章節 182: A Great Start (Part I)
POV: Duncan
Great Arena.
Seconds after a Maiden of the South walked away from a Knight of the North...
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The first selective phase was a variation of flag stealing.
The rules were simple: {Capture a rival flag and defend your own by the end of time}. A large one-hour hourglass, five feet high and raised with wooden planks, stood beneath the main stands in plain view. Next to it, a large brass and bronze plate would throw a *Gong* at each ten-minute interval.
At least half of the contestants would fail this round. It was a test of strategy, cohesion and resilience. Many would exit through recklessness, surrender, injury or disqualification... Four hundred and twelve contestants were divided into sixteen teams; probably only about a hundred would have passed.
As was natural, the coalitions mainly followed the membership and heraldic hierarchy of Westeros and Essos... Sixteen teams, of which twelve were from the West, Dorne, Reach, Stormlands, Crownlands, Riverlands, The Vale, Ironborn, Isle of Summer, IB, Free City and, of course, the North.
The last four were a mixture of lesser Essos Cities, Hedge Knights, and fighters from all over. The three Arcane Shields of Carcosa were on the same team as my Red Knight. Those remaining twenty-two old, scruffy, and unfamiliar competitors (unwanted and discarded by every other major faction) had yet to learn with what fortune fate had favoured them.
Our team included: Me, William, Todd the Shield and Peter Atreides from Torrhen's Square;
Greatjon Umber, his squire Garoan and two other fierce swordsmen from Last Hearth.
The new Green Knights: Ser Jory Cassel and Ser Simon from Winterfell;
Theo Knott, Hugo Wull, Barge and two other men from the Mountain Clans;
Ser Breston of Mound Hills, Ser Wyatt Stout and two other elite swordsmen from Barrowton,
Lady Maege Mormont and her sworn sword (as well as possible new concubine), Wober the Massif;
And nine other excellent swords, maces or hammers from other Northern Houses that had proved their worth in the siege of Pyke.
It was a good team to command. I did not even have to ask for or win a by-election for the burden of leadership. All the competitors from the North took it for granted that I would lead them in this first phase.
It was at most two minutes until the starting Gong...
I took advantage of the remaining time to observe the preparations of the rival factions, but above all, of the most dangerous members.
Ser Jon Cupps was in the second row beside Greysteel, less than two hundred feet from me. Lord Leyton yearned for the secrets of Zick's technique... I did not know if the Knight of the Seven Keepers intended a direct assault on me in this round. It was challenging for us to cross swords immediately. The water would first have to erode the rock wall to collide with the opposite current.
I already had dozens of ravenous eyes on me for targets of fame and glory, and the prize money had only thrown further fuel into the flames... The Knight of the Vale, Ser Lyn Corbray, the rightful possessor of the famous Lady Farlow sword, never took his eyes off me. The man was disturbing and dangerous, besides being renowned for his attachment to gold and children...
But the eyes most bloodthirsty and lusting for a massacre were undoubtedly those concealed by a thick and gigantic black steel helmet... The Riding Mountain that stood a few steps away from Ser Jaime, in the faction of the West, situated at the opposite end from ours. On Ser Gregor's left flanked a stocky homunculus armoured with the colours and banners of House Lorch. Another prey the Red Viper yearned to bite. It was well known that Ser Amory Lorch was the man appointed by the Old Lion to find and suppress Rhaenys Targaryen, Oberyn's beloved niece...
I directed my gaze towards the Dorne faction seeking the attention of Prince Martell, garnished in a half helmet, bracelets and leggings of yellow lacquered steel, clad in fine red studded leather armour wielding a long spear and a shining round shield in the shape of the sun with pride and confidence.
Oberyn's eyes looked towards me... I shook my head, issuing a final warning [Don't do it]. The Red Viper clicked his tongue with a furious expression.
'Hang in there, my friend... You will get what you ask for. You just have to be patient a little longer.' The thought seemed to travel the total of ninety feet, reaching its target. Oberyn's head responded to the plea, nodding almost imperceptibly.
"Are you ready, Greatjon?" I asked to the tall, giant Green Knight at my side.
