He looked confident. Ready. Almost eager.
Robin assessed him with a commander's eye. Leo had filled out since the hallway incident. Real muscle on his frame. His movements showed training, formal training, with proper instructors.
He's competent. Not great, but competent. Under normal circumstances, he'd destroy me easily.
But these weren't normal circumstances.
Duke Stark stood at the edge of the yard, arms crossed. Marcus beside him, looking vaguely interested. Various nobles and high-ranking servants filled the other spaces.
An instructor stepped forward, Master Torren, the weapons master who trained the Stark sons. A grizzled veteran with more scars than teeth.
"Rules are simple," Torren announced. "Blunted weapons. Match ends on first blood, submission, or when I call it for safety." He looked at Robin. "You sure about this, boy?"
"Yes."
Torren shrugged. Gestured to the weapon racks. "Choose your weapon."
Leo had a longsword, his preferred weapon, the traditional choice for Stark heirs. Robin walked to the racks, scanning options.
Longsword would be stupid. Leo had reach and strength advantage. Spear was tempting but required space. Axe was too slow.
Robin's hand settled on a practice sword. Shorter than Leo's longsword. Single-edged. Closer to a large knife than a true sword.
Something he could use with the techniques he'd been drilling every night.
┏━━━━━━━[ Equipment ]━━━━━━━┓
│ Weapon: Practice Short Sword
│ ├─ Quality: Common
│ ├─ Damage: Blunted (Non-lethal)
│ ├─ Weight: Light
│ └─ Special: Training Weapon
│
│ Current Mastery Bonus: +25% (Dagger)
│ Note: Similar enough to apply partial bonus
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
Robin hefted the blade. Lighter than his training dagger. Different balance. But close enough.
"That's it?" Leo called out. "That toothpick? I thought you were serious about this."
Robin didn't respond. Walked to the center of the yard. Took his stance.
Weight balanced. Knees bent. Blade held in middle guard. The basic stance Justin had drilled into muscle memory.
Leo noticed. His smirk faltered slightly. "Where'd you learn that stance?"
"Books," Robin said simply.
"Books." Leo laughed, but it sounded forced. "Let's see how well books fight."
Torren raised his hand. "Match begins on my mark. Three. Two. One. Begin!"
Leo charged immediately. Aggressive. Confident. His longsword came down in a powerful overhead strike meant to end the fight in one blow.
Predictable.
Robin sidestepped. Minimal movement. The longsword crashed into dirt where he'd been standing.
Leo recovered quickly. Credit where due his training showed. He flowed into a horizontal slash aimed at Robin's midsection.
Robin backpedaled. Let the blade pass inches from his stomach.
"Stand still!" Leo snarled.
He's already frustrated. Good.
Leo pressed forward. A flurry of strikes. High, low, horizontal. Proper form. Textbook combinations.
Robin dodged them all. Minimal movements. Just enough to avoid the blade. He didn't counterattack. Didn't even attempt a strike.
Just dodged.
The crowd murmured. This wasn't what they'd expected.
"Fight back, coward!" someone yelled.
Robin ignored them. Focused entirely on Leo. On reading his patterns.
Right leg dominant. Weight shifts before each strike. Favors horizontal slashes. Leaves his left side slightly exposed during recovery.
More data. More patterns. Robin was analyzing everything.
Leo's strikes were getting wilder. Frustration building. He'd expected to end this in seconds. Now a full minute had passed and he hadn't landed a single hit.
"Stop running!" Leo shouted. He lunged forward with a thrust.
Robin sidestepped again. This time, he allowed Leo's momentum to carry him past. Made it look like luck. Like Leo had overextended rather than Robin planning it.
Let him think he's in control. Let him think his next strike will land.
Two minutes. Leo was breathing harder now. Not exhausted, he had good conditioning but frustrated and angry.
Angry fighters made mistakes.
"You have to attack sometime," Leo said, circling. "You can't dodge forever."
"I only need one strike," Robin reminded him. "The wager was landing a clean hit. I don't need to defeat you. Just touch you once."
That realization made Leo's face darken. He'd forgotten the actual terms. Had been so focused on crushing Robin that he'd lost sight of the goal.
"Then try," Leo challenged. "Come at me and see what happens."
Soon. But not yet.
Robin continued evading. Studying. Learning. Every strike Leo threw gave him more information. More understanding of his brother's style.
He drops his guard slightly after combinations. Needs a split second to reset. That's the opening.
Three minutes. The crowd was getting restless. Some were impressed that Robin was still standing. Others thought the whole thing was boring.
The Duke watched with an unreadable expression.
