Chapter 11: The Strength of Level 3
Westeros, The North, The Wall, Castle Black
"Hahaha, go for it!"
On the vast and muddy training grounds of Castle Black, a tense and thrilling battle was unfolding.
Two black-clad figures were engaged in a fierce exchange in the center of the grounds, their forms moving rapidly between each other like two bolts of lightning intertwining in the night sky.
One of the warriors was very tall, with a cold and haughty face that gave off a sense of being unfathomable, looking like a block of ice that radiated a chilling aura at all times.
The black leather armor he wore clung tightly to his tall frame, and his flowing black cloak traced strange arcs in the air with his every movement.
Moreover, when launching attacks, he would use the cloak as a screen to deliver tricky strikes, catching his opponent off guard and landing several hits.
Calmness and arrogance radiated from his eyes, as if he possessed the confidence to achieve ultimate victory no matter what kind of opponent he faced.
The wooden sword in his hand seemed to have become an extension of his body; every swing and slash appeared natural and fluid.
However, as the battle continued, the marks left by time on his body began to gradually manifest.
His breathing grew labored as the fight wore on, and more and more white mist escaped his mouth with every exhale, as if telling him that his stamina was being drained bit by bit.
It was only then that he realized he was nearly fifty years old, and his physical condition was no longer as agile or enduring as it once was.
The reason he could hold on was entirely due to his exquisite swordsmanship, skills honed through countless battles and the very foundation of his status as a knight.
The opponent of this tall, curly-haired, middle-aged knight was a somewhat plump young man whose skin was so pale and smooth that he seemed completely out of place in the cruelty of combat.
Despite his body being covered in bruises, a determined light flickered in his eyes, and his entire being seemed filled with an unyielding fighting spirit.
As time passed, the young warrior gradually adapted to the rhythm of the fight, and his swordplay began to grow more proficient.
Although he still lacked in swordsmanship and speed, his surprising strength and stout physique had now become his advantages.
These advantages translated into higher damage and stronger defensive capabilities in battle, causing the middle-aged knight to inwardly groan as his focus and swordsmanship began to show signs of disorder.
This battle was not just a physical contest, but a duel of wills.
Each warrior relied on their own strengths, putting on a magnificent display of combat on the training grounds.
Their performance earned bursts of applause and cheers from the spectators, drawing many high-ranking members of the Nights Watch to the edge of the battlefield.
At that moment, on the walkway outside the Great Hall of Castle Black, an old man with a grey beard and hair was watching the battle on the grounds while being briefed by a middle-aged man with a red nose.
"That little fat one is from House Tarly of The Reach. I heard he joined our brothers of the Nights Watch voluntarily."
The red-nosed middle-aged man's face grew even redder as he spoke, looking like a soft, pink apple.
"This Tarly boy is truly strange. Just this morning I saw him on his knees begging for mercy, yet after only a short while, it's as if he's been blessed by the warrior."
As soon as the red-nosed man finished speaking, a thin, short young man with a beard and a pointed chin beside him voiced his own doubts.
"This little fat Tarly is famous in The Reach for his cowardice. It's precisely because he lacked the courage to ride and hunt that his father sent him to the end of the world."
Just as the three black-robed men of the Nights Watch were feeling puzzled, a voice appeared behind them.
Since it was a voice they had never heard before, they all instinctively turned to look, but when they did, they saw only a head of brownish-grey curly hair.
The three then realized that the one speaking to them was actually a Dwarf. He looked to be about thirty years old, and his reddish-brown leather tunic and breeches looked entirely out of place among the black-robed men of the Nights Watch.
The roaring lion sigil on his person and his status as a Dwarf allowed the three to guess his identity. It seemed he was the Lannister who had sent word a while ago saying he was coming to visit—the "The Imp" who was quite famous throughout the noble circles of the Seven Kingdoms.
"Everyone says Lord Tarly is so formidable because he prayed to the seven for his son's courage. Looking at it now, this pale, chubby Tarly doesn't seem as pathetic as the legends say!"
Tyrion Lannister ignored their surprised gazes and walked to the railing on his own, speaking with a mix of reflection and melancholy.
