A/N: I have started writing another Fan-fic, this one is a One Piece fan-fic called Sword Saint In The One Piece (D&D) if you are interested, please take a look.
If you want to donate or read up to 35 chapters ahead, you can visit my p-a-t-r-e-on/kurowashi
If you see grammar errors, please let me know so I can fix them and I’m always open to constructive criticism.
I would like it if you guys left some reviews.
Thank you for your good words and support.
------
CHAPTER 158
290 AC
POV MC
The clash of steel resounded on the field, the sun's rays glinting off the armored combatants as they battled for glory. I struck one more Frey; they were like weeds, no end to them. The chainmail on his leg offered little protection against the might of Red Rain, and he winced as the sword pierced his leg. The pain forced him to momentarily lower his guard, a mistake I seized by landing a swift blow on his helmet.
The helmet held firm against the strike; although it became bent and marred, it withstood the sword's penetration in a single blow. Yet, the impact had taken its toll, causing his head to snap back, and he tumbled off his horse, a grimace of pain contorting his face. I didn't allow him a moment's respite; immediately, I invoked Abra Ruklo (life bloom) on my arm and leg, relieving the throbbing agony. Both Hosteen and this Frey had matching scars now.
Had the battle unfolded under the shroud of night, the faint luminescence hue emanating from beneath my armor might have betrayed the presence of my healing spell. However, under the blazing sun, the light remained obscured, thanks to the armor's gleam and the brilliance of daylight. A surge of renewal coursed through me, the final skirmishes coming to an end. Rickard Karstark lay incapacitated, courtesy of The Mountain, while The Hound grappled fiercely with his brother. Both warriors were dismounted, sprawled upon the ground.
Amidst the grappling, The Mountain overpowered The Hound, rendering him unconscious. He clutched a hefty stone, poised to crush his sibling's head beneath its weight. Responding swiftly to the impending brutality, I surged forward, Red Rain slicing through the air to strike The Mountain's helmet square on. The sword caved the helmet slightly, and he collapsed onto his back, rivulets of blood trickling from beneath his helm. No qualms plagued me; this beast was a blight upon the honor of knights.
My moment of triumph was fleeting, replaced by a scene of agony as he writhed in torment, his hands grappling at his damaged helmet. The brute had yet to succumb to death's embrace; soldiers hastened to collect the fallen combatants from the field. Amidst the debris, Lord Mallister, Blackfish, Boros Blount, and I remained standing. The melee had concluded, and our side emerged victorious. Now, it was an unstructured contest to determine the top three.
Closing in on me, Blackfish's gait bore the weight of his exertions. His labored breathing showed the toll paid by the combat. His advanced age seemed to have caught up with him; despite his evident fatigue, his experience lent him a tenacity unmatched. After minutes of fervent struggle, I managed to land a blow upon his shoulder, forcing his surrender. The stamina enhancement proved its worth, yet beads of sweat adorned my brow, and the telltale twinge of fatigue crept into my arms.
Meanwhile, Lord Mallister orchestrated a successful unseating of Ser Blount from his horse. As the latter clambered to his feet, Lord Mallister capitalized on the opportunity, dealing a punishing kick to his head while galloping past on his steed. Lord Mallister then unveiled his helmet, revealing a gash above his left eye, crimson streams coursing down his face. Frustration etched his features as he futilely attempted to wipe the blood away with his sleeve. I dismounted, making my way to him and suggesting,
"Lord Mallister, permit the Maester to tend to your eye. I would prefer to face you at your best."
Disembarking from his horse, Lord Mallister approached the waiting Maester. Though the wound was cleaned, the bleeding persisted, defying the Maester's attempts to staunch it.
"My lord, I require more time to address this wound."
"Just stem the bleeding for the moment."
From my belt, I procured a small case, tossing it to the Maester. Within lay an orange salve, unfamiliar to his eyes.
"What is this?"
"It's a healing salve for bruises and bleeding. It'll halt the bleeding temporarily and expedite the healing process."
The Maester hesitated before employing the unknown ointment. Impatience tinged Lord Mallister's voice as he intervened,
"Just use the damn thing. Do you truly believe Ser Drasil would provide something hazardous?"
The salve was applied, its effect gradually diminishing the bleeding until it ceased entirely. While its potency waned with larger wounds, it efficaciously stemmed the flow from minor flesh injuries. Lord Mallister approached toward me, salve in hand, but I raised my hand and spoke with a grin,
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
"Keep it. You might find it useful."
He responded with robust laughter, declaring,
"You cheeky... Ser Drasil, let's see who ends up needing it."
As the clash of steel against steel reverberated, I met his first strike with the resonant ring of Red Rain, my Valyrian sword. Lord Mallister had superior physical strength, and I had my skill 5x skill, the experience it provided and the enchanted properties of my Valyrian weapon.
Our swords danced in the air, a whirlwind of steel and determination. Each movement was a calculated step, a dance of offense and defense that echoed the ebb and flow of battle itself. Mallister's strikes were powerful and precise, his determination evident with every swing. His blade whistled through the air, aiming to exploit any opening in my defense.
Yet, my years of honing my swordsmanship skills had cultivated a finesse that allowed me to anticipate his moves. My responses were fluid and precise, a symphony of calculated parries and counterattacks. The crowd watched in awe as our battle unfolded, the clash of our weapons punctuating the tension that hung in the air.
