By the time Arthas and Renly arrived on the scene, the Gold Cloaks Headquarters reception hall was already a complete mess.
Dozens of Gold Cloaks guards, weapons in hand, had the place completely surrounded.
When they saw Arthas, they immediately and respectfully stepped aside to clear a path for them.
The first thing that caught their eyes was a short man holding a Rapier, standing proudly among the Gold Cloaks in a unique stance.
In front of him, several people lay scattered on the ground, the most prominent being Gendry, who was wearing his Bull-head helmet.
"Yo, Gendry."
Arthas's eyes seemed to flash with displeasure. With a stern face and furrowed brows, he joked with the Gendry lying on the floor:
"What, sleepy already and it's barely morning?"
"If you want to sleep, go home and do it yourself. The Gold Cloaks Headquarters reception hall is no place for you to rest!"
Being scolded by his superior like this, Gendry, who had just been promoted to Arthas's Personal Guard, quickly endured the pain and scrambled up from the ground, hanging his head like a schoolboy who had made a mistake.
Seeing this, the others also scrambled up one after another without saying a word, and the Gold Cloaks reception hall instantly fell silent.
Looking at the sword marks on the faces of Gendry and the others, which were identical to Lancel's, and carefully observing that there were no other wounds on their bodies, the expression on Arthas's face softened slightly.
He turned to look at the man who, though short, appeared exceptionally upright:
"Syrio Forel?"
"I heard you wanted to challenge me?"
"Of course, Your Excellency Arthas."
Sheathing the Rapier at his waist, Syrio, like a cat with its fur bristling, narrowed his eyes and tensed his body as he carefully sized up the blond youth before him.
For some reason, he felt a familiar aura emanating from Arthas.
"You are the first knight of the seven kingdoms; your heroic deeds are widely known even as far away as Braavos."
Bowing slightly, his elegant demeanor made Syrio look more like a noble than Arthas did.
"I am but a humble man who was once appointed as the First Sword of Braavos."
"I have come to King's Landing for the purpose of having a fair duel with Your Excellency."
Seeing that the other party had indeed not come to cause trouble on purpose, Arthas nodded slightly.
"Very well, you do indeed possess the strength to challenge me."
He then scanned the Gold Cloaks standing in place, shook his head in disappointment, and was the first to turn and walk out.
When he saw Lancel, who had been waiting outside the crowd, he patted the man heavily on the shoulder, his resonant voice echoing through the hall:
"Lancel, I am very disappointed in you."
"Faced with an enemy who has already come to your door, the Personal Guard you manage didn't even have the courage to launch an attack."
"Must I, the commander, personally step in to resolve it for you every time you encounter a powerful opponent?"
These words left Lancel and the Gold Cloaks feeling utterly ashamed. In their handling of this matter, they had indeed behaved far too cowardly.
It could only be said that the strength Syrio displayed was too startling; even the strongest among them, Gendry, hadn't lasted two rounds against him.
Although Arthas had been giving them targeted training since he took office, when had these Gold Cloaks, who were always in a state of being half-soldier and half-thug, ever seen such a scene?
It was only natural that they were momentarily intimidated by Syrio.
"It seems I still need to ramp up the intensity for them."
Arthas calculated in his mind as he walked out. After all, this was his own foundation; if the individual quality of the troops remained low, it would not be a good thing.
These guys were being paid such high salaries; even if they weren't compared to the Knights of the Silver Hand, they at least shouldn't be weaker than the average knights of the Seven Kingdoms.
If they didn't even dare to draw their swords every time they met a strong enemy, then what use did he have for them?
Standing outside the reception hall, Arthas turned back to look at Syrio following behind him, feeling a hint of interest in this short man.
He wanted to see just how superb the other man's swordsmanship was to be able to effortlessly deal with Gendry and the group of Gold Cloaks.
"Lord Renly, may I borrow your sword for a moment?"
Arthas politely inquired of Renly, who was standing beside Lancel.
As soon as this fellow heard someone wanted to challenge Arthas, he was even more excited than the person involved and had followed along eagerly.
"Of course, it is my honor for the first knight of the seven kingdoms to use my sword."
Hearing that Arthas wanted to use his sword, Renly grew even more excited, crisply drawing the blade and tossing it over.
Catching the sword precisely, Arthas weighed it carefully in his hand.
As expected, this guy did not excel in strength; the sword he carried was also quite a bit lighter than a typical two-handed greatsword.
However, this suited his purposes perfectly. Greatswords like frostmourne were swung with wide, sweeping motions and were inherently suited for slaughter on the battlefield.
Add to that the fact that his own strength had grown too rapidly lately; if he used frostmourne to fight Syrio, the man might not even be able to withstand a single blow.
Since he had made up his mind to test the other's swordsmanship, he naturally had to defeat him head-on with skill; Renly's sword, which wasn't too heavy, was just right.
"Mr. First Sword."
Flicking his finger lightly against the blade, producing a crisp ring, Arthas spoke calmly with his head tilted:
"Please, be sure to let me witness the superb swordsmanship from Braavos as well."
...Just as Arthas and Syrio were about to begin their fierce battle.
