Negary pov:
"JOFFREY!"
"JOFFREY!"
"JOFFREY!"
The crowds were going wild.
They were chanting my name like crazy...
When did I became so popular?
Hmm , maybe it's because I came up with the idea for this whole tournament.
And now that the Warden of the North won against the Kingslayer , their happiness was off the charts.
It was a good fight , both displayed a very high level of swordsmanship , a level I couldn't hope to reach quite yet.
Jaime was very quick on his feet , and his strikes were precise .
He only lost because they had to fought with training swords. Otherwise, the first strike would have decided the battle.
Still , Stark proved that he was so frozen from his life in the North that his body would sooner break into pieces than bow down .
Quite admirable honestly.
*Cough Cough*
But I could take them...
Any one of them.
I knew that they were better swordsmen , but I had a speed similar to Jaime's, higher reflexes than both of them and with hysterical strength , I was sure I was also stronger.
Sure , they had more experience.
But I could literally ignore lesser wounds as long as they didn't impair my mobility and after the torture I endured in hell , pain didn't phase me anymore.
Sure , I would be injured by fighting them but I KNEW I could win.
*COUGH COUGH!*
So I wasn't interested in fighting them.
I needed an impossible battle to hone my skills against.
An unbreakable wall for me to bang my head on.
An endless mountain to climb....
"God damnit, JOFFREY !"
But the only one who could give me such a fight was set Barristan, my teacher.
But he was a kind old man , and he wouldn't give his all against me in fear that he would hurt me.
And he probably would, but I didn't mind.
I wanted a good fight.
Because I wanted to test a theory of mine...
"STOP IGNORING ME , JOFFREY! . WHERE IS YOUR HONOR?!"
"Oh , ser Barristan!
I'm sorry, I didn't see you all the way over there!"
.
We were literally ten meters apart...
.
The old knight was absolutely fucking livid.
He really had a fixation with honor and I figured the only way to make him not hold back on me was to insult him a little bit.
Not too much that he would refuse to fight me , just enough for him to want to teach me lesson.
"Boy , I'll beat that cheekiness out of you...
Now rise your sword and let's fight, dammit.
Don't you see the whole crowd is confused by your foolish jests?"
"Of course, of course, be prepared to lose , old man" I said dismissively, channeling the real Joffrey's personality for a second.
And damn , the guy was good at pissing people off.
Barristan's grip on his sword had become even tighter than before , making his knuckles completely white.
Damn...I might have overdid it a bit...even Luwin seemed uncomfortable as he presented the fight.
"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests and fellow spectators, uh... we are now about to witness a... rather interesting match between two formidable opponents.
In this corner, we have the seasoned knight, Ser Barristan Selmy, renowned for his exceptional skill with a blade and his countless battles in service to the realm.
And in the other corner, we have Prince Joffrey Baratheon, a young warrior who has shown impressive prowess in the earlier rounds of this tournament.
So, without further ado, let the fight commence."
"Well it worked in the end..." I thought as I saw Barristan charging towards me.
.
Let's have some fun , shall we?
.
.
.
--------------------
Barristan Selmy pov :
As I stand here, preparing to face the young Prince Joffrey in the upcoming duel, I can't help but reflect on the arrogance that has taken root within him.
He's tasted victory in the tournament, and it's clear that he's allowed it to inflate his ego.
But battles are won on the field, not in the heart swollen with pride.
He needs a reminder, a harsh reality check that in this world, no matter how skilled, there is always someone better, always a steeper mountain to climb.
Perhaps this fight will serve as a lesson for him, a humbling experience that will bring him back down to earth.
In my long years of service, I've seen warriors rise and fall, their overconfidence often leading to their undoing.
Joffrey is young and talented, but he must understand that skill alone does not guarantee victory.
He needs to embrace the discipline, the respect for his opponents, and the understanding that every battle is a chance to learn and grow.
As I face him in the arena, I will show him that humility and discipline are virtues that should never be forgotten.
I will teach him that even the most skilled warriors must remain vigilant, continuously striving to improve and to face their challenges with an open heart.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
And who knows, perhaps this experience will shape him into a better leader, one who understands the value of both strength and wisdom in the pursuit of greatness.
With a resolute determination burning within me, I charged forward, my steps purposeful and my sword held firmly in my grasp.
The objective was simple: to overwhelm the young Prince Joffrey, to remind him that no matter how skilled he becomes, there will always be someone better, a higher peak to climb.
As I closed the distance between us, my movements were a blend of fluidity and control, the culmination of a lifetime of training and battle-hardened experience.
My blade gleamed in the sunlight, a shining extension of my will as it swept through the air in precise arcs.
