[Hey me at the beginning I'm glad you are liking the story and I am going to make a two more stories that's been just going out in my head to them might be House of the Dragons I haven't figured it out yet but here is going to be the main theme
Greek gods that has been reincarnated similar to this one but they might have more power it depends on how I feel
Hephaestus
Poseidon]
Chapter ten Trial by Steel
The sun was high, and the field was chaos.
Brienne of Tarth moved like a storm through the melee not elegant, not graceful, but unstoppable. Her blade was an extension of her will, her shield a wall of iron. She didn't kill. She didn't need to. She broke shields, cracked helms, and forced men to yield with the sheer weight of her strength and the precision of her strikes.
A sellsword from the Free Cities lunged at her with twin daggers. She caught one on her shield, twisted, and slammed the edge of her blade into his ribs. He crumpled with a gasp, clutching his side. She turned before he hit the ground.
Another came a knight in green and gold, swinging a flanged mace. She ducked under the arc, drove her shoulder into his chest, and sent him sprawling into the dirt. He tried to rise. She planted her boot on his chest and leveled her sword at his throat.
"Yield," she growled.
He did.
She moved on.
The crowd was watching now. Not just the commoners, but the lords and ladies in their silken seats. Lord Selwyn Tarth sat stiffly, his knuckles white on the armrest. Lysaro Waters, bloodied and grinning, leaned against the railing with a goblet in hand, watching her with a glint of admiration.
And then he stepped into her path.
Ser Addan Morrick.
A knight of the Marches. A veteran of two wars. His armor was battered but well-kept, his longsword plain but deadly. He had seen her fight. He had seen her mercy. And now he wanted to see her mettle.
He raised his blade in salute.
Brienne returned it.
No words. Just steel.
He struck first a high slash meant to test her guard. She caught it on her shield, sparks flying. He followed with a low feint, then a sudden thrust. She twisted, parried, and countered with a heavy overhead blow that forced him back a step.
He grunted. "Strong."
She didn't answer. She pressed forward, hammering at his guard with relentless force. He blocked, sidestepped, and struck back with a sweeping arc that nearly took her off balance. She recovered, pivoted, and slammed her shield into his side.
He staggered, but didn't fall.
They circled.
"You don't kill," he said between breaths.
"I don't need to," she replied, eyes locked on his.
"Why?"
"Because I'm not here to prove I can end lives. I'm here to prove I can protect them."
He nodded once. Then lunged.
Their blades met again, ringing like bells. He was faster than she expected, and stronger than most. He tested her footwork, her timing, her patience. She gave ground when she had to, but never broke. She absorbed his blows, redirected them, and struck back with brutal efficiency.
A cut to his thigh. A dent in his pauldron. A crack in his gauntlet.
He was bleeding. Breathing hard.
And smiling.
She's not just strong, he thought. She's smart. Controlled. She fights like a knight should not for glory, but for purpose.
He feinted left, then brought his sword down in a diagonal slash. She caught it, twisted, and locked their blades. They stood chest to chest, straining, sweat and blood mingling between them.
"You're testing me," she said.
"I am," he admitted.
"Why?"
"Because if I do this," he said, "I need to know you'll carry it."
She shoved him back, hard.
"I already do."
He stumbled, caught himself, and laughed. "Good."
They clashed again harder, faster. The crowd roared around them, but they didn't hear it. It was just the two of them now, locked in a trial older than thrones and banners.
Finally, with a twist and a roar, Brienne disarmed him. His sword flew from his hand and landed in the dirt. She stood over him, blade at his throat.
He looked up at her, chest heaving.
"Yield," she said.
He did.
And then, still on his knees, he looked up at her not with defeat, but with reverence.
"You fight better than most men I've known," he said. "And with more honor than all of them."
She lowered her sword.
He rose slowly, picked up his blade, and sheathed it.
"When this is over," he said, "find me. There's something I'd like to do. Something long overdue."
And then he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the center of the field, sword in hand, heart pounding.
The crowd erupted.
But Brienne heard only the sound of her own breath steady, strong, and full of something she had never dared to feel Hope.