Loras Tyrell.
The "Knight of Flowers" stared at Lynn.
That handsome face—once a mask of elegance and confidence—now wore only wariness. And disbelief.
Lynn felt nothing.
He was thinking. Loras's little lance tricks? I've seen through them all.
Beating him would be child's play.
But that wasn't enough.
He didn't want a simple victory.
He wanted a victory so crushing that everyone—especially that smug little shit Littlefinger—would drown in despair.
Lynn's gaze shifted.
To the man sitting beside Loras.
Taller. Broader. A face more weathered, more composed.
Garlan Tyrell. "Garlan the Gallant."
Loras's older brother. The one the Tyrells whispered about in awe. The best swordsman. The best rider.
A thought crystallized in Lynn's mind.
The royal herald's voice rang out again. It trembled.
"The Hand's Tourney! Joust! The final tilt!"
"The Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell of Highgarden!"
"Against—"
"The Black Knight of the Wall!"
Lynn didn't ride into the lists.
He turned Storm around. Walked back to his pavilion.
"I need ten minutes."
He dropped the tent flap behind him.
Outside, the crowd murmured. Exhausted. Makes sense.
Inside, Lynn sat cross-legged.
Greensight.
This time, his target was crystal clear.
Garlan Tyrell.
He didn't need an anchor.
He'd already burned Garlan's image into his mind—carved it into his soul with his own eyes.
Hummmmm—
His consciousness ripped free.
His spirit became an arrow. It tore through the fog of time and space. Shot straight toward Highgarden.
He saw it.
A training yard. Flowers everywhere.
Two young knights. Sparring hard.
One was Loras—golden, dazzling.
The other wore a plain helmet. Simple armor.
Garlan.
Garlan's lance work was nothing like Loras's elegance.
Every charge—effortless. Controlled.
His lance tip always found the angle. The one that looked ordinary. The one that was impossible to block.
It wasn't just technique.
It was timing. Distance. Power. All three, perfectly balanced.
It was mastery stripped bare.
Lynn's consciousness drank it in. Devoured it.
[System Alert: Legendary horsemanship detected...]
[Attributes sufficient. Analyzing "Garlan the Gallant" Tyrell's lance technique...]
[Analysis complete!]
[Congratulations: New skill acquired—Lance Technique (Garlan Style) has replaced Lance Technique (Loras Style).]
[Congratulations: Skill "Horsemanship (Expert)" has gained massive insight. Proficiency greatly increased!]
Lynn's eyes snapped open.
He pulled up his status screen.
Name: Lynn
Strength: 9 (96%)
Agility: 8 (61%)
Constitution: 7 (52%)
Spirit: 25 (1%)
Skills:
Single-Handed Sword (Master) 52/2000 Light Blade (Expert) 3/1000 Dual Wielding (Arthur Dayne Style, Expert) 41/500 Horsemanship (Expert) 311/1000Lance Technique (Garlan Style, Expert) 31/1000 [Click to expand hidden skills]...
Remaining XP: 78
The fusion of Loras's and Garlan's techniques had vaulted his lance skill from Expert to the edge of Master. His horsemanship had surged to Expert as well.
Even with no XP left to spend, it was enough.
Lynn stood. Pushed through the tent flap. Mounted Storm.
The final tilt was about to begin.
Loras Tyrell watched the Black Knight re-enter the lists.
His gut twisted.
He didn't know how this man had beaten Jaime.
But he knew—this man is not what he seems.
"BEGIN!"
Charge!
Loras pushed himself to the peak.
He became a golden rose in full bloom—elegant, sharp, unstoppable.
But the black figure across from him—
—changed.
Gone was the brutal, overwhelming style he'd used against Jaime.
Lynn's body relaxed. His lance hung loose in his grip. Almost casual.
It was a posture Loras knew.
Intimately.
That's... Garlan's opening stance.
Loras's heart skipped.
Impossible.
Just a coincidence.
He shoved the thought down. Focused on the tilt.
CRACK!
Loras's lance tip shot toward Lynn's shield.
Perfect aim.
But at the last instant—
Lynn's shield dipped. Just a fraction.
Loras's lance scraped past the edge.
And Lynn's lance—
—came from nowhere.
It looked slow.
It was lightning.
It kissed Loras's breastplate.
Not hard. Just enough.
Loras's body lurched. He nearly lost his seat.
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