An open-air training ground paved with fine sand on the west side of Casterly Rock was now illuminated as bright as day by countless torches and lanterns, becoming an unexpected climax of the banquet.
The noise spread from the hall to here. Nobles holding wine cups formed a circle, staring intently at the two in the field.
Jaime Lannister had already taken off his luxurious outer robe, wearing only a flexible leather jerkin suitable for movement. His golden hair looked like flowing molten gold under the firelight. Holding a blunt practice sword, his posture was elegant and confident, like a young lion poised to strike. Every glance and every step overflowed with Lannister pride and absolute confidence in his swordsmanship.
Opposite him, Euron Greyjoy was still in dark clothing, incongruous with the surrounding splendor. In his hands were two slender light swords, twirling in sword flourishes. He didn't assume a common knightly stance but lowered his waist slightly, sword tips pointing diagonally to the ground, posture relaxed to the point of casualness. Only that single eye locked sharply onto Jaime.
"Begin!" Someone shouted.
Jaime launched an attack immediately. His sword was fast as a viper's strike, piercing straight towards Euron's middle with a whistle of wind—standard Westerlands swordsmanship, efficient and full of power. However, Euron didn't block hard. His body slid sideways and backward with a near-dance-like flexibility. Simultaneously, his wrists flipped; the two longswords in his hands entangled Jaime's blade like water weeds, pulling and guiding, cleverly unloading this fierce strike.
The moment their weapons touched, the Pirate King System's ability—[Doriki Test - Lv.1]—checked Jaime Lannister's attributes.
[Jaime Lannister — 266 AC (14 Years Old)]
Strength: 19 (10)
Agility: 12 (10)
Stamina: 16 (10)
Spirit: 10 (10)
Command: 12 (10)
Charm: 22 (10)
Doriki Value: 1890
"Is this... Water Dancer technique?" Someone in the crowd who had been to Braavos across the Narrow Sea whispered.
Jaime was slightly stunned, then his offense became fiercer, sword light like a waterfall, continuous and unending.
His steps were steady, power abundant; every hack carried the momentum to shatter shields. But Euron's movements became increasingly eerie. He seemed boneless, always dodging the blade edge with minimal movement in the nick of time. His movement trajectory was like paper fluttering in the wind—[Kami-e (Paper Art)], unpredictable. The two longswords in his hands were sometimes heavy as giant axes, sometimes light and tricky as rapiers, switching freely between various styles, even mixed with strange footwork from across the Narrow Sea.
Euron thought to himself: Jaime Lannister's strength is higher than mine, but agility is lower. To defeat him, I must use my strengths—flexible swordsmanship and footwork.
Two people, three swords; clanging sounds in the field were incessant, sparks flying.
Jaime's magnificent swiftness contrasted sharply with Euron's eerie flexibility. Euron didn't rush to attack, more like guiding a dance of death, consuming Jaime's stamina and patience.
Suddenly, in a seemingly retreating movement, Euron exerted force abruptly. His body shot forward like a spring. The two longswords drew a weird arc, bypassing Jaime's block—
The tip of the right-hand sword stopped abruptly, lightly tapping an inch in front of Jaime's Adam's apple.
The entire field went instantly silent. Jaime's movements froze. He could clearly feel the cold touch and threat of death from the blunt tip. A trace of disbelief flashed in his azure eyes.
Euron slowly withdrew his sword, stepped back, no triumph in his mismatched eyes.
Jaime took a deep breath. Surprise faded from his face, turning into warrior's magnanimity. He shook his golden hair and said loudly: "What a fast change of moves! I lost the first round!"
The second time, Jaime was more cautious, trying to suppress with strength, forcing Euron into a head-on collision. But Euron displayed that ghostly movement again, slippery as a loach, always avoiding frontal confrontation just before power was fully released. Then came another unexpected dash, sword tip hitting the same spot again at an incredible angle.
Fine sweat seeped from Jaime's forehead.
The third time, Jaime almost used his full strength, sword momentum violent as thunder. But Euron seemed to predict all his movements, finding gaps in the storm-like attacks, like a black bolt of lightning—
Shing!
The blunt sword tip hovered precisely in front of Jaime's throat for the third time, motionless.
This time, the silence lasted longer. Everyone saw clearly; this was no fluke.
Jaime Lannister looked at the sword tip before his throat, then at Euron's rippleless face. He intended to step back, but accidentally tripped and fell backward. Half-lying on the sand, he burst into laughter—a laughter of complete defeat yet hearty relief. He threw away the practice sword, spreading his hands: "Enough, enough! I yield! Euron Greyjoy, did you steal these skills from the Drowned God's treasury? Damned wicked!"
Euron laughed too, no longer that cold arc, but a genuine, wild smile. He reached out and pulled Jaime up. "Ser Jaime let me win," his tone became humble. "I relied on flexibility and tricky footwork. On a battlefield, with both of us in heavy armor, your strength and orthodox swordsmanship would easily shatter my bones. The loser would definitely be me." He cleverly gave the other a way out and pointed out the limitations of his own style.
These words displayed strength while giving enough face to the Lannisters, drawing cheers from around. Jaime patted his shoulder hard, eyes devoid of contempt, holding only respect for the strong and intense interest.
[You defeated: Jaime Lannister (14 Years Old), obtained 80 Points.]
This brilliant contest was like a boulder thrown into a calm lake, stirring up layers of ripples. The blood of the belligerent was thoroughly ignited.
"Damn! Too splendid!" Robert Baratheon's huge voice rang out first. He pushed through the crowd, eyes shining with the excitement of meeting rare prey. "Greyjoy! Come come come! Exchange a few moves with me, Robert! Let me see if your 'Water Dance' can dodge my war hammer!" (Though he held no hammer at the moment).
Brandon Stark also squeezed forward, wolf-like eyes burning with fighting spirit: "Northerners also want to experience Iron Islands swordsmanship! Euron, can't let Westerners take all the glory!"
Even the usually steady Eddard Stark showed thick curiosity and eagerness in his eyes.
For a time, Euron Greyjoy, the second son of the Iron Islands who was originally marginal at the banquet, instantly became the focus of all martial nobles.
They gathered around, no longer out of politeness or curiosity, but purely out of the desire to challenge a strong opponent, purely out of mutual appreciation between warriors.
Tyrion watched the victorious Euron and his brother Jaime, who showed no disappointment or anger despite losing, and smiled happily. Euron also saw the Imp through a crack in the crowd, extending two fingers to him in a victory sign.
"Sword of the Morning" Arthur Dayne winked at his sister Ashara standing beside him, saying: "I said his combat talent is absolutely no worse than mine! Moreover, his looks compared to the Lannister son are not inferior at all. How about it, did I find you a good husband!"
Ashara Dayne's eyes flickered, face flushing red like a shy apple.