Inside the Throne Room.
Here, there were no fervent crowds, no open skies.
There were only cold stone pillars, the jagged Iron Throne, and the surrounding nobles, their eyes filled with varying intents.
This trial felt exceptionally oppressive.
Robert Baratheon sat like a raging bull, breathing heavily, his muddy eyes burning with a thirst for blood.
Cersei Lannister stood not far away, her face as pale as parchment, her fists clenched tight. Her only hope rested on the man in the black cloak: Lynn.
Lynn and Donnel walked to the center of the hall.
Ten paces apart, they stood facing each other.
Donnel's face wore a look of devout resolve, as if he truly were a loyal subject fighting for the King's honor.
But the hand gripping his sword hilt trembled ever so slightly, betraying his inner fear.
The poison needles hidden all over his body, the trump cards he relied on to make his name—they were all gone.
He was now just a swordsman with decent skill.
That was all.
Lynn was much calmer.
He slowly drew his weapons.
In his left hand was Longclaw, the wolf-head pommel vivid in the torchlight.
His right hand also gripped a sword.
It was pitch-black, shorter than a standard longsword, and more slender. The blade was narrow, its design ancient, devoid of any superfluous decoration, yet exuding an indescribable sharpness.
Dark Sister.
He had asked a smith to disguise its true nature.
"Two swords?"
A low murmur rippled through the gathered nobles.
Knights who wielded dual blades were not unheard of, but those who could use them well were few and far between.
Jaime Lannister had been leaning against a stone pillar, thoroughly bored. But when he saw Lynn draw the second sword, his brow furrowed involuntarily.
He felt that the slender black sword looked somewhat familiar.
"What are you waiting for?"
"Start fighting for your King! Now!"
Robert's roar exploded in the hall.
The moment his voice fell, Donnel moved!
Like a hunting leopard, he dropped low, pushing off the stone floor with a muffled thud, launching himself straight at Lynn!
He had forsaken plate armor, forsaken even leather armor. All for the sake of ultimate speed.
Fast!
Faster than anyone had imagined!
There was no flourish in his swordplay. Just the simplest, deadliest thrust!
Aiming straight for Lynn's heart!
This wasn't a knight's swordsmanship; this was an assassin's blade! No wide swings, only a direct, lethal pierce!
Clang—!
A crisp ring of steel on steel.
With Longclaw in his left hand, Lynn precisely parried Donnel's blade.
The tip scraped past the armor under his ribs, sending up a shower of dazzling sparks.
His first strike having failed, Donnel flicked his wrist, bringing his sword up in a sweeping slash aimed at Lynn's seemingly exposed neck!
Vicious. Tricky!
However, fast as he was, Lynn's second sword was faster!
Dark Sister struck second but arrived first.
With a sharp clack, it blocked Donnel's path with pinpoint accuracy!
Sparks flew!
Jaime Lannister's pupils constricted violently!
That wasn't a simple block!
The moment Lynn's second sword made contact with the opponent's blade, there was a minute turn of his wrist.
He didn't just neutralize the force; he guided the opponent's sword aside, creating a perfect opening for his main weapon!
Longclaw swept down, but Donnel dodged nimbly.
This swordsmanship...
This inconceivable coordination of dual blades...
Jaime's mind went blank for an instant!
He had seen this style before!
In his youth, he had seen it with his own eyes, wielded by his idol, the Sword of the Morning, Arthur Dayne!
Arthur Dayne, the legend of the Kingsguard, the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms!
He used this very style of dual-wielding!
One sword for offense, one for defense—attacking and defending in unison, flawless!
But that's impossible!
Ser Arthur Dayne is dead!
His swordplay was lost with him!
Lynn... how could he possibly know it?
Under Jaime's shocked gaze, the situation on the floor changed rapidly.
Donnel launched a flurry of close-quarters attacks, but Lynn neutralized every single one with terrifying ease using his two blades.
Lynn was like a reef. No matter how the storm battered him, he remained immovable.
His feet hadn't shifted even an inch.
Longclaw in his left hand moved with sweeping power, steady as a mountain, handling the frontal blocks and slashes.
Dark Sister in his right hand waited for its moment, always appearing from the most impossible angles to seal off every one of Donnel's insidious follow-ups.
Donnel grew more terrified with every exchange!
The speed and skill he prided himself on looked like child's play before this man!
Every parry, every counterattack from Lynn felt as if he had predicted Donnel's movements in advance, stepping precisely on every beat of his rhythm!
He didn't feel like he was dueling one man. He felt like he was fighting two sword masters simultaneously!
Moreover, the way Lynn completely saw through his techniques was even more terrifying. It was as if Lynn knew him intimately.
Fear began to spread in Donnel's heart.
No, I cannot lose!
To lose is to die!
"Aaaahhhh!"
Donnel let out a beast-like roar, staking everything on one throw!
He abandoned all defense, adopting a suicidal posture, and brought his sword chopping down toward Lynn's head with all his might!
This was his final gamble!
He was betting that Lynn wouldn't dare trade his life!
Yet, Lynn's face remained as calm as an ancient well.
Facing this thunderous blow, Longclaw in his left hand rose to meet it.
Clang—!
Another loud crash!
Donnel felt an irresistible force transmit through his blade, numbing the web of his thumb!
His sword flew from his hand!
Now!
Lynn's body lunged forward.
The pitch-black Dark Sister did not stab at Donnel's vitals.
Instead, it sliced precisely across the wrist of Donnel's sword hand!
Squelch!
A muffled sound.
Donnel's right hand was severed at the wrist!
The severed hand and warm blood sprayed a crimson arc through the air before landing on the ground nearby.
"Aaargh—!"
The delayed agony finally hit, and Donnel let out a scream so wretched it didn't sound human!
He staggered back, clutching his spurting wrist with his left hand, his face written with terror and despair.
It all happened in a flash of lightning.
The nobles present hadn't even fully reacted.
The battle was already over.
Lynn gave him no chance to breathe.
He darted forward in a single step, right in front of Donnel.
His left hand grabbed a handful of sweat-drenched hair, yanking the man's head back forcefully to expose his fragile neck.
Donnel's scream cut off abruptly.
He felt the cold touch of steel against his throat.
In his pupils, dilated with fear, was the reflection of Lynn's expressionless face.
The next second.
Dark Sister in Lynn's right hand sliced cleanly across Donnel's throat.
A red line bloomed on Donnel's neck.
Warm blood gushed out, splashing onto the floor.
Lynn let go.
Donnel's body crumpled softly, twitching a few times on the cold stone slabs before going still forever.
The entire Throne Room was silent enough to hear a pin drop.
Everyone was rendered speechless by this bloody, clean, and decisive scene.
Lynn stood beside the still-warm corpse, letting the blood from his sword tip drip onto the ground, blooming into crimson flowers one by one.
He slowly raised his head, his gaze passing over the crowd to land on Cersei.
Cersei's body trembled violently.
She saw Lynn's look.
There was no joy of victory in those eyes, no thrill of the kill.
There was only a condescending appraisal, the cold indifference of one looking at their property.
She had survived.
But she had also thoroughly lost her freedom.
And Jaime Lannister remained staring fixedly at the two swords in Lynn's hands, looking as if he had lost his soul.
He muttered to himself, his voice so low only he could hear.
"The Sword of the Morning... Arthur Dayne?"
"Who... who is he, really?"
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CaveLeather
lots of story Game of Thrones