- Mattias -
Days later, they continued to travel to the riverrun with Mattias using his Seismic sense to see if there are people near them that might leak news to other houses.
He was also plundering supply from any hidden bandits or mercenary to continue supporting his army while eliminating scum from the world.
There were some captured people who were about to be sent to Essos and sold as slaves.
Slavery had been banned in Westeros but does not mean people would listen to it.
Law can be damned when it prevents them from indulging in riches and influence.
'What stroke of luck to obtain these swords.'
Mattias looked at the three swords before him. He looked at the weapon and due to his [ Armament Magic ] allowed him to know exactly what the material and what they were.
Before him was Blackfyre and Dark sister that once belonged to the Targaryen along with Vigilance that belonged to the Hightower.
They were taken from decent plundering from bandits and mercenaries.
It's been years since people saw this weapon and won't even realize what they were. They didn't show any erosion and were still sharp despite a long time having passed.
He couldn't help but imagine how useful they were to him to further strengthen his army.
His magic needed a basic understanding and needed to be familiar to said armament on what he wished to create meaning he couldn't simply create divine weapons but once he has seen it then it's possible to somewhat replicate. Unfortunately, it needs energy and won't be as powerful as the original.
Regardless, having Valyrian steel equipment was more than enough to tip the scale of any battlefield.
Mattias decided to make his own weapon and two Valyrian swords.
The blade was long and wickedly straight, tapering to a needle-fine point that promised swift penetration. Its steel possessed a cool, hard silver luster.
Running down the center, where a traditional fuller would lie, was the weapon's signature: a delicate, etched feather or stylized leaf motif.
This ornamentation wasn't merely etched on the surface; it seemed inlaid—a darker material, perhaps darkened steel or a metallic inlay of muted bronze—that ran the entire length of the visible steel, giving the cutting edge a subtle, ominous depth.
The guard area was a masterful tangle of sculpted metal, a transition zone more akin to jewelry than armor. Bronze or coppery tones framed darker, almost gunmetal sections, forming overlapping, organic shapes—perhaps stylized wings or overlapping scales—that led the eye upward from the lethal edge to the handle.
The grip itself was comparatively slender, a dark, textured column for sure purchase, leading to the final flourish: the pommel. It was an open design, a complex circle or stylized teardrop shape pierced with intricate cutouts, suggesting an almost ethereal lightness to the sword's counterweight.
The second blade lay a stark contrast to the first, not of cold steel but of burnished, ancient bronze. It spoke of desert sands or sun-drenched ruins rather than moonlit shadows.
The blade itself was broad and flat, the two deep, parallel grooves—like twin riverbeds carved into metal—creating a central ridge that caught the light. These grooves were steeped in shadow, an inky blackness that made the surrounding gold glow with exaggerated warmth. It was a weapon that looked heavy with history, every surface hinting at a millennium of slow oxidation.
The hilt was a study in calculated segmentation. The guard flowed directly from the blade, its sculpted curves rendered in the same rich, muted gold.
But it was the grip that drew the eye: it wasn't wrapped in leather or plain metal, but built in alternating rings. Strips of the warm bronze framed segments of a paler material—perhaps ivory, polished bone, or petrified wood—giving the wielder a segmented, almost bead-like purchase.
At the end, the pommel repeated the signature flourish of its silver counterpart, a knot of looping metalwork, but here it was heavier, more grounded, anchoring the entire warm composition.
Though, this weapon will be temporary since they are only for Mattias's hobby. Regardless, it is still a well made swords that can easily slaughter his enemies.
'Let's test this thing first,' Mattias thought, sliding the blades across his palm—not enough to cut, but enough to feel its perfect balance.
He turned and began walking through the camp. The air was crisp, morning dew still clinging to the grass, and the low hum of activity filled the area—metal clanging, voices calling, fires crackling.
As he passed, soldiers straightened from their tasks, fists pressed to their chests or heads bowed slightly in respect.
"My lord!" one man called, standing at attention with his spear planted beside him.
"Morning, Lord Mattias," another greeted with a grin, sweat glistening on his brow from training.
Mattias returned a faint nod, his crimson armor gleaming faintly in the sun. He wasn't the sort to demand worship—but the men gave it freely.
Some of the younger recruits whispered as he passed, their awe barely contained.
"Did you see that sword? Looks like it was forged from moonlight…"
"Don't be a fool, he probably made it himself."
"Then the gods help anyone who crosses him."
