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Eight ice swords, condensed from thin air, looked like the fangs of the Stranger, radiating a chill cold enough to freeze the soul.
The cold seeped into the noses of every Valeman, making them feel as if they had been plunged into an icy cavern.
But what drove them to despair wasn't the nine ghost-like figures in black robes.
It was the man.
The man who had been sitting in his chair a moment ago, watching the slaughter like it was a boring play.
Lynn.
When he stood up...
When two massive greatswords, wider than door planks, materialized out of thin air in his hands... everyone understood.
This was the real monster.
The nine behind him were just his claws.
He was the abyssal beast, looking down on them all.
Dual-wielding greatswords?
And swinging them around like twigs?
Is he even fucking human?!
Fighting a man like that meant you'd be smashed into paste in a single exchange!
What was the point of even trying?
CLANG.
Ser Gerold Grafton's greatsword slipped from his hands and hit the ground.
His wrinkled face had lost all color, replaced by the grey pallor of utter despair.
A smart man, he suddenly recalled the ancient legends.
Legends of the War for the Dawn, of mysterious beings wielding weapons of ice.
It turned out... the legends were true.
Today, they were facing a living legend.
"Do... do we still fight?"
Ser Marq Arryn's voice trembled uncontrollably.
His gaze drifted past the knights lying on the ground—dead or dying—and finally landed on "Bronze Yohn" Royce.
Bronze Yohn didn't answer.
The hand gripping his throat felt like an immovable glacier.
No matter how he struggled, he couldn't move it an inch.
He could feel his life force draining away with the biting cold.
He looked at Lynn walking slowly toward him, at the terrifying ice greatswords in his hands, and for the first time, fear flickered in those falcon-sharp eyes.
He knew that if Lynn wanted, with just a single thought...
These hundred so-called "strongest warriors of the Vale" would become a hundred cold corpses.
"We... yield."
Bronze Yohn squeezed the words through his gritted teeth.
Lynn walked up to him, that same breezy smile on his face.
He waved his hand, and the black-robed figure released its grip.
THUD.
Bronze Yohn collapsed to his knees, gasping for air.
A clear ring of bruised purple finger marks encircled his neck, covered by a thin layer of frost.
"I told you. This duel ended before it even began."
Lynn bent down, picked up the candle that had barely burned down at all, and gently blew it out.
"Now, fulfill our bet."
The Moon Garden was deathly silent.
No one dared to argue. No one dared to make a sound.
In the face of such overwhelming power, words were meaningless.
Of course, no one dared to renege on the deal either.
When the power gap is absolute, suddenly everyone is very willing to sit down and talk reasonably. Lynn knew this well.
In Westeros, might makes right.
Ser Marq Arryn stepped forward on shaky legs.
He bowed deeply to Lynn.
It wasn't submission; it was awe.
Awe for a power they couldn't understand and couldn't hope to fight.
"Lord Lynn," he said, his voice quavering.
"The Vale... offers you its loyalty."
"We only ask... that you treat Lord Robert kindly."
"He is the last blood of House Arryn."
"Kindly?" Lynn laughed.
He looked around at the dejected Vale nobles and spoke slowly.
"My Lords, have you forgotten?"
"Ned Stark, my father-in-law, the Warden of the North."
"He was also Jon Arryn's foster son."
"In a sense, he is more qualified to teach Robert Arryn than anyone here."
This statement exploded in the minds of the Vale nobles!
Right!
How could they forget that connection!
Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon both grew up in the Eyrie.
Jon Arryn was both a foster father and a mentor to them.
Ned Stark was Jon Arryn's spiritual son!
And Robert Arryn was his biological son.
Now, the spiritual son was going to teach the biological son.
Isn't that... isn't that completely natural and right?
What were they worried about before?
That Ned Stark would mistreat Robert Arryn?
What a joke!
With Ned Stark's legendary sense of honor, known throughout Westeros, he would raise Robert Arryn like his own flesh and blood.
Maybe even better than his own sons!
"So, put your hearts at ease."
Lynn's voice carried a persuasive power.
"Robert Arryn is going to Winterfell not as a hostage, but as a student."
"To learn how to be a true Warden, a Lord worthy of the words 'As High as Honor'."
"Instead of staying here, being turned into a milk-sucking man-baby by a mad mother."
His words made the Vale nobles flush with shame.
All their previous resistance, all their worries, now seemed like a complete farce.
Lynn hadn't just conquered them with force; he had utterly defeated them with logic and morality.
He made them accept the loss wholeheartedly, to the point where they thought... Lord Lynn is right!
"We... we understand."
Ser Marq Arryn bowed deeply again.
This time, there was genuine submission in his posture.
He knew that from today on, the sky over the Vale had changed.
"Good."
Lynn nodded with satisfaction.
This was exactly the result he wanted.
To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill.
Using a seemingly absurd duel to take the entire Vale without shedding an army's worth of blood.
He saved their face and achieved his strategic goals.
Lynn turned around and looked at the black-robed figures who had stood silent as statues the whole time.
With a thought, the nine terrifying ice swords instantly dissolved into motes of blue light and vanished into the air.
Under the complex gazes of the crowd, the nine figures silently retreated into the shadows.
If not for the corpses littering the ground, it would have seemed as if they had never been there.
Lynn walked to the edge of the castle, looking down at the magnificent landscape shrouded in clouds.
"Pass my orders."
His voice wasn't loud, yet it reached everyone's ears clearly.
"Recall all armies in the field. Stand down from high alert. Unite with Robb Stark and pinch the Riverlands from north and south."
"Also, open all the gates of the Vale to welcome your allies from beyond the Wall."
Lynn paused, a meaningful smile playing on his lips.
"And send someone to Riverrun. Tell Lady Lysa Arryn."
"Tell her that her son misses her very much."
"Tell her to get her ass back to the Eyrie to see me. Immediately."