Each strike was calculated, a testament to my understanding of combat's intricacies.
I aimed to push Joffrey beyond his comfort zone, to exploit any weaknesses he might reveal in his eagerness to showcase his prowess.
The clash of our swords reverberated in the air, a symphony of metal meeting metal that echoed the tension that enveloped the arena.
I unleashed a torrent of relentless attacks, each one designed to challenge Joffrey's focus and speed.
My strikes sought to create openings, to expose vulnerabilities in his defenses that he might not even realize existed.
My movements were calculated and precise, my footwork executed with a practiced grace as I circled around Joffrey, delivering strikes from different angles to keep him off balance.
Every swing of my blade was imbued with purpose, each maneuver designed to test his reflexes and stamina.
I refused to relent, aiming to shatter his overconfidence and reveal the truth of combat's unforgiving nature.
As the battle raged on, my purpose remained steadfast: to break through Joffrey's defenses, to humble him before the onlookers, and to emerge victorious as a living embodiment of the skills and discipline that define a true warrior.
My eyes remained sharp, my mind focused on the goal at hand, and my spirit unwavering in its pursuit of victory.
In the midst of our intense exchange, an opportunity presented itself—a flaw in Joffrey's defense that I could exploit.
With a calculated precision that only comes from years of experience, I swiftly maneuvered my blade to strike at the weak point in his guard.
My strike was true, a culmination of practiced technique and unwavering determination.
I delivered a powerful strike to Joffrey's shoulder, the impact both a physical blow and a symbolic reminder of the reality he had to face.
The force of my strike was designed to destroy the arrogance which was resurfacing in the young prince's mind.
Though, as I saw his body sailing in the air , I thought I might have overdid it a little.
As I heard the inevitable thud his body made on the hard ground of the arena I realized that I definitely overdid it...
'Well , who told him to ignore me right before a battle...'
As I neared the fallen prince , prepared to help him stand if his strength had left him...but what followed took me by surprise...
The sound of Joffrey's maniacal laughter reverberating through the air.
It was a laughter that contained a mixture of defiance, exhilaration, and something darker beneath the surface.
As Joffrey pushed himself up from the ground, his laughter continued, echoing in the arena like a chilling chorus.
His words cut through the air, laced with arrogance and a touch of madness.
"YES, very good, old man," he declared, his tone brimming with a confidence that belied his youth. "That's what I wanted, for you to fight me seriously!"
The sound of his laughter and his words resonated with a sense of challenge, as if he welcomed the intensity of the battle and the exchange of blows.
It was clear that he craved a fight that pushed his limits, a confrontation that would test his mettle and determination.
The fire in his eyes burned with a fervor that hinted at hidden depths, emotions simmering beneath the surface.
"Now come on, let's dance..." His invitation was delivered with an air of audacity, a challenge thrown down for all to witness.
It was as though he reveled in the chaos of the arena, in the exhilaration of combat.
He rose from the ground with a mixture of defiance and determination, meeting my gaze with an intensity that spoke of his transformed mindset.
He was no longer the arrogant youth I had initially perceived him to be; he had embraced the challenge I presented, welcomed the chance to prove himself.
His transformation was palpable, and it infused our duel with a renewed energy and purpose.
As we prepared to resume our clash, I felt a renewed sense of respect for my opponent. Joffrey's laughter had been a declaration, a statement of his readiness to face the fight head-on.
And as we resumed our battle, I knew that the outcome was far from certain...
.
I couldn't help but smile a bit...
.
"Keep a good grip on your sword old man"
I heard Joffrey say as he neared me with a speed he didn't show previously.
'Heh ,so you've been holding back as well ' I thought as I brought my blade up to parry his strike and almost lost my grip on my sword from the monstrous strength the young boy displayed.
'Strength of gigant...' I thought as I relied on superior skill to fend off the little monster's attacks.
With each clash, I could feel the power behind his strikes, the impact resonating through my blade and into my arms.
It was as though his determination had infused him with a physical prowess that went beyond anything I would have expected from someone with such a wiry body.
Joffrey's speed had also noticeably increased, his strikes coming in quick succession, each one sharper and more precise than before.
His footwork was agile and unpredictable, allowing him to dart in and out of range with remarkable swiftness.
I found myself needing to adjust my stance and adapt to the newfound velocity of his attacks.
The boy I had sparred with moments ago seemed to have transformed into a different adversary altogether...
Our swords clashed in a symphony of steel, a dance of blades that required my utmost focus and skill.
Joffrey's strikes were no longer predictable; they came from unexpected angles, forcing me to constantly readjust my defenses.
