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CHAPTER 216
295 AC
POV THIRD PERSON
Five knights, chosen by Lord Karstark, circled around Walton Wull cautiously. Walton's verdant plate armor shimmered brilliantly under the sun's gentle caress. The red and white weirwood tree emblazoned on his chest appeared so lifelike that it captivated the onlookers' attention as if it were a living tree.
As Walton drew his sword, a wave of astonishment swept through the assembly. Lords rose from their seats, their eyes fixed on Lord Drasil. Greatjon Umber was the first to inquire. His voice tinged with curiosity.
"My lord, is that a Valyrian sword?"
Aermir shook his head, offering an explanation. "It is not, my lord. This is called Damascus steel, a new invention crafted by the skilled blacksmiths of Moat Cailin. It is not magical, but it is a bit more durable than normal steel thanks to its flexibility."
Indeed, the Damascus steel, with its mixture of hard and soft steel, offered slight improvement to the flexibility and resistance of the sword compared to regular steel. However, it did not grant the sword magical properties, unlike Valyrian steel. The genuine uniqueness of these blades stemmed from the meticulous sharpening enchantments artfully imbued into them by Aermir and Tobho Mott.
Aermir spoke with a hint of arrogance in his voice, "My lord, I wouldn't wish for your knights to sustain injuries right before a battle. Should we use training swords?"
Lord Karstark's gaze shifted between the Damascus sword and Aermir. Lord Karstark wasn’t entirely convinced the blade was a regular steel so he nodded and replied, "That does seem wise. It's best not to risk any unnecessary injuries for your knight just before the impending battle."
With their agreement, all the participants set aside their sharp blades, opting instead for blunted training swords. As the five Karstark knights, wielding their blunted training swords, faced off against Walton Wull, the Knight of Drasil, Unbeknownst to the Karstarks, Walton Wull was garbed in his enchanted armor and had received Aermir's potent buffs, which had transformed him into a formidable force, matching to the strength of The Mountain and the agility of Oberyn Martell, famous warriors of the Seven Kingdoms. Normally, Walton had 14 str and 13 spd, but with Aermir's buff, he had 18 str and 17 spd. The fastest of the Karstark knights had 15 spd, and the strongest of them had 15 str. Stat and equipment-wise, they were heavily outmatched.
The Karstark knights, initially adhering to the code of knightly honor, attacked Walton Wull one at a time. They understood that a group attack was not in line with their chivalric principles. As the first knight lunged forward with his training sword, Walton demonstrated his remarkable speed and agility, sidestepping the attack and countering with a precise strike.
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However, as the bouts progressed and Walton's prowess became increasingly evident, frustration began to take hold of the Karstark knights. They had no desire to be defeated in such a one-sided manner. With a silent nod of mutual understanding, the knights abandoned their strict adherence to the code of honor and launched a coordinated assault since they were ordered to do so from the beginning.
In a flurry of strikes and parries, the five Karstark knights attacked Walton simultaneously. Their training swords moved in a synchronized dance, and their strikes aimed to overwhelm their opponent. Walton, despite facing the combined might of his adversaries, remained unyielding.
His enchanted armor absorbed the impact of their blows, and his augmented strength and speed allowed him to fend off their attacks. Walton retaliated with a flurry of strikes, forcing the Karstark knights to backpedal and defend themselves.
They tried to encircle him but he grabbed one of them and threw him onto the others like he was a ragdoll. With each passing moment, his incredible strength and agility proved too much for the knights to handle. One by one, they found themselves disarmed or on the defensive.
Finally, the last knight yielded, his training sword falling to the ground. Marking the end of the bout, Every soldier, knight, and lord in attendance watched the match with their mouths agape in astonishment. A common thought raced through their minds: this wasn't a contest between six trained knights; it was a battle between five children and a single knight. Walton's display of dominance left a profound impression on everyone who witnessed it.
As the bout unfolded, it became evident that Walton was toying with his opponents. His movements were effortless, and when he casually picked up one of the knights and threw him into the others, it was akin to watching a giant play with children. Despite his unassuming appearance, Walton was a force to be reckoned with.
Lord Karstark couldn't help but wonder if he had chosen an elite knight by sheer chance. As if he had read Lord Karstark's thoughts, Aermir spoke up, his voice laced with confidence and a hint of challenge.
"Would you like to repeat this with another knight to demonstrate that it wasn't luck but rather a testament to the quality of all my men?"
Lord Karstark shook his head, and with a sense of honor, he declared, "No, a bet is a bet. Even if it was bad luck on my part, a Karstark never breaks his word. In this battle, you are the Commander. We, Karstarks, with our 300 men, will follow your lead."
In response, the other lords rose to their feet and placed their fists over their hearts, echoing in unison, "Ayee!" Even if it was only for this battle, their voices filled the air with a resounding pledge of allegiance to Aermir's command.
...
The Sistermen, cloaked in the shroud of night, advanced towards Moondrift. Unwilling to let anything of value slip through their grasp, they orchestrated a multi-pronged assault. Landing on both flanks of the town, they set their sights on the heart of Moondrift. Their plan unfolded with ruthless precision.
With an army of approximately 3,000 men converging on the port and a formidable force of 7,000 Sistermen raiders striking from two other directions, the town lay in the crosshairs of impending chaos. The port, which should have bustled with ships, stood eerily empty, but Sistermen lords didn't care about this and turned their sight to the town full of warehouses. Lord Sunderland licked his lips; the sleepy town was about to awaken to the brutal onslaught of the Sistermen. At least, that was what they thought.
Lord Triston Sunderland, perched on his ship's deck, harbored grand visions of riches and prosperity. He hailed from a lineage of pirates, concealed beneath the veneer of Vale Lords. Though their claim to respectability remained tenuous at best, they had managed to secure a modicum of allegiance through their association with the Faith of the Seven.
But this venture, this bold raid upon the thriving Northern house under Aermir Drasil's command, was destined to change the course of Sunderland's destiny. He could practically taste the wealth that awaited him. The riches from this conquest would only be the beginning, for he harbored plans to pillage all that Aermir Drasil owned. The fires of ambition burned fiercely within Lord Triston, igniting a desire for wealth and power that knew no bounds.