A few veterans offered friendly waves rather than formal salutes, those who had grown used to his presence.
"Off to test another one of your creations, my lord?" one asked with a chuckle.
Mattias gave a small smile.
"Perhaps. If it breaks, I'll make you a sharper one."
Laughter rippled through the small group as he continued past them.
He walked until the noise of the camp faded behind him, the distant calls replaced by the whispering wind. The ground beneath his boots grew uneven, soft with loose soil—a good place to test the edge without drawing too much attention.
Once certain no one was nearby, Mattias exhaled and held the sword up to the light.
"Now then," he murmured, eyes gleaming.
"Let's see what you can do."
He gripped both swords in his hands, feeling their weight—or rather, the surprising lack of it. They were light, unnaturally so, yet perfectly balanced. The hilts molded against his palms as though forged for him alone.
Mattias gave them a few testing swings. The air hissed as each blade cut through it, clean and sharp, leaving faint ripples in the morning mist. A grin curved his lips.
Then he began to move.
He lunged forward, slashing diagonally, his body flowing into motion like a dancer trained in death. The blades blurred—one striking high, the other low—never colliding, each swing following the other in perfect succession.
He weaved the strikes together like twin serpents, pivoting on his heel, twisting his torso as the wind whipped around him. His crimson armor gleamed with each motion, arcs of dust spiraling from the force of his swings.
The rhythm built—left, right, backhand, thrust. The sound of cutting air became a sharp whoosh, steady and hypnotic. It wasn't a simple test anymore; it was artistry in motion.
Mattias transitioned seamlessly, his movements fluid and sharp. He spun, then deliberately released one sword. Instead of falling, the weapon halted midair—floating beside him, its edge glinting under the morning sun. It hovered close, perfectly aligned with his stance, following his movements like a loyal hound.
He pressed forward with the remaining blade, slicing through the air in swift, disciplined strikes while the floating sword mirrored him, darting to block, feint, or counter an invisible enemy. The coordination was seamless—one blade guided by muscle, the other by will.
His footwork shifted, light and precise, as he twisted into a dual assault—his arm swinging high while the floating sword swept low, both cutting through the air in a deadly rhythm that sounded almost melodic.
Dust rose around him in swirling waves, drawn by the force of his slashes. The blades blurred into streaks of silver and bronze, orbiting him in a deadly waltz.
Then, he stopped—breathing steady, eyes calm and calculating.
The floating sword drifted beside him, point-down, as though awaiting command. With a subtle wave of his hand, it spun once in place before gently lowering into the ground next to its twin.
Mattias exhaled, satisfied.
"Good," he murmured.
"You'll do nicely."
He started to think of a name for the weapon.
"Alright, your name would be Avarice and Voracity."
The brown was known as Avarice while the silver one would be Voracity. They both instate weapons who are greedy and gluttonous.
"I think it's time to show yourself, little pup." Mattias called out and from the trees came Arya who watched everything unfold.
"Forgive me, my lord. It was not my intention to spy on you."
"It is alright." Mattias reassured her.
"Did you enjoy the show?" He asked and Arya sheepishly nodded.
"Yes, I wonder how you are able to make swords fly." Arya asked.
"It is simply my ability." Mattias said, then glanced at her sword.
"You're sword, let me take a look at it."
Arya unsheathed her sword which was named as Needle for the blade is thin, similar to a Estoc.
"What a fine blade." Mattias said as he began to use his power to change it. Arya watched as her sword began to gain its luster and clearly undergoing change.
"Done. I have changed its material into that of a high quality Valyrian Steel."
Arya heard his words and was taken aback.
"Valyrian steel!? Like my family's sword Ice that was stolen by the lannister!?"
She can't help but exclaim.
"The same one. I have retrieved three Valyrian swords and from it I was able to recreate it through my magic."
Mattias said and Arya was left speechless.
"I-I…I can't simply accept this, My lord! This is simply priceless!"
Arya said since Valyrian steel was impossible to gain after the Valyrian Freehold had fallen.
"In your eyes, it is indeed priceless but in mine they are not. Worry not, I intend to also give Valyrian weapons and armor to the soldiers. However, I simply decided to be the first to receive it."
Mattias said with a smile and Arya can't help but blush seeing Mattias face. He had been nothing but kind to her and her mother. She had listened to his tale about his homeland and stories like Amazonian who are warrior women according to his homeland legend.
"Then I'll accept it and use it well." Arya promised vowing to not disappoint and Mattias nodded.
"I know."