"Why have he and Alliser Thorne started fighting?"
Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, did not offer an opinion but went straight to the heart of the matter.
"When they first started fighting, I went to ask. It seems Ser Alliser Thorne believes this little fat boy from House Tarly is only fit to muck out stables, while the boy believes he can become a Ranger."
The thin man with the pointed chin, Eddison Tollett, spoke to his Lord Commander.
In his heart, he greatly admired Samwell's spirit of resistance and refusal to admit defeat. To be honest, many new recruits who had just joined the Nights Watch had suffered under the abuse of Alliser Thorne, the master-at-arms.
If not for their fear of Alliser Thorne's great strength and authority, someone likely would have jumped him with a sack long ago. Thus, seeing Alliser Thorne struggle, Eddison Tollett silently cheered for the little fat boy in his heart.
"By the seven! Are you sure you're talking about Samwell Tarly and not someone else? If Lord Tarly were here, he would never have let this heir go."
Tyrion Lannister was very surprised by this description, as it was entirely different from everything he had heard.
There were many titled nobles in the Seven Kingdoms, but those who were truly famous and capable could be counted on one hand. The fame of the great general of The Reach,Lord Tarly, was well-known throughout Westeros.
After all, he was a man who had defeated a King, and among the nobility of The Reach, House Tarly was second only to the three Great Houses.
Thus, Tyrion Lannister had heard of the useless heir of House Tarly, but what he saw and heard today made him find it hard to believe.
"Lord Tyrion, everyone is as surprised as you are. Moreover, the two of them have been fighting for a long time. Among the brothers of the Nights Watch, few can endure to this extent. Has this fellow truly been blessed by the warrior?"
The red-nosed Bowen Marsh was the Lord Steward in charge of logistics for the Night's Watch; he naturally knew Tyrion's identity.
He spoke up opportunely after Tyrion's exclamation, which also piqued Lord Commander Jeor Mormont's interest.
"Is that so?"
Jeor Mormont was once a Lord of the North. A devout believer in the old gods, he had also heard some legends of the seven.
From the conversation, he understood the context, and he was now somewhat curious about Samwell's transformation.
"If he truly wins, then assign him directly to the Rangers!"
Seeing Alliser Thorne starting to fall into a disadvantage, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont voiced his thoughts.
"Only... this boy..."
Perhaps because the battle was so intense, Jeor Mormont didn't think too deeply at first, but when he looked at Samwell's physique, he began to feel a bit of regret.
"Uh... I think it should be fine?"
Bowen Marsh was also somewhat uncertain.
"If it doesn't work out, let him be responsible for defense on The Wall or patrols outside it!"
Comparing Samwell's size to that of a warhorse, the red-nosed Bowen Marsh's face seemed to turn even redder.
Meanwhile, Jon, who was still constantly swinging his wooden sword, had no idea that his duties had already been arranged in advance.
As his body gradually adapted, Jon felt more and more in tune with the fight. One must remember, he had spent 400 Soul Energy points to upgrade Samwell.
While a Level 3 Warrior was not yet at a top-tier level, his physical attributes were already sufficient to compensate for many deficiencies.
However, Jon also felt some admiration for his old opponent, Alliser Thorne. The man was nearly fifty years old and was using a wooden sword.
Had Jon not been fighting a war of attrition, Thorne likely would have lost more than ten minutes ago.
Thud...
"Hah..."
At that moment, Alliser Thorne, whose footwork and moves had become erratic, suddenly swung forward violently, seemingly intending to knock Jon's wooden sword away.
But Jon had already anticipated the move. He lunged forward and struck the man's chest with a headbutt.
Alliser Thorne, who had already exhausted too much strength, had no time to react. He let out a muffled groan and collapsed to the ground.
"Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!"
"Hurrah!"
"Samwell!"
...The training grounds were now filled with cheers. The recruits shouted excitedly, their mouths full of praise for Jon.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you like the story please give it some power stones and reviews. And if you want to read 40+ advance chapters or just want to support me please join my patreon at [email protected]/Translatingfanfics