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Roose Bolton's words reached Ramsay's ears, causing his gaze to shift continuously.
Expectation, disappointment, malice, calmness.
However, he looked at the heavily armored swordsman again, then at Jon, who was a head shorter than the swordsman.
Jon was still holding a stick that would break with a touch, and Ramsay believed he had no chance of winning whatsoever.
Most importantly, he knew his role; it wasn't his place to agree or disagree.
Thus, the final stakes were placed on the gambling table.
If Jon lost, not only would he lose his life, but Robb would also lose the prestige he had painstakingly built up.
If Jon won, he could not only leave unharmed but also take Ramsay's life.
Both sides quickly prepared and came to the temporary dueling ground.
Since there was no time to prepare, they simply had someone draw a circle the size of a living room on the ground with white ash.
Jon stood before the tall swordsman, gripping the long staff in his hand.
"I know you are Lord Eddard's bastard, so I won't kill you. It's not too late to confess now."
The swordsman spoke with a condescending attitude.
"Hmph!" Jon sneered, "Remember, the one who defeats you today is even stronger than the Sword of the Morning!"
As a legendary swordsman of Seven Kingdoms and a Kingsguard, the name of Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, was known to all.
Seeing Jon so arrogant, the heavily armored swordsman felt contempt.
A young boy, barely an adult, whose urine was still green, dared to compare himself to the Sword of the Morning.
Never mind, he only needed to knock this bastard to the ground, and then everything he wanted would be his.
So he let out a low growl, preparing to charge at Jon.
But Jon's movements were faster; his proactive attack surprised everyone; they didn't expect him to dare to attack first.
Theon looked at Jon nervously.
He used to always pick on Jon to feel important, but for some reason, he had found him much more agreeable lately.
He knew Jon's plan, so he still admired him greatly.
And Robb, sitting in the center, remained expressionless, but his hands in his sleeves were clenched tightly.
Bran, not far away, shouted loudly:
"Go, Jon! Don't lose to him!"
"Hodor!"
Bran still didn't understand that a trial by combat was practically a fight to the death.
Perhaps he still didn't understand what death was.
He simply thought it would be fine as long as Jon won.
Although the heavily armored swordsman was flustered by Jon's sudden attack, he quickly regained his footing.
His attacks were wide and powerful, forcing Jon to retreat continuously.
For the soldiers of Dreadfort, this was also a good opportunity for their Dreadfort to shine, so they all shouted, cheering on their own man.
But soon they noticed something was off; Jon's footwork and movements were very fast.
Although he was forced to retreat constantly, he always managed to escape and then launch a counterattack.
"This kid moves so fast, he's like a monkey," Greatjon said excitedly, tugging at his beard.
Rickard also looked at Jon's every move with interest and became curious about him.
Could it be that this kid wasn't crazy, but just very confident in himself?
"I understand now, no wonder he isn't even wearing armor. Jon is trying to exhaust him," Theon suddenly said excitedly.
The swordsman's attacks, though fierce, were also very strenuous.
After a dozen rounds, the swordsman's movements noticeably slowed down.
Robb instinctively glanced at Theon, thinking, 'Even if you figured it out, you shouldn't have said it.'
And Theon, realizing his slip of the tongue, hung his head in shame.
Sure enough, Ramsay, standing nearby, overheard his words.
"Ser Took, be careful, he's trying to exhaust you!"
Ramsay shouted a warning, and many people frowned.
Such an action was truly shameless.
"Where did that little bastard come from!" Greatjon roared, pointing at Ramsay, scaring him so much his legs went weak.
Roose Bolton, also standing beside Robb, said expressionlessly:
"He is my bastard."
"Oh, so it's Lord Leech's bastard, no wonder, hahaha~"
Everyone then turned their attention back to the duel.
The swordsman, having been warned, stopped attacking and entered a defensive stance, hoping to recover his strength.
"You almost tricked me, kid, your mind is quite agile, and your footwork is good too."
"Do you really think I'm trying to exhaust you?" Jon sneered.
"Hmm?" A bad premonition suddenly appeared in the swordsman's heart.
"I just haven't been on a battlefield, and I wanted to see how capable you, who have truly fought and killed, really are. Now it seems you're nothing special.
Next, it's my turn."
With that, Jon began his attack.
Seeing Jon's wooden staff sweep across, the swordsman instinctively blocked, but Jon closed in on him.
The long staff struck the tall swordsman's body repeatedly, and despite his thick skin, he sweated profusely from the pain.
This was why Jon chose a long staff instead of a longsword.
While soft armor had the advantage of being light and not hindering movement, it was almost ineffective against blunt force trauma.
A series of dense thudding sounds, like a rhythmic piece of music.
When the swordsman used his longsword to protect his lower body, Jon directly used the long staff to support himself and kicked him in the head, sending out splatters of saliva mixed with blood.
Whoa!!!
The spectators were thoroughly entertained; they hadn't imagined a fight could be fought like Jon did, so... imaginatively.
At this moment, Robb and Theon clenched their fists even tighter, not out of nervousness, but out of excitement.
Both were very curious.
Where did Jon learn this skill?
If he learned it from the Wall, then when did such a figure appear on the Wall?
"Go, Jon!"
Bran, watching from afar, was incredibly excited, his small face flushed.
It was a good thing Hodor, his 'mount,' was stable enough, otherwise, he would have surely fallen.
"Well done, boy, worthy of Eddard's blood! Hahaha!"
Greatjon was completely in the mood for a spectacle, especially when he saw Roose Bolton's gloomy face, which made him feel as happy as if he had eaten bee droppings.
In fact, Roose Bolton's face had only darkened; there was no change in his expression.
Ramsay, however, lacked such composure; as he watched the swordsman, utterly helpless against Jon, his heart pounded faster and faster, almost as if he were about to vomit.
'This good-for-nothing, can't even beat someone with a stick!'
Ramsay roared inwardly, and it had to be said that Jon's skill was indeed formidable.
However, this also increased his inner imbalance.
They were both bastards, so why was he so amazing?
At this point, the swordsman fighting Jon had no strength left to retaliate and was unknowingly forced to the edge.
Of course, this was not a duel where the first one knocked out of bounds lost.
The only win or loss would be determined only after one party fell.
Jon struck again; he actually jumped onto the swordsman's back and pressed the wooden staff across his neck, tightening it forcefully.
The swordsman felt his vision go black, and then his massive body crashed down.
One second, two seconds, three seconds... Gradually, everyone could see the swordsman's eyes rolling back, and foam coming from his mouth.
Ramsay, witnessing this scene, felt as if he had fallen into an ice cellar. Suddenly, he noticed that Jon's attention was no longer on the match, but he was staring directly at him with both eyes.