In the North, in an abandoned tower, our Kingsguard and his Queen were also engaged in an even more intense exchange.
"Oh, Jaime!"
"I've missed you so much!"
Amidst heavy breathing, Cersei half-sincerely kissed Jaime behind her.
These past few days, partly out of resentment toward Arthas and partly because the party was constantly on the move, she hadn't been able to find any opportunity to be intimate with Jaime.
In terms of desire, Cersei and Robert truly were a match made in heaven.
So, she was also somewhat pent up... and Jaime was incredibly excited. Having been ignored by Cersei the whole way, she had finally taken the initiative to invite him once they arrived at Winterfell.
Stirred by her provocations, he quickly began to exert himself even more vigorously.
It had to be said that the Lannister genes were quite good.
With the exception of Tyrion, they were almost all tall, handsome men and beautiful women.
The golden hair of the two flew wildly within the tower, occasionally intertwining.
But while they were lost in the pleasure brought by carnal lust, in a place they could not see, a pair of innocent blue eyes was staring intently through the window at all this sin from the smooth outer wall of the tower!
..."Clang! Clang! Clang!"
The sound of clashing blades echoed continuously.
Under the dumbfounded gazes of the Gold Cloaks, the swords in the hands of Arthas and Syrio flew incessantly, clashing a dozen times in the air in just an instant.
"So... so incredible!"
Renly swallowed hard, his eyes wide, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never clearly see the movements of the two.
He could only sense the intensity of the battle through the sound of metal clashing.
And the onlookers watching from the side once again felt Arthas's power.
Although he had previously had the record of dueling seven Kingsguard and winning a mounted battle against ten Lannister knights without taking a scratch, that hadn't truly reflected how superb his swordsmanship was.
What surprised everyone even more was that this Braavos swordsman from afar was actually able to hold his own in the exchange with Arthas without falling behind at all!
"The First Sword of Braavos indeed lives up to his reputation!"
After hundreds of clashes between sword and sword, the two both stopped their movements in a tacit understanding. Arthas looked at the man before him, whose reach was clearly shorter than his own, his eyes showing no attempt to hide his praise.
Although Syrio had no advantage in height or build, the unique footwork he used—elegant as if he were dancing—always allowed him to dodge Arthas's attacks at critical moments and even seize opportunities to counterattack.
Coupled with the extraordinary speed of his strikes, he had perfectly compensated for his natural disadvantages.
"Your superb swordsmanship is also truly unbelievable, Your Excellency Arthas!"
Syrio also made no attempt to hide the shock in his eyes. He knew that the other party had given up his advantage in strength and specifically found a light sword to spar with him.
Initially, he had felt some disdain for Arthas's arrogance, but the more they fought, the more shocked Syrio became.
The swordsmanship he had always been so proud of was actually being suppressed everywhere by Arthas!
Bystanders might not have been able to tell, but Syrio, as the one involved, knew very well that at the beginning, every one of his attacks was intercepted with extreme precision by Arthas.
By the time the other party began his offensive, Syrio's defense actually appeared somewhat frantic, and he was pushed almost to the point of making a mistake!
If it weren't for the fact that at age thirty he was at the dual Peak of physical reaction and swordsmanship, and that under Arthas's frantic pressure his speed had shown signs of breaking through its usual limits, he would likely have been defeated long ago.
Looking at the youth before him, whose golden eyes seemed to see right through him, Syrio's sword hand actually began to tremble uncontrollably with excitement.
Westeros truly did have masters!
Raising his Rapier again, Syrio closed his eyes tightly, seemingly adjusting his breath.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and the Rapier in his hand thrust toward Arthas like a bolt of lightning.
Syrio's heart was racing incredibly fast, and the movements of the people around him seemed to slow down. The speed of this thrust had completely surpassed any strike he had made in the past thirty years!
To be able to make such a thrust, he would have no regrets even if he fell at Arthas's hand!
To his surprise, faced with his attack, Arthas, who had originally assumed a defensive posture, now had a dull look in his eyes, as if he were spacing out.
"Pfft~"
Following the sound of a longsword piercing flesh, Syrio looked at his hand in disbelief; the Rapier had already completely sunk into Arthas's chest!
"Lord Arthas!"
"Syrio, you bastard, how dare you!"
This scene, which no one had expected, instantly sent the Gold Cloaks, led by Lancel, into a fit of rage. They drew their longswords one after another, about to swarm forward and chop Syrio into mincemeat.
And Syrio also stood frozen in place, staring blankly at his sword hand, as if he couldn't understand why Arthas had made no reaction and allowed his sword to pierce him.
"All of you, stand down!"
Just as the crowd's blades were about to hack into Syrio, an icy chill instantly erupted from Arthas's body and spread to the surroundings.
Under Syrio's incredulous gaze, a somewhat pale hand gripped tightly onto his sword hand. With a completely irresistible force, the sword was pulled straight out of the chest with a "shink".
"first sword Syrio."
His golden eyes flickered with an ethereal blue light. Arthas looked solemnly at Syrio, the voice coming from his throat sounding like that of an ancient demon god—vast and filled with an unquestionable sense of command:
"I have no time to play games with you."
"I have more important matters to attend to!"
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