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The Winterfell training grounds were not particularly large. In the blink of an eye, Robb and the Wolf Guard were already closing in on the Hound.
"Halt!"
Robb suddenly shouted, raising his left hand high and clenching his fist tightly as he abruptly stopped his charge.
Upon receiving the order, the members of the Wolf Guard stopped in unison. Though inertia forced them to take a few extra steps before stabilizing themselves, the formation remained intact.
The maneuver made the Hound's brows furrow beneath his helm.
As a renowned warrior who had been killing since the age of twelve and had personally fought in brutal wars, he understood perfectly how a charge worked.
Whenever troops advanced, a straight formation would inevitably bend and collapse into a chaotic wave. After that, it became nothing more than a messy melee where friend and foe were indistinguishable.
In Westeros, no army had ever maintained an organized formation from start to finish during a charge.
Even if, at first glance, such discipline seemed useless, the mere fact that they could accomplish what others could not was enough for him to see them differently.
"Dismissed!"
Robb gave the order and sheathed his blunt training sword at his waist. Then he smiled at Joffrey, who stood among his guards.
"Your Highness, our 'cowardly' training is over. What did you think?"
Joffrey, who had just been turned into a joke, said nothing.
His face went from pale to red, veins bulging on his forehead.
"Hahaha, did you see that? He almost pissed himself!"
"And he had the nerve to call us cowards. He should take a look in the mirror."
"Shh, keep it down, or the coward might hear!"
After all, "the vassal of my vassal is not my vassal." The sons of Northern nobles had no intention of showing him any respect. As they dispersed, they loudly returned the mockery they had just endured.
"Get out of my sight!"
Joffrey could not swallow the humiliation. With a kick, he shoved aside a guard standing next to him and stepped out from behind the Hound.
Drawing his sword in haste, he pointed it at Robb, who was already walking away, and shouted:
"I, Joffrey Baratheon, eldest son of Robert Baratheon and heir to the Seven Kingdoms, challenge you—Robb Stark—to a duel!"
The entire field fell silent.
Robb's smile disappeared. He turned and asked:
"Are you serious about challenging me to a duel?"
"Of course not. It's just a friendly match."
The voice came from the entrance of the training grounds.
Cersei entered alongside Jaime and several guards, smiling as she spoke:
"If you children want to cross swords, then simply spar. There's no need to call it a duel. A duel is something sacred."
With just a few words, she reduced the challenge to a mere sparring match.
Stopping in front of Joffrey, with her back to Robb, she adjusted her son's slightly disheveled clothes.
"Just yesterday you said you wanted to learn swordsmanship from Robb. Why not do it now?
What do you think, my son?"
Seeing the cold expression on his mother's face, Joffrey suppressed his anger.
"As you wish, Mother."
Cersei then turned to Robb, her gentle smile already restored.
"Young Wolf, don't hit my son too hard, alright?
Good. Then I won't disturb your fun."
After speaking, she headed toward the main castle with Jaime and the others.
But naturally, she had no intention of truly leaving.
At the edge of the field, she and Jaime stopped and turned to watch.
Having been pushed this far by Cersei's words, Robb could no longer refuse.
In truth, a part of him did want to use this "spar" to "accidentally" get rid of the future Mad King 2.0.
Unfortunately, some people seemed to have a talent for getting themselves killed.
After Cersei's intervention, Joffrey regained some composure.
Remembering how he always easily defeated his sparring partners in King's Landing, he insisted on using real blades instead of training ones.
"I'll stop this!"
At the edge of the field, Jaime frowned deeply and stepped forward, intending to put an end to the farce.
But Cersei grabbed his arm.
"No. Let them use real blades."
Her green eyes seemed unfocused, as if drifting elsewhere, while a faint smile curved her lips.
"Have you lost your mind?"
Jaime leaned closer, lowering his voice so the guards wouldn't hear.
"You know as well as I do—when Joffrey trains, everyone goes easy on him. He doesn't know how to fight. How could he beat that wolf pup?
And they're using real swords. What if that wolf 'accidentally' loses control?"
"It's precisely because he can't fight that I know the wolf pup won't hurt him."
Cersei remained perfectly calm.
"In fact, if he 'accidentally' injures Joffrey, I'll be even more pleased.
Look over there…"
Jaime followed her gaze.
On the wooden walkway of the castle's second floor, Robert and Eddard had stopped, surrounded by their attendants. Clearly, they had been drawn by the commotion and were now watching with interest.
"In the past, to slay dragons, the stag and the wolf became allies who trusted each other with their lives.
But if the next generation not only fails to be friends, but grows to hate each other because of this…"
Cersei's smile deepened.
"Isn't that exactly what we want?"
Her words convinced Jaime.
Even so, he didn't remain idle. With his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, he slowly walked toward Robb and Joffrey.
At the center of the field, the Wolf Guard and Joffrey's guards formed a circle around them.
Joffrey had already drawn his sword, its hilt shaped like a golden lion.
Robb, on the other hand, still held his blunt training sword.
He insisted on using a blunt blade instead, because, quite frankly, he was afraid of accidentally cutting Joffrey for real.
Seeing Robb full of openings and still using a dull weapon, Joffrey's confidence surged. He took the initiative.
Gripping the sword with both hands, he drew it back beside his right hip and charged forward. As soon as he reached striking distance, he thrust with all his strength—a clean, well-practiced thrust.
The thrust lacked true speed and power, but it was technically sound. It was clear he had practiced the motion.
And because he wanted to see blood, he put everything he had into it.
Robb simply shifted slightly to the side, turning his body just enough to avoid the attack.
In the same motion, he raised his training sword and struck upward with force, hitting Joffrey's golden blade with precision.
At that moment, a familiar scene from a movie flashed through Robb's mind from his previous life on Earth.
Clang!!!
The metallic sound echoed across the field.
Robb's blunt sword didn't break Joffrey's weapon, but the impact knocked it clean out of his hands.
The force also sent him tumbling awkwardly to the ground, face-first into the dirt.
"Pfft, the prince ate dirt!"
"Hahaha! And I thought the 'great swordsman of King's Landing' would be something impressive."
"Shh, keep it down, or the great swordsman might hear!"
Laughter erupted, followed by mock whispers from the Wolf Guard.
Joffrey rose, trembling with rage, his face covered in dirt.
He didn't even pick up his fallen sword.
He shot Robb a murderous glare, then turned and ran off the field.
The Hound silently retrieved the golden sword and followed after him.
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