"I will not kill you, nor her!" Karl's voice was steady, his tone flat, but his grip on Pale Justice was unyielding.
Jaime Lannister raised his sword again, a predatory smile playing on his lips. "Then I will kill you," he said calmly, as if Karl's mercy was nothing more than a trivial obstacle.
Karl's lips curved into a small smile, acknowledging the challenge. "If you can."
Jaime's narrowed eyes gleamed, and a low, amused chuckle escaped him. Then, in a solemn, almost knightly gesture, he saluted Karl.
Karl did not respond. He did not return the salute. And yet, that did not matter. Nothing mattered anymore except the duel.
The howling winds swept through the ruined northern tower, tugging at their cloaks and tossing dust into the air. Then, with a sharp whistle through the chill, Jaime struck.
"Now!"
Karl's longsword met Jaime's with ease. The clash rang like a bell through the empty stone corridors. In that instant, Jaime realized what many had before him—this was no ordinary man. He was a force of nature, a storm clad in steel. Every block, every parry from Karl was precise, effortless, as if the sword were an extension of his very being.
Jaime twisted, struck again, aiming a backhanded slash at Karl's calf. A dangerous attempt, exploiting his own height and reach. He had once called the Smiling Rider the "Magic Mountain" of his life, a legend twice the size of men yet half as mad. Now, Karl Stone had become that mountain. His presence, his skill, rivaled even the legendary Arthur Dayne.
Arthur had been admired not just for skill, but for honor, nobility, and kindness. A true knight. And in Karl, Jaime saw that reflection: a man who could duel without malice, whose mastery of the longsword was paired with a gentleness that stunned his enemies.
Jaime attacked again, but Karl intercepted, the blade of Pale Justice cutting through the air in a beautiful, precise arc. The attack was blocked, pushed back, and Jaime felt, for the first time, a flicker of fear. Not for his life, but for the impossible mountain he faced.
With a sudden, lightning-quick movement, Karl lifted his foot and struck Jaime's wrist, snapping the sword from his grip. Jaime gasped as pain shot through his hand. The longsword wavered, trembling in his fingers, and he felt the first sting of vulnerability in the duel.
Karl did not pursue. There was no need. The mountain did not chase those who failed to climb it; they fell on their own. Jaime took a step back, grimacing at his red, swollen wrist. He clenched his teeth, forcing his fingers to hold the sword, each movement a battle against numbness and weakness.
"You are… incredible," Jaime said, bitter humor in his voice. "Facing you is… despairing. I feel like a toddler learning to walk."
Karl smiled, twirling Pale Justice effortlessly. "That is the way it is with all who face me," he said simply, unconcerned with compliments or flattery.
Jaime forced himself forward, pain forgotten, determination blazing. This duel was no longer a game—it was survival, honor, the only chance to surpass this impossible opponent. His attacks became less showy, more direct, a lightning-fast thrust aimed at Karl's chest. Resolute, unwavering.
Karl anticipated the move but did not meet it as before. Instead, he guided the tip of his sword in an almost casual manner, allowing Jaime's blade to brush against it. A strange sensation—like a vine gripping the sword—pulled at Jaime's weapon, diverting it.
Jaime frowned. This was no ordinary parry. Yet he reacted quickly, using the strength of his arms to push through Karl's manipulation. A metallic clash rang out, the sound of two masters measuring each other in an unspoken battle of wits and skill.
Karl's eyes widened slightly. He had underestimated Jaime's ingenuity. But he did not hesitate. The duel continued, an intricate dance of steel and strength, each strike and block telling the story of two warriors at the peak of their abilities.
Jaime, feeling a surge of opportunity, braced with both hands and spun his gilded sword in a clever maneuver. The blade whipped through the air, aiming for Karl's neck.
"For someone who spares lives, you fight like a storm," Jaime said through gritted teeth.
Karl's eyes lit with appreciation, a rare smile crossing his face. "And you fight like a king who will not surrender, even against death."
The sound of metal slicing through air filled the tower. The wind roared, echoing the fury of the clash. Dust swirled around them like smoke from a battlefield. Jaime's mind raced, calculating angles, timing, the rhythm of Karl's movements. Each attack, each block, was a step closer to understanding the man who stood before him.
Karl, too, studied Jaime, seeing the flashes of genius, the relentless courage that had earned him the title King-Slayer. He recognized the heart of a warrior, one who could not be defeated by skill alone, but only by strategy and sacrifice.
Jaime struck again, this time a series of feints, trying to draw Karl into a misstep. But Karl anticipated every movement, pivoting and countering with elegant precision. The duel became a symphony of steel, a testament to years of training, honor, and indomitable will.
And then, a pause. Not of exhaustion, but of acknowledgment. Two warriors, each recognizing the other's strength, met in a silent understanding. There was no malice in Karl's eyes, no arrogance—only respect.
"You've grown," Karl said softly, almost to himself. "Stronger than I imagined."
Jaime's chest heaved. The pain in his wrist was sharp, but the fire in his heart burned brighter. "I will climb this mountain," he whispered, determination etched into every syllable.
Karl lowered his sword slightly. "Then climb," he said simply. "And know that the peak is yours… only if you are willing to pay the price."
Jaime inhaled deeply, gripping the sword with renewed vigor. The duel resumed, each strike and parry faster, sharper, more precise. It was no longer a fight for survival alone—it was a clash of philosophies, of honor, of the very essence of knighthood.
The tower trembled with each strike, the winds carrying the echoes of a battle that would be remembered long after the stone walls crumbled. Karl and Jaime moved as if time itself had slowed, their swords extensions of their will, their courage palpable in every swing, every block.
Finally, in a brilliant, fluid motion, Jaime spun his sword, finding the opening Karl had left in the slightest fraction of a second. The blade flashed, cutting through the air toward Karl's neck.
Karl's eyes widened—not in fear, but in admiration. The King-Slayer had reached the peak of his strength, willing to risk everything in a single, decisive strike. And Karl, ever the noble knight, accepted the challenge, meeting fate with honor, knowing some mountains are meant to be climbed only once.
The clang of steel echoed through the tower one last time, sharp and final, as if sealing the pact of warriors who understood that true strength was measured not in victories alone, but in the courage to face the impossible.
In that moment, amidst the winds, dust, and ruin, Karl Stone's eyes met Jaime's, and both understood: one would survive, but the legacy of this duel—the honor, the courage, the sacrifice—would endure forever.
And the North bore witness to a clash that would be remembered not for who fell, but for the hearts that dared to fight, and the souls that refused to yield.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)