Mallister's sweat-slicked brow glistened in the sunlight, his breath ragged as he pressed the attack. His strategy was clear—to test my mettle, to exploit any potential weakness. But I remained steadfast, my focus unbroken, my resolve unwavering. But the melee we had before was showing its effects; he was tired.
A series of lightning-fast strikes followed, each aimed at finding a chink in my defenses. The force behind Mallister's blows was undeniable, a testament to his strength. But with every strike, his breathing turned more laborious.
In a seamless maneuver, I deflected Mallister's strike and countered with a swift feint, causing him to momentarily lower his guard. Capitalizing on the opportunity, I lunged forward, the tip of my sword aimed at his chest. Mallister's reflexes kicked in, and he managed to twist his body just in time to avoid the heavy strike. The tip of Red Rain bites through his armor, leaving a deep mark—a testament to the danger and sharpness of the magical sword.
A murmur spread through the crowd, the tension palpable as the battle reached its climax. Mallister's eyes held a mix of frustration and respect, a silent acknowledgment of the formidable adversary before him. With a renewed burst of energy, he launched a final assault; his strikes were as fast as ever. But devoid of his previous ferocity.
It was in this moment of heightened intensity that my skill, experience, and the Valyrian steel converged in a decisive strike. I sidestepped Mallister's oncoming blow, allowing his momentum to carry him past me. In a swift motion, I pivoted and swung Red Rain in a powerful arc, the blade connecting with his armor.
The impact was met with a resounding crash, the force of the blow denting his armor and causing him to stumble. The crowd gasped, their collective breath held as they witnessed the culmination of our battle. Mallister's sword fell from his grasp, the clang of steel against stone echoing through the arena. As he staggered, I approached him, Red Rain poised at his throat.
"Do you yield, Lord Mallister?"
"I do."
I helped him get up, and he raised my arm and said,
"Our champion!"
Arm raised, we were met with a chorus of cheers from the crowd. Victorious in both joust and melee, the competitor I bested earlier secured the third-place position.
Before the King, we stood as he addressed me,
"Ser Drasil, you have wrought many triumphs upon this war's battlefield, demonstrating your prowess as the preeminent champion. As the realm's sovereign, I extend to you this reward."
The gold I received elevated me to a wealthier status than most Northern lords. My thoughts were already set on claiming victory in the archery competition, too. King Robert continued,
"As pledged earlier, I, King Robert Baratheon, Fist of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynars, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm of Westeros, decided to title Ser Aermir Drasil a noble of this realm."
A sense of relief washed over me, accompanied by a tingling sensation in my stomach. One of the major barriers had been vanquished.
"Yet, bestowing you with noble standing alone would be inadequate recompense for all your contributions in this war."
He turned to Lord Stark and queried,
"Ned, do you not concur that we should also grant him some land? He virtually shielded the Northern coastline singlehandedly."
Before Lord Stark could respond, Yohn Royce interjected,
"My King, conferring upon him landed noble status in a single stride might prove improper. Many landless nobles have made substantial contributions to this war."
Yohn Royce's smirk was a display of self-satisfaction, as though he believed he had achieved some cunning victory. Little did he know that his interruption meant nothing. I was going to refuse the landed title. If I allowed myself to be promoted twice in quick succession, it would undoubtedly ignite jealousy and resentment among the minor nobles who had fought alongside me in this war.
The implications were clear: I would be seen as an upstart, overly ambitious, and driven by greed. Major houses would view me with skepticism, questioning my loyalty and intentions. It was a precarious position to be in, one that could undermine the alliances and camaraderie formed during the conflict.
However, my inner ambition was no secret to myself. I harbored grand aspirations and a thirst for power, but it was a truth best kept hidden from prying eyes. I had learned the art of subtlety and the power of perception, using the façade of honor and humility to my advantage. By declining the offer of land, I could further solidify my reputation as a man of integrity, a warrior who valued honor above personal gain.
As the crowd's cheers and the fervor of victory resonated in the air, I exchanged a knowing glance with Lord Stark. His approval was evident, his gaze reflecting an understanding of the unspoken dynamics at play. It was clear that the decision was mine to make, and I had already resolved on the path I would take.
With a composed demeanor, I approached the gathered assembly, where King Robert Baratheon stood. The weight of his words held significance, as he had the power to bestow not only titles but also shape the course of my future. His voice, authoritative and commanding, cut through the air as he addressed the victorious warriors.
"Ser Drasil, your valor and prowess in this war have brought honor to your name and glory to the realm. As King of the Seven Kingdoms, it is my privilege to see you fight. HAHAHHA!"
This battle maniac. The crowd fell silent, all eyes fixed on me as I stood before the King, a mixture of anticipation and curiosity hanging in the air. Gold glimmered in my palm, a tangible symbol of recognition and reward. The weight of the moment was undeniable, a crossroads that could define my legacy.
"Today," King Robert continued, his words carrying the weight of his authority; he pulled his sword and put it on my shoulder. "I declare Ser Aermir Drasil noble of the realm."
The words resounded, and a wave of emotions surged within me. It was a testament to my dedication, my sacrifices, and my unwavering commitment.
Yet, even as I received the title of a noble, I knew I had to make a choice now. To accept a land from the King or to refuse it. Of course, this wasn't even a choice for me. I had my own plans.