His feints and thrusts were executed with precision, leaving me little room to anticipate his next move.
Our footwork mirrored the ebb and flow of the battle, a testament to the rhythm we had both established.
I had to be agile and swift, matching his pace as I parried his strikes and countered with my own.
The crowd's cheers and gasps were a distant echo, drowned out by the intensity of our clash.
As the duel raged on, I found myself adapting to Joffrey's newfound intensity.
The initial shock of his transformation had subsided, and I began to discern patterns in his movements.
With every clash of our blades, I gained a clearer understanding of his rhythm, his preferred angles of attack, and the telltale signs that heralded his strikes.
My experience and honed instincts allowed me to predict his strikes with increasing accuracy.
I anticipated the trajectory of his blade, the arc of his swings, and the shifts in his footwork.
It was as though I had unlocked the secrets of his fighting style, deciphering the code that guided his actions.
With this newfound insight, I was able to counter his attacks more effectively.
My sword struck his blade with precision, parrying his strikes with calculated ease.
I positioned myself strategically, ensuring that I could deflect his blows and maintain control of the duel.
My own strikes became more deliberate, each one aimed at exploiting the openings I had identified in his defense.
My sword found its mark repeatedly, striking Joffrey's shoulder, thigh, and forearm.
The clashing of steel was punctuated by the impact of my strikes against his armor.
His body reacted to each blow, his stance faltering as he struggled to absorb the force of my attacks.
The weight of my experience and the lessons of countless battles guided my movements, allowing me to strike with calculated precision.
Joffrey's initial ferocity began to wane as he struggled to maintain his footing.
His defenses crumbled under the relentless assault, and he found himself forced onto the defensive.
With every swing of my sword, I pressed my advantage, pushing him back step by step.
The crowd's cheers were drowned out by the rhythm of our battle, the clash of steel and the thud of blows echoing in the air.
As I continued to strike, I couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility toward the young prince. It was a privilege to face him in combat, to test his mettle and guide his growth.
My strikes were not just an exhibition of skill; they were a lesson in resilience, a reminder that even in the face of overwhelming odds, a fighter could find a way to prevail.
In the midst of our clash, I caught a glimpse of determination in Joffrey's eyes—a fire that burned bright despite the adversity he faced. It was a spark that held the promise of growth and evolution, a testament to his potential as a warrior.
And as our blades met once again, I couldn't help but admire the young prince's tenacity, even in the face of a seasoned adversary like myself.
But...as the duel progressed, I found myself increasingly incredulous at Joffrey's resilience. Despite the punishing blows I had delivered, he showed no signs of yielding or faltering.
Instead, he seemed to draw strength from the challenge, his determination unyielding, his spirit unbroken.
His movements grew sharper, his strikes more precise, and his agility more pronounced.
It was as though the very act of fighting had unlocked hidden reservoirs of strength within him.
What astounded me the most was his ability to mimic my moves with startling accuracy. As our blades clashed, I recognized my own techniques mirrored in his strikes—the same feints, thrusts, and counters that had been the hallmark of my own fighting style.
It was as though he had absorbed my movements through sheer observation, internalizing the lessons I inadvertently taught with each strike.
His adaptation was swift and uncanny, the mark of a natural warrior.
He wasn't just copying my moves; he was mastering them in the heat of battle.
The realization dawned on me that he wasn't merely relying on his newfound intensity; he was combining it with an innate ability to analyze and replicate combat techniques with astonishing speed.
Each time I executed a move, he responded in kind, countering with precision and mirroring my actions flawlessly.
It was a testament to his quick thinking and innate skill that he could adapt on the fly, transforming a bout that had initially seemed one-sided into a dynamic exchange of blows.
As our swords met, I could almost sense his mind working, deciphering my every move and fashioning his responses with uncanny accuracy.
But I would not lose to someone who two months ago couldn't tell the tip of the sword from its grip...my pride wouldn't allow it.
As the duel wore on, a transformation overcame me.
My initial skepticism about Joffrey's abilities gave way to a relentless focus, an unwavering drive to test his limits.
No longer content to hold back or maintain a measured pace, I unleashed a torrent of strikes upon the young prince.
My attacks were calculated and precise, each swing of my sword aimed at exploiting his vulnerabilities and probing his defenses.
Gone was the cautious engagement, replaced by an aggressive onslaught that left no room for hesitation.
I tore into Joffrey with a ferocity that mirrored the intensity he had brought to the duel. My strikes were unrelenting, my blade seeking out openings with ruthless determination.
I was no longer content to merely assess his skill; I sought to push him to his limits, to force him to reveal the depths of his newfound prowess.