The giant Umber tapped his metal glove on his breastplate and thundered:
"An Umber is always ready to fight, Boy! If that hill of dog dung is looking for trouble, he will find it!" Morale was sky-high, the broadsword as large and thick as Clegane's, the skill in wielding it almost equivalent, and the armour was of vastly superior quality. Greatjon could do it.
"You may not have to confront him in this first round, but should that happen, forgive me in advance if I have to leave all the heavy work to you... If I can, I will come to your support as soon as possible. I promise." The original plan was to detain the Mountain and later eliminate him from the competition together.
"Do what you must without any Southern pussy justifications, Bloody Snow... I will do my part." I nodded my thanks to my Tank-Watcher.
I studied the most favourable position for our team. And I found a relatively sustainable and promising spot for a multi-directional defence and counter-attack. Unfortunately, cover points on which to build a solid defence were almost nonexistent.
Each team was obliged to cross the red line marking the perimeter by at least ten paces. Once the fight began, anyone who crossed that line, or went beyond it, would be disqualified.
I gathered the men into a double-ring circle. Greatjon's squire, Garoan, had the task of carrying and guarding the pole with the green banner, our competition banner.
"Be ready, Men! United as links of a chain and firm as anvils! At least three rival factions will charge at us like a mad herd! Our priority in the first half hour 'is' and 'will remain' defence! Protect our Standard Bearer at any cost!"
"Yes, Commander," "Aye, Ser Duncan," "We are with you, Bloody Snow!" Several squad members replied, the remainder nodding in tacit determination.
"And piss in your trousers now, if you must, Stinking Scoundrels! Or, at the first hammering suffered, your sausage will explode like a pig's bladder! Uarhahah!!!" Sbrayed Greatjon, beating a blow on the metal shell.
"Let the Great Melee begin!!!" Lord Jorah clapped his hands, and a metallic *Gooonghnn!* immediately vibrated throughout the arena, followed by a jubilant ovation from all the stands.
"March step! Advance!" I thundered, crossing the red line first. Fifty feet separated us from the favourable position. The circle in formation moved with me.
Dozens of euphoric, impatient and inexperienced competitors charged into the centre, breaking away from their group and generating the first chaotic collision of steel.
Screams mixed with expletives, orders and battle roars, combined with the clashing of steel, burst out across the arena.
Three figures clad in scandent, rusty metal immediately charged towards me. I proceeded at a slow pace, waiting for the opportune moment, and less than fifteen feet from the collision, I shouted:
"Wall!" The ring suddenly stopped, and the shield holders anchored themselves in place.
*Sbam!* The first running opponent bounced like a ball off the wall, ending up on the ground half-stunned.
The second managed to get close to attempt a mace blow which I quickly intercepted with my shield, only to be pushed sideways by Todd's shield on my left and blocked, with impressive coordination, by Hugo Wull's hammer on my right. The poor suicide bomber collapsed to the ground, half dead, without even knowing what weapon had cracked his helmet so brutally.
The third, the one furthest back among the three, reared up like a bolted horse and recoiled from the danger, waiting for reinforcements to arrive.
"We're almost there! Resume the march!" The double ring of northern warriors obeyed. We reached the predetermined point in seconds; a gap between the Trident faction and the Valley, less than sixty feet from the centre of the Arena.
"Nine of the Trident on the left flank, incoming!" Reported William, our support lookout.
"Another dozen Tyroshi and Lysenians from behind!" Warned Ser Peter, the rearguard leader.
'Plus ten more from the Vale in front of us...' By the looks of it, Lynesse's tip was valid. Ser Lyl Corbray wanted to be remembered as the first knight to cross swords with Bloody Snow.
The three groups approached at a slow pace without colliding with each other...
As expected, the factions formed a momentary coalition against the North. Not even a minute had passed since the starting signal, and we were already surrounded...
"Ready to engage in battle!" I raised my sword high and thundered, "Like an Anvil!"
"Like an Anvil!!! Wuuoaarrg!!!" More than half of my fellow soldiers roared unison, tightening the circle as each prepared to greet their opponent.
The fight began, and it was anything but a display of knightly fencing - it was a tavern brawl.
