"Fine," Galladon said calmly, "but I advise you not to try anything foolish."
He untied the Just Maid from his back and laid it upon the long table.
Then—
He drew it.
A clear ringing note filled the hall.
A faint green glow shimmered along the blade, edged with a delicate orange line like the first light of dawn. The sword looked flawless—neither entirely metal nor entirely flame.
Robert and Eddard were stunned.
It was breathtaking.
Robert swallowed hard.
In an age where magic had faded into legend, seeing such a blade felt like witnessing something divine.
"Galladon… may I try it?" Robert asked, almost breathless.
Even Ned's usually reserved expression carried open curiosity.
Galladon shook his head lightly.
"I warned you."
He did not stop them.
Robert reached out stubbornly.
The moment his fingers touched the hilt—
He jerked back sharply.
"Ah!"
Red burn marks appeared on his fingers as if he had touched heated iron.
He quickly withdrew his hand, grimacing.
Galladon sighed faintly.
Some lessons required experience.
Ned hesitated but did not attempt it.
Robert sucked his fingers, half embarrassed, half envious.
"Is it truly the holy sword from legend?" he asked. "Was it really bestowed by the Maiden?"
"I found it by chance," Galladon replied lightly. "Whether the Seven gave it or not… it cuts well enough."
Ned studied it more carefully.
"This isn't Valyrian steel."
He was right.
Valyrian steel bore dark ripples like flowing water. The Just Maid glowed faintly, green-blue and radiant, clearly something far beyond.
"Ser Goodwin says it's sharper than Dawn," Galladon added casually.
Silence.
Robert and Ned exchanged a look.
They didn't even own Valyrian steel blades themselves.
The Baratheons had none.
The Starks possessed Ice, but it belonged to Rickard Stark and would pass to Brandon.
Both boys were at an age when legendary weapons meant everything.
And Galladon had one.
"How sharp is it?" Robert demanded.
"It can cut through plate armor."
Robert stared.
"You're joking."
"See for yourself after lunch."
The Godswood
Later that afternoon, they walked to the godswood.
Galladon drew the blade again.
With a single, effortless slash—
A dead tree as thick as a man's waist split cleanly in two.
The upper half slid down and struck the ground.
Robert and Ned were speechless.
Galladon moved to a large wooden stake nearby—scarred with old test marks.
One swing.
The stake sheared apart smoothly.
Then he approached a wooden dummy dressed in old plate armor.
Holding the sword one-handed, he slashed diagonally upward.
Clang.
Metal split.
Sparks flew.
The breastplate broke cleanly in half. The wooden frame behind it shattered as well.
Robert inhaled sharply.
Ned felt his faith tremble.
Was this truly a weapon granted by the Seven?
Galladon sheathed the blade calmly.
His current strength allowed him to achieve this with one hand.
When it reached ten… fifteen… twenty—
The battlefield would become harvest.
Robert stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Galladon," he said seriously, "one day you'll rival the Sword of the Morning."
Galladon smiled modestly.
"I still have much to learn."
Robert suddenly grinned again.
"Ned, how about we give Galladon some 'guidance'? Wooden swords only."
Ned hesitated.
Galladon was ten.
They were fourteen and fifteen.
But before Ned could object—
"Gladly," Galladon replied.
He sheathed the holy sword and set it aside.
He, too, wanted to test himself.
He drew a wooden practice blade.
Robert did the same.
Ned stepped back.
"I'll judge."
Robert raised his wooden sword eagerly.
"Ready, Galladon?"
Galladon nodded.
His strength: 8.76.
Agility: 8.90.
Spirit: 15.3.
Robert might surpass him in raw power.
But agility?
Reaction?
Mental clarity?
Not without a fight.
The wooden blades lifted.
The match was about to begin.
(End of Chapter 13)
A/N:
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