My strikes landed with brutal precision, leaving behind bruises and welts as testaments to the force behind each blow.
Joffrey's armor offered little protection against the fury of my assault, and his defenses began to waver.
Despite the pain and the onslaught, he remained standing, his resolve unyielding.
He met each strike with grit and determination, his own blade a testament to his unwavering spirit.
The duel had transformed into a contest of endurance and willpower.
Blood trickled from various cuts and grazes, evidence of the intensity of our exchange. Joffrey's breath was somehow still steady, but his stance was showing signs of strain.
Yet he refused to back down, his eyes burning with a fire that matched my own.
His defiance was palpable, his determination unshakable.
But the bruises and cuts he had accumulated were a testament to the price he paid for his determination, a cost he willingly bore as he stood his ground against my onslaught.
Despite the toll the duel had taken, Joffrey remained standing—bloodied, battered, his armor in tatters, and wounds scattered across his body like battle scars.
The once-pristine armor he wore now bore the marks of our fierce exchange, dented and scratched from the force of our strikes.
His face was a canvas of cuts and bruises, each marking a testament to the intensity of our clash.
His once golden hair has long turned reddish in color as blood slowly trickled down his neck.
But as I caught my breath and surveyed the young prince, it was the smile on his face that left me momentarily speechless.
His lips curled into a grin that was equal parts defiance and determination.
It was a smile that spoke of his unyielding spirit, his refusal to be broken by the relentless assault I had unleashed upon him.
The crowd watched in awe as Joffrey stood there, his chest heaving from the effort, his eyes ablaze with a fierce determination.
His defiance resonated throughout the arena, a proclamation of his resilience and strength.
He had weathered the storm of my attacks, endured the onslaught, and emerged on the other side with his spirit unbroken.
It was a sight to behold, a testament to the depth of his character.
Despite the pain, the wounds, and the overwhelming odds stacked against him, Joffrey stood tall and unyielding.
He had faced a seasoned warrior in a duel that had pushed him to his limits, and yet he had refused to crumble.
Bloody and battered, he stood there, a symbol of unwavering resolve and an embodiment of the fighting spirit that burned within him.
"Why do you keep fighting, your Grace?"
I found myself asking the young prince , his earlier disrespect all but forgotten...
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Negary pov :
"Why do you keep fighting, your Grace?"
I heard Barristan ask me as I thought about the last half an hour I spend being beaten black and blue by an old man with a pointy iron stick...
Heh , why do I keep fighting?
Hehehe...
.
It because I have the obsession of a madman...
.
Because I'm willing to suffer and train until I collapse, just to continue training even while unconscious.
.
It's because I'm willing to do anything for my goal.
.
It's because I'm willing to 𝑫𝑰𝑬 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑴𝒀 𝑮𝑶𝑨𝑳
.
That is the bare minimum to be at the starting line when one's goal is as high as mine's own.
.
But I couldn't exactly say that , no?
So I settled with smiling , whispering a bit to get Barristan to come closer , and then shouting house Baratheon's moto with all my might.
"𝙊𝙐𝙍𝙎 𝙄𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙐𝙍𝙔"
My smile widened as I saw Selmy flinching back from the sudden noise.
Heh , I might have added a drop of soul energy to make it louder.
"Sigh*....I yield...." My teacher said with a complicated expression on his face.
.
A hushed stillness settled over the arena, a suspended moment in time where the world seemed to hold its breath.
And then, as if a dam had burst, the crowd erupted in a cacophony of sound. The roars of the spectators cascaded through the air, a tidal wave of cheers that surged forth with unbridled enthusiasm.
The collective voices of the onlookers melded into a symphony of admiration, their cheers an exclamation of awe and respect for the prince's unyielding determination.
The arena reverberated with the thunderous applause, the sheer force of the crowd's jubilation reverberating through the air like a thunderclap.
The stands shook with the fervor of their response, the cheers a testament to the impact Joffrey's defiance had left upon them.
And King Robert Baratheon was clapping the loudest of them all , small tears of happiness streaking from his eyes, unseen by anyone but his wife...
-------------------
A.N :
""All things change," She said, as if the question was meaningless to her.
"In life and death and time. I am not the same as I was, whether yesterday or a thousand years before-yet what does it matter? Whatever has been gained or lost, so long as you can continue on, that is strength."
Gilgamesh tilted his head and considered her, having to tilt his head back to do so.
"Well said," He answered, almost as if applauding the words. "But I would disagree somewhat.
Even after all this time, at least my heart has not changed, nor my will.
In my eyes, I consider that to be what makes me strong-that no matter what happens, I am still myself."
-The games we Play by Ryugi