Aggressive and dirty slashes, jostling between shields, blows that hardly distinguished enemy or ally. A couple of men were already on the ground, tumbling with each other between fists, headbutts and knees.
I saw Greatjon plant his broadsword in the sandy loam to grab a Tyroshi from behind, lift him with all his armour in the air and throw him like a boulder at a couple of Lysenians.
Maege Mormont and Wober cleaved their clubs as gracefully as a fly swatter, shredding and grinding any living thing in front of them.
Theo Knott grabbed a shield of a knight of House Piper to bring it close to him and battered his helmet with fists. Very few relied on long weapons for the counter-offensive.
My comrades from the North were fierce and skilled warriors, but they were far from being Winter Guardians. Their unity and formation were lacking and chaotic, yet our opponents' seemed 'pitiful' in comparison. We had the advantage of unity while our opponents could hardly keep from fighting each other.
The first ring more than managed to fend off the first wave, while the second provided support from behind.
A knight with the blazon of House Upcliff adorned with a respectable [Level 6; Rank Page] found his way to parry and try his luck.
"Fall, unbeliever!" Apparently, the seed of rivalry between the Knights of Seven and the Green Knights was sprouting fast.
*Stiiiin!*, *Crack!*, "Uaaarrghh....!" I parried the unbalanced two-handed slash from above with ease, and without any qualms, I used my shield to decisively strike the right knee that was too unbalanced towards the front, fracturing it.
Another Knight of the Valley, unidentified, tried to grab my shield and drag me forward... I let him, but in turn, used the force of the momentum to throw it into the jaws of Greatjon and William, immediately behind me. I didn't even turn around. By now, the fate of that poor soul was in the hands of the Old Gods' mercy...
I returned to the position after the jaws of the North spat a chewed and digested Valley Man back into the sand. And I did my fair share in helping the group repel the first wave.
A good dozen men from the Free Cities, the Riverlands and the Valley lay on the ground, some unconscious, others bruised and in pain.
Some reinforcements arrived, and our enemies attempted a second assault, paying a high price in bruises, fractures and dislocated ligaments.
Our group also suffered casualties, albeit minimal. A Cerwyn House Sword and a Manderly Knight were forced to retreat, and a couple more men were visibly wounded. But the price was negligible... we were averaging seven enemy casualties for every one of our losses.
After another two minutes of brutal fighting, the opponents began to fearfully distance themselves.
Only one knight, clad in fine steel armour lacquered in the colours of House Corbray, dared to step forward.
"You're mine, little pussy! Uargh!", "No, Barge! Hold the positio..." I tried to warn, but it was too late. The Clans warrior charged forward with shield and axe, distancing himself too far from the front line.
The skirmish was short and brutal... First, the Knight of the Valley slaughtered poor Barge in less than five exchanges. Then, after the Northman was on his knees, totally unarmed, Lyn Corbray turned to me.
"There you are, 'Ser' of the Saplings..." *Smack!* Ser Lyn aggressively struck one last hilt blow to completely outlaw Barge of Clan Norrey... Afterwards, the bastard dealt an unnecessary kick to the poor, already-defeated man.
"I challenge you, Ser Duncan Tallhart! Face me if you dare!" Promulgated Ser Lyn loudly so that the whole arena witnessed. A couple of the Valley's men spaced out to allow room for the Knight who issued the official challenge... This was one of the few unspoken rules of Scrum that was most respected. The only glimmer of chivalry allowed in that tangle of chaos and violence.
When someone announced a challenge to a duel in a tournament and the other side accepted, no one was to interfere.
Theo Knott was about to charge at Corbray, seeking revenge for the clan member, but I stopped him by raising a hand.
"Think about dragging Barge away, Theo..." then I turned to the man who threw down the gauntlet.
"I accept your challenge, Ser!" A small arena in the arena formed. Competitors, still intent on fighting instead of assisting, were pushed back by the Northern and Valley factions to eliminate any source of the disturbance.
Ser Lyn advanced slowly, armed with a shield, longsword and a smile thirsting for blood and glory.
The man was a [Level 9; Rank Knight], perhaps the best sword in the Valley...
