Everyone watched in stunned silence as Tiberius's spear thunked off Jon's bucket helm—and Jon suddenly dropped to his knees in the sand like someone had cut his strings.
[That little shit… what the fuck just happened…? Did I just get… electrocuted?] Jon thought, body twitching uncontrollably. Every muscle felt numb and tingly; his limbs refused to obey.
"Hey, Vice-Captain Jon," Vito drawled, voice thick with mockery. "You rehearsing for the belly dancers? That's better than any show in the Perfumed Garden. If you want, Grandpa Vito will toss you a gold dragon for the performance!"
The White Company exploded with laughter.
"Dance for us, Vice-Captain Jon!"
"Heard some girls do sword dances—gonna show us your moves?"
On the Second Sons side, Jon's loyal men looked like they'd swallowed something sour.
"Did that kid use magic? Jon just got dropped by a spear that didn't even break his armor!"
"Wait… they say 'the Honorable' Jules knows swamp magic. What if…"
The Second Sons' smug confidence evaporated, replaced by growing dread. First, a twelve-year-old kid was actually holding his own. Second, that weird "spark" on the spear reminded them of every dark rumor about Jules's witchcraft.
They weren't afraid of corpses or war—they'd slept on piles of bodies before. But sorcery? Real magic? That shit was unnatural. Swords couldn't cut it. Shields couldn't block it.
Watching their vice-captain flop around in the sand doing what looked like a very embarrassing street dance, more than a few of his closest men started thinking about their own survival.
[You little fuck—making me look like this! Just wait!] Jon heard Vito's taunt and forced his body to move. He tried to stand, failed twice, then finally hauled himself up using his sword like a crutch.
Tiberius wasn't about to give him the chance.
He closed to five paces and hurled the second spear—Lightning bonus active.
Jon, still twitching from the first shock, never had a prayer. The spear punched straight through the mail under his armpit and buried itself in his left bicep.
Now everyone saw it: the second the spear hit, Jon started another round of "street dancing" in the sand.
"This kid…" Even Vito's grin faltered as he glanced sideways at Jules. "Boss… your witchcraft—I mean, your herbs… they hit that hard? Did the little shit coat his spears with poison or something? Or…"
Vito touched the wooden charm around his own neck—the one that kept mosquitoes, snakes, and every other nasty thing away. "Boss, you didn't secretly teach him a curse, did you? I swear I'm loyal! One hundred percent!"
As Jules's most trusted man, Vito knew the truth: Jules could do magic. He could burn herbs and predict tomorrow's weather from the smoke. His foul-tasting potions actually cured the sick. Those protective charms actually worked.
Jules's face stayed serious. "No, Vito. I never taught him witchcraft—only how to recognize useful plants. As for curses…"
He nodded toward the fight.
"From the way Jon's moving… it doesn't look like a curse. It looks like… he got electrocuted."
[Almost there,] Tiberius thought, spear ready, watching Jon flop in the sand. [No—stay patient. I don't know how many shocks this title gives me. If it's only three or four, I can't waste them. If it's only two, I'm not rushing in for the kill. That arm wound is already hurting him plenty, and he'll have to rip the spear out before he can fight properly.]
A cold little smile touched Tiberius's lips.
[You want me to charge in? Not happening.]
He still remembered Oberyn Martell versus the Mountain from the show—how the Red Viper had the giant dead to rights with poison and spear, only to lose because he got cocky and wanted a confession.
Tiberius wasn't making that mistake.
He kept his distance, using the long spear to control the fight. Because he was shorter, every thrust aimed low—at Jon's thighs and shins. Jon kept feeling cold steel flicking near his legs and had to keep backing up.
But the two lightning shocks, the public humiliation, and the spear sticking out of his arm finally cracked Jon's mind. After another failed lunge, he roared in fury.
"Tiberius, I'm going to kill you!" Ignoring the pain, Jon charged, sword raised. "A little ass-selling brat like you dares humiliate me?!"
Tiberius retreated smoothly, spear never stopping. The weapon couldn't pierce Jon's breastplate, but his legs had almost no protection.
Jon tried to bat the spear aside again and again. After a few frantic swings he had to stop, gasping, sweat pouring down his face inside the helmet. The spear in his left arm was still there—he'd snapped the shaft but couldn't pull the head out without bleeding out.
The two shocks had drained more than his strength—they'd broken his will.
He was scared now.
While Jon paused to catch his breath, Tiberius flicked the spear low, slicing the unprotected inside of Jon's thigh.
Jon never saw it coming. His leg gave out and he dropped to one knee, bright red blood soaking the sand.
Tiberius stepped back just out of reach and waited.
Jules actually looked impressed. My nephew can fight like this?
Tiberius just stood there calmly while Jon bled. The Second Sons started jeering.
"Scared, little shit?"
"Why won't you finish him?"
"Lucky bastard…"
The taunts hurt Jon more than the wounds.
[Fuck all of you—shut your mouths!] he thought, pressing his hand to the gash, sweat stinging his eyes. [I'm about to lose everything because of a fucking kid!]
Another half-hour dragged by. Tiberius kept poking and prodding with the spear, forcing Jon to keep moving on a ruined leg and a speared arm, bleeding the whole time.
Jon's good plate and mail still held, so Tiberius couldn't land a killing blow. But he had all the patience in the world—he was simply waiting for Jon to collapse from blood loss.
"Tiberius has already won," Jules said quietly, watching his nephew methodically tap the helmet and breastplate, never closing in for the finish.
Jon was finished. Left arm ruined, inner thigh sliced open—he was fighting with one good hand and one good leg.
And the kid was ice-cold. He never overcommitted, just waited for Jon to make the mistake.
[Plus, I bet Jon is terrified right now… wondering if the next spear will make him dance again.]
Even "the Honorable" cracked a rare smile at his own dark joke.
Sure enough, Jon screwed up again. This time both legs were wounded. He collapsed, curling up in the sand.
The Second Sons stared in total disbelief.
How the fuck is this kid this good?