The Eyrie.
Soaring into the clouds, bitten by a freezing wind.
A single message, carried by an exhausted raven from the direction of the Bloody Gate, completely shattered the fragile, false celebration that had just begun here.
The Bloody Gate was gone.
Not breached. Not burned down.
Gone.
Erased from the map of Westeros by an Ice Giant with a single punch.
And then, that Wildling army, possessing unmatched power, simply walked away.
As if they were just passing through and decided to casually demolish an eyesore on their way.
In the Moon Garden, the Vale nobles who had been cheering for their "guaranteed victory" moments ago now looked like roosters being strangled.
faces pale, not a sound to be heard.
That man, Lynn... what was his game?
He clearly had the power to crush the entire Vale like a bug, yet he chose to toy with them, playing this game of duels.
And they had actually believed him.
They thought they had grabbed a lifeline.
They didn't realize it was just a dragon extending a single claw to bat them around for amusement.
"He... he is humiliating us!"
A young knight's face flushed red, his voice trembling with rage and fear.
"Shut your mouth!"
Ser Gerold Grafton barked, cutting him off.
The old knight's face was equally grim. But in his cloudy eyes, there was a complex emotion the others couldn't understand.
Humiliation?
No.
If Lynn truly wanted to humiliate them, he only needed to let that dragon circle above the Eyrie and let that giant take a stroll through the Mountains of the Moon.
Their dignity, their honor, would be ground to dust day by day in the shadow of fear.
But Lynn didn't do that.
He gave them a choice.
A choice that seemed absurd, but was the only way they could keep a shred of face.
A duel.
"He is not humiliating us," Ser Gerold's voice was heavy.
"He is... giving us a way out."
His words stunned everyone present.
"He used a method we couldn't ignore to show us how powerful he is."
"And then used a method we could accept to end this war."
Ser Marq Arryn let out a long sigh, his face bitter.
"If we win, we keep the Vale."
"If we lose, we submit to a King who possesses god-like power but holds mercy in his heart."
"Win or lose... we won't look too ugly."
The crowd fell silent.
They finally understood Lynn's intent.
This King-Beyond-the-Wall never saw them as true enemies. Everything he did was to integrate the power of Westeros with the smallest possible cost.
And they were just pieces on a grand board that needed to be "persuaded."
Realizing this, a sense of powerlessness mixed with an unspeakable relief washed over every Vale noble.
"Stop thinking. Prepare for the duel."
Ser Gerold slowly pulled his greatsword from the ground, the fire of battle rekindling in his old eyes.
"Since Lord Lynn has given us a chance to defend our honor, we cannot disappoint him."
"Bring up the strongest warriors of the Vale! Release Bronze Yohn Royce!"
"This battle will be for the glory of the Vale!"
...
The Moon Garden had been transformed into a temporary arena.
The exotic flowers and plants had long since been destroyed by the heat radiating from Winter. A thick layer of yellow sand had been spread over the flat ground.
One hundred Vale knights, clad in polished heavy plate and wielding the finest steel, formed an impenetrable wall of iron.
They were the strongest warriors the Vale had to offer.
Leading them was "Bronze Yohn" Royce, fresh from the sky cells.
The Lord of Runestone was a towering figure with a majestic presence. Though he had just endured imprisonment, his eyes were still as sharp as a falcon's.
Just standing there, he looked like an immovable mountain.
Beside him were the Graftons, the Waynwoods, the Corbrays—famous knights and champions from every major house in the Vale.
It was a lineup luxurious enough to make any army think twice.
However, when their opponents appeared, everyone felt the scene had reached the height of absurdity.
Lynn was still in his casual clothes, not even wearing leather armor.
Behind him were the nine mysterious "guards" cloaked in black, their faces hidden.
Ten people, standing there loosely, casually.
A stark contrast to the disciplined, iron-clad phalanx of a hundred knights opposite them.
"Lord Lynn," Bronze Yohn boomed, his voice like a bell.
"It is not too late to back out."
Though he didn't know what had happened outside in the last three days, he had been told the rules of this duel.
Even he found it ridiculous.
"Why would I back out?"
Lynn smiled, as if hearing a funny joke.
He walked to the center of the arena, stuck a candle into the sand, and lit it with a flint.
The orange flame flickered in the wind.
"The candle is lit. The duel begins."
"In my eyes, this duel ended before it even started."
With that, Lynn stepped aside, found a chair, and sat down leisurely.
He waved a hand casually at one of the black-robed figures behind him.
"Go on. Play with these noble knights."
"Hold back a little. Don't break them."
The black-robed figure bowed slightly.
Then, with a stiff, unnatural gait, it walked alone to the center of the arena.
Silence.
The entire garden went dead quiet.
Smiles froze on faces. Bronze Yohn's words caught in his throat.
What were they seeing?
Ten against a hundred was already a massive insult.
But now, he only sent one?
What did this mean?
What the Seven Hells did this mean?!
Was he saying that their hundred strongest warriors combined were only worth fighting one of his servants?
Bronze Yohn trembled with rage.
Humiliation. Absolute, utter humiliation!
It instantly ignited the fury of every knight present!
"Kill him!"
No pre-battle speech was needed.
The nearest dozen knights let out beast-like roars and charged the lone black-robed figure from all sides!
Shining swords and heavy axes cut through the air with lethal force, sealing off every possible escape route!
Yet, the black-robed figure remained motionless.
He stood quietly, as if the attack that could tear any heavy infantry to shreds was nothing more than a gentle breeze.
Just as the first longsword was about to touch his hood...
He slowly raised his right hand.
HUMMM—
A visible wave of deep blue frost erupted from his palm!