Lyn Corbray won his fame at the Battle of the Trident, slaying Prince Lewyn Martell, one of Aerys II's Kingsguards, in a duel and raising the ruined fortunes of Vale's troops against the ten thousand Dornish spears... The Knight who wrested from his elder brother's hands, by merit and right of conquest, 'Lady Farlow', one of the few Valyrian swords still circling in Westeros.
'A worthy opponent at the start of the race... So be it.' Zick had advised me not to rely on spells or The Gates Locks for this contest. Not that the aim was to retain my true abilities, but more to sharpen and temper my basic ones, gaining as much experience as possible in this theoretically 'Non-Lethal' test.
I opened the honours of the dance first, throwing myself forward with shield and sword raised. Lyn flinched to the side, intercepting and dampening the shield's impact with his own. Then the swordsman attempted a slash towards my back... I allowed the sword to collide with my plates.
*Stoonggn!*the Corbray had expended a lot of energy on that blow, hoping to destabilise me. Damascus' armour absorbed every Newton of force, redistributing it evenly throughout my body. What should have been a blow magically turned into a gentle pat on the back...
I took the opportunity by surprise for a lightning twist followed by a slash from below, concealed to the last by my shield. Although with unexpected difficulty, Ser Lyn managed to intercept it with excellent footwork. But the counterattack was only just beginning. I wore less weight and was less limited by metal friction than my opponent, and without hesitation or compliments, I took full advantage.
Shield strikes, double side slashes, lunges, remissions, counterattacks... I didn't give my opponent a moment's respite. Finally, Ser Lyn took a blow on his shoulder and retreated three steps to catch his breath.
"A good assault, no doubt about it... But now, it is my turn." Intimated the Corbray.
"Less talk and more action, Ser," I replied.
"Uaargh!" Lyn threw his shield to the ground, brandished his sword with two hands and charged like a fury, sparing nothing.
The series of attacks was swift, precise and ruthless, a veritable storm of blades that could have given even the current Disciple-Followers of the Watcher a run for their money. Ser Lyn's fame was well deserved.
Between his fierce assaults, Lyn tried several times to push me towards the human wall that witnessed the duel and demarcated our perimeter. Still, with the help of the right, the chivalrous and cushioning audience, I remained steadfast and unbowed.
I concentrated my attention on the defence of my head and the stability of my legs, letting every other non-critical blow go to waste... I wanted to wear down my opponent's stamina while sparing my own. After less than a minute, Lyn began to show signs of frustration.
"Relying on your precious armour is all you can do, Bloody Snow?!" Roared the Knight of the Valley, resuming the assault. A slash to the arm, a lunge to the ribs, several swords to the shoulder straps... Nothing. The armour was a wall of rubber. My body gave no sign of yielding.
A few cracks began to show on Lyn's blunt sword. A second enchanted effect of the armour. The magic object would return some of the energy of the blow to its owner...
The Knight's hands began to tremble. Lyn must have felt more than just a tingle on his fingers.
"Anf... Anf... Where has the legendary fame of the Hero of the North gone?!" Lyn began to gasp.
My basic Warrior level had to be at the pinnacle of Level 9. A barrier had to be broken to reach the height of Level 10*...
I threw my shield to the ground, replicating the double-handed sword style.
"It's Coming."
*****
End Part I
*Author's note: [A reminder to all readers. Paladins and other 'Blesseds' hold a dual-level system:
-Natural one (Basic one that any other individual in Planetos possesses).
Example: Ser Lyn Corbray [Level 9; Rank Knight].
-Supernatural or Artificial.
Example Duncan [Level 5 as Paladin], Jaime [Level 0 as Paladin], Aeron Greyjoy [Level 4 as Cleric].
Mc, like any other individual, can increase their Natural Level like anyone else, through: Trainings, experiences and studies.
However, for any Supernatural level increase (in this case: Paladin) he must meet the specifications of the Divine Ritual.
In this chapter, Duncan uses the term 'Base' because Mc is the exception to the rule. That is, through Zick's technique, The Closing Gates, his Natural proficiency level increases abnormally during use].
每周推薦票狀態
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榜單 
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