Leo changed tactics. Started feinting. High feint, low strike. Left feint, right strike. Trying to catch Robin off-guard.
Robin read them all. Justin's experience made Leo's feints transparent. He'd seen better from soldiers twice Leo's age.
He's getting tired. Stamina dropping. Now's the time.
Robin changed his pattern. Stopped just evading. Started deliberately moving to Leo's right side. His weak side. The side with poor footwork.
Leo noticed. Adjusted. But the adjustment was sloppy. His wide stance made repositioning awkward.
There.
Leo launched a powerful horizontal slash. Put his full weight behind it. A finishing blow.
Robin didn't dodge. He dropped. Straight down, letting the blade pass overhead.
And swept Leo's front leg.
It wasn't a powerful sweep. Robin didn't have the strength for that. But Leo's stance was too wide, his weight too far forward.
The leg gave out. Leo stumbled, fighting for balance.
Robin was already moving. Rising from the crouch. His practice sword coming up.
Leo saw it. Tried to block. But he was off-balance, falling, his own sword out of position.
Robin's blade caught him squarely on the jaw. Not hard just a tap. But clean and undeniable.
Contact.
The sharp crack echoed across the silent yard.
Leo hit the ground hard. His sword fell from his grip. He lay there, hand to his jaw, eyes wide with shock.
Robin stood over him, breathing heavily but controlled. His blade still raised.
Master Torren stared. Then raised his hand. "Match! Clean strike to Robin Stark!"
Silence. Absolute silence for three full seconds.
Then the yard exploded into noise. Shouting. Arguments. People demanding to see it again, insisting it was luck, claiming it didn't count.
Robin ignored them all. He looked at the Duke.
Duke Aldric Stark's face was a carefully mask. But his eyes held something new.
Not anger. Not disappointment.
He's seeing me differently now. Seeing the threat I could become.
Robin lowered his blade. Offered his hand to Leo.
His brother slapped it away. Scrambled to his feet, face burning with shame and rage. "You got lucky! Cheap shot!"
"I landed a clean strike," Robin said calmly. "Those were the terms."
"Again!" Leo demanded. "Best two out of three!"
"No." The Duke's voice cut through the noise. "The terms were clear. One strike. Robin has met the condition."
Leo spun to his father. "But Father...."
"Enough." The Duke's tone brooked no argument. He walked into the center of the yard. Looked at Robin with that penetrating stare.
"You won your wager," he said slowly. Each word measured. "I will honor the agreement. You may attempt the Academy entrance examination."
A pause. Then the conditions.
"But understand this. You will receive no new equipment. No special funds. No letter of recommendation from House Stark. You will travel in Leo's convoy, but you will be treated as a servant, not a son. When you fail and I expect you will fail, you will not return to this house."
The crowd murmured. Exile. The Duke was essentially exiling Robin if he failed.
Robin bowed his head. "Thank you for the opportunity, Father."
"Don't thank me. You forced my hand in public. A foolish gambit." The Duke leaned closer. His voice dropped so only Robin could hear. "But clever. Very clever. I'm beginning to wonder exactly what you've become."
He stepped back. Addressed the crowd. "The matter is settled. Return to your duties."
The crowd dispersed slowly. Many cast backward glances at Robin. Some impressed. Some confused. Most skeptical.
Robin returned the practice sword to the rack. His hands were steady. His breathing controlled.
Inside, his heart raced with triumph.
I did it. I have my ticket out.
He left the training yard without looking back. Didn't acknowledge the stares. Didn't respond to the whispers.
Just walked calmly back to his room.
Only when the door was closed and locked did he allow himself to smile.
```
┏━━━━━━━[ AchievementUnlocked ]━━━┓
│ FIRST VICTORY
│
│ Description: Defeated a trained opponent
│ through superior tactics and patience.
│
│ Rewards:
│ ├─ +50 EXP
│ ├─ Academy Examination Rights Earned
│ └─ Reputation Update: "Underestimated"
│
│ New Quest Available:
│ → Pass Academy Entrance Exams
│ ├─ Time Limit: 20 days
│ ├─ Difficulty: High
│ └─ Reward: Freedom + Resources
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
[LEVEL 5: 495/500 EXP]
Five experience points from level 6. One more daily quest would do it.
Robin lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind was already moving forward.
Three weeks until departure. Three weeks to prepare for the Academy exams.
Three weeks to transform from "the cursed child who got lucky" into someone undeniable.
The Duke gave me conditions designed to make me fail. No support. No equipment. Treated as a servant.
Robin smiled wider.
Perfect. I work best when underestimated.
The pieces were falling into place. The board was set.
And Robin Stark had just made his first public move.
The game had begun.