The air temperature dropped to absolute zero instantly!
Under the horrified gazes of everyone watching...
A sword—a longsword made entirely of pure, translucent ice—condensed out of thin air in his hand!
The sword was eerie and elegant, covered in mysterious frost patterns, radiating a deathly chill that could freeze the soul.
This weapon did not belong to the mortal world.
CLANG—!
The first knight's sword slammed into the ice blade.
There were no sparks. No ring of steel on steel.
Only a crisp sound like shattering glass!
The knight's fine steel sword froze and turned brittle the moment it touched the ice blade, then... shattered into pieces!
Before the shock could fully register on the knight's face, the ice sword traced a beautiful arc through the air, faster than the eye could follow.
Thwip.
A sound so faint it was almost inaudible.
The knight's body froze.
A frost-covered cut appeared between his head and his shoulders.
Then, slowly, the head slid off.
One strike.
Instant kill.
The garden was deathly silent. Everyone's mind went blank.
But the nightmare had only just begun.
The black-robed figure moved.
Every movement was as fast as a ghost; every swing was precise and lethal.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
More weapons clashed with the ice sword, and without exception, they shattered.
Whether it was common steel or castle-forged blades treasured by nobles, they were as fragile as rotten wood before that eerie ice weapon.
One knight tried to block with a heavy tower shield.
The ice sword merely tapped it.
CRACK!
The entire shield, along with the armor behind it, was instantly frozen brittle and punched through, exploding into fragments!
The cold tip of the sword emerged from his back, bringing with it a spray of ice-blue blood mist.
Slaughter!
It was a one-sided slaughter!
The first few knights who charged were all down in less than ten breaths!
Their corpses were covered in a thick layer of frost, their faces frozen in expressions of extreme terror and disbelief.
"Demon... it's a demon!"
Screams erupted from the crowd.
The nobles who had been jeering earlier were now pale as ghosts, scrambling backward, terrified of getting too close to the black reaper.
"Get him! Everyone get him!"
Bronze Yohn finally snapped out of his shock and roared hysterically.
"He's only one! We have a hundred! Swarm him! Tire him out!"
After a brief moment of fear, the remaining knights found their courage.
Roaring, they formed a tight encirclement and launched a death charge at the black-robed figure!
But they were facing a monster that knew no fatigue and felt no pain.
It didn't breathe. It didn't have a heartbeat.
Its stamina seemed infinite.
A battle axe struck its shoulder from behind, but only made a dull thud, failing to even make it stumble.
instead, the axe shattered from the freezing cold.
The knight who launched the sneak attack stared dumbly at his empty hands, only to be cleaved in half—armor and all—by a backhanded swing a second later!
"Stop!"
Lynn's voice rang out casually.
The black-robed figure, currently slaughtering its way through the crowd, froze instantly.
Its ice sword stopped inches from a knight's throat.
The cold radiating from the blade had already formed a layer of frost on the knight's neck. One inch more, and he would be dead.
"I told you, don't break them," Lynn said, his tone carrying a hint of "appropriate" scolding.
"It's just a sparring match. Breaking arms and legs is enough."
"You really don't know your own strength."
The black-robed figure turned silently and bowed slightly toward Lynn.
Then, it charged again at the terrified, chaotic knights.
This time, it didn't kill.
The blade of the ice sword turned flat.
WHAM!
A knight was swatted away like a fly, his breastplate caved in, coughing blood as he hit the ground and didn't get up.
SNAP!
Another knight's arm was twisted at a grotesque angle.
The black-robed figure stopped killing.
But the fear it inspired was even more intense than before!
It was toying with them!
Like a cat playing with a mouse, it was humiliating the finest knights of Westeros!
Bronze Yohn's eyes turned red.
With a beast-like roar, he charged again.
However, this time, the black-robed figure didn't even use its sword.
It simply reached out its left hand and casually caught Bronze Yohn's blade.
Steel met the hand of ice, making a teeth-grinding sizzle.
Then, under Bronze Yohn's incredulous gaze...
The figure squeezed its fingers.
PING!
The steel sword was crushed into shards by its bare hand!
Time seemed to stop.
Everyone stared at the broken blade on the ground.
Then at Lynn, who was still sitting in his chair, a faint smile on his face.
The candle had burned less than a tenth of the way down.
And their strongest hundred knights had been utterly routed by a single opponent.
Their honor, their courage, their everything... vanished without a trace.
"What... what kind of monster... is this..."
Ser Gerold's voice shook uncontrollably.
Lynn stood up, dusted off his hands, and walked to the center of the arena.
He pointed at the black-robed figure, who was currently holding Bronze Yohn by the throat, lifting the massive lord into the air with one hand.
"That counts as one."
Then, Lynn slowly turned around and pointed at the eight other black-robed figures standing motionless behind him.
Everyone's gaze followed his finger.
In the next second.
A scene no one would ever forget unfolded.
The eight black-robed figures, as if receiving a silent command, moved in perfect unison.
They raised their right hands at the exact same millisecond.
HUMMM—
Eight ice swords, identical to the one on the field and glowing with ghostly blue light, materialized in their hands out of thin air!
The tips pointed straight at the sky!
Dead silence.
The cold radiating from eight ice swords dropped the temperature of the Moon Garden to freezing.
And it sent the hearts of every Valeman plunging into an endless abyss.
Lynn looked at their faces, twisted by extreme terror, his smile deepening with meaning.
He pointed at himself.
"By the way."
"That didn't include me."
As Lynn spoke, ice armor began to rapidly cover his body. In his left and right hands, two massive greatswords made of pure, jagged ice condensed from nothing.