Kal ignored the little gestures of the chieftain of the Burned Men.
He fixed his eyes on the Valyrian steel blade, now glowing red from the fire. Drawing it from the coals, he gazed at it with open admiration, the weapon seeming only more beautiful as its surface burned crimson.
Under Kal's steady gaze, the patterns on the dagger shimmered with the rising heat. Slowly, a line of text appeared across the steel—letters Kal could read.
During his five wandering years in the Free Cities, Kal had learned High Valyrian.
He had even gone so far as to hire a tutor to teach him its written form.
Meeting the Red Hand's haughty words, Kal shifted his attention from the dagger to the scarred socket of the man before him.
"I've heard that, in your clan's coming-of-age rite, every member must burn away part of their body—or sacrifice a finger?"
"Tell me, did you give up your eye in exchange for the name 'Red Hand,' and your place as chieftain of the Burned Men?"
Kal looked directly into Timett's hollow socket as he spoke, his tone calm and unhurried, filled with patience.
"Without question. It is the pride of my life, Warden of the East."
Hearing this, Timett lifted his chin with arrogant pride, as though showing off a badge of honor.
"You spoke just now of conquest."
"That reminds me of something amusing."
At his affirmation, Kal merely nodded, his expression indifferent.
Without another word, he picked up the dragonbone-hilted dagger once more.
Then, without even glancing down, he drove his right hand—dagger and all—straight into the burning coals.
The sudden act stunned all who saw it. Vale knights, Burned Men warriors alike—all gave cries of shock.
But Kal himself showed not the faintest change of expression. A faint smile lingered on his lips.
His hand, still gripping the dagger, remained buried in the glowing embers, letting the fire sear him.
As if it had nothing to do with him at all.
Only his brocaded sleeve betrayed the truth—within two heartbeats, smoke rose, and with a muffled whoosh it caught flame.
As the fire crept up his arm, every eye present knew at once—
The Warden of the East was not pretending.
Those were real coals, hotter even than burning wood.
Yet there he crouched, arm sunk deep into the flames, gaze locked on Timett's one good eye—now wide in disbelief.
"I forgive your earlier insult, and offer you a fair chance."
Kal's smile was calm, almost gentle, as Timett froze, every small motion stilled.
"This dagger was a gift from the king himself, given when he knighted me with his own hand."
"Like the eye you sacrificed, it stands for my honor."
"If you can take it from my hand, then it will be yours, my gift to you—together with my friendship."
"I will then turn and walk away."
"Oh, and by the way—the dagger was forged of Valyrian steel and dragonbone, and within it lies a tale both legendary and secret."
Kal spoke like a tempting devil, inviting Timett into his game.
The glow of the coals bathed his face in crimson, and the flames still burning along his brocaded sleeve—licking up his arm, refusing to die—only lent him a more terrifying, mesmerizing air.
Never could Timett have imagined that this sudden Warden of the East would invite him to claim a dagger in such a way.
Still less could he have imagined that this young man would use the customs of his own clan to challenge him.
Staring at Kal—his hand buried in the searing coals—Timett swallowed hard, reflexively.
A flicker of panic crossed his face as he asked, "If—if I refuse to play your game?"
"You will die. So will they."
"And I will push deeper into the Mountains of the Moon, killing every soul that does not bend the knee."
"You once ambushed one of my men. Pressed for time, I dealt swiftly with those clansmen who tried to cut me down."
"If you know anything of me, you know this—I am capable of it."
Kal's words were blunt, his voice calm, his tone as steady as before.
And as time passed, with no change in his expression, Timett's shock only grew stronger—even as a faint thread of doubt stirred within him.
Ignoring Kal's threats, he let his hand fall from the dagger at his belt and slowly stepped forward.
The heat from the fire washed across his cheeks in waves.
Yet on Kal Stone's face there was no trace of strain—his hand buried in the coals looked as though it were soaking in warm water.
"If I take your dagger, you will let us go?"
Resolve flickered in Timett's lone eye as he raised his gaze to Kal's blue ones.
"Yes. But if you shrink back, I will kill you all," Kal nodded.
"Or—you may submit to me."
"You have only two choices. Left, or right."
Hearing the young Warden of the East's pledge, Timett looked back once at his clansmen, jaw clenched tight. Then he turned again to the fire, the heat shimmering before him.
He bared his right arm, slowly rolling up his sleeve.
In the next instant, he thrust his arm into the coals without hesitation.
He aimed for the dagger's hilt, where Kal's hand had been, intending to end this contest as quickly as possible.
But the moment his arm plunged into the fire, searing pain and the crackle of burning flesh erupted at once.
Timett could not suppress a scream. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead in an instant.
And he realized then that this Kal Stone, Warden of the East, was playing no trick.
At that moment, the agony of flesh and the terror in his heart surged together, overwhelming him.
His mind screamed in agony, driving him to pull his hand from the coals.
Yet at that very instant, Timett gritted his teeth once more, the savagery in his eye burning brighter.
Just as his nerves and muscles tried to yank his arm away from the searing fire, he thrust out his left hand and slammed it down upon his right, forcing it to stay buried.
Enduring the pain, he groped blindly within the burning coals for the Valyrian steel dagger.
It was not difficult to find—his fingers brushed against it at once.
But he could not lift it.
For the moment he closed his hand around the dagger's hilt, another hand seized it as well—Kal's.
Kal clamped down, catching Timett's hand along with the dagger, and so the two of them kept their right hands buried together in the flames, locked in a brutal contest unlike any other.
Those around them all stiffened with awe, eyes wide, unable to look away from the sight.
But as the moments dragged on, the torment of the fire exceeded the limits of Timett's will.
His screams burst forth, ragged and wild, yet still he refused to relent.
He strained with all his might to wrest the dagger free from the coals—but Kal's grip was immovable, as unyielding as the stone of the mountains themselves, pinning him fast.
"Submit!"
Kal's voice was low and thunderous, his blue eyes fixed on Timett.
"Never!"
Timett's cry was harsh, distorted by pain.
Kal saw blood welling where his teeth had bitten into his gums.
But Kal did not waver. He thundered again: "Submit!"
"No!"
The pain was unbearable, Kal's strength like that of a dragon. Timett had no chance to resist.
He collapsed to his knees, numb to the existence of his right hand.
Every nerve in his brain screamed in protest, yet with the last shred of his will he forced out defiance.
Seeing him refuse twice over, Kal's look of admiration hardened into resolve.
"I acknowledge your courage and your will."
"But this is your final chance—submit to me!"
With those words, Kal released his grip, no longer restraining him in such a way.
And Timett, his body seizing from instinctive contraction, at last yanked his arm from the coals.
His hand was burnt blood-red and blackened, patches of white bone faintly visible.
A strange, charred stench filled the air.
He had indeed pulled his arm free—
But his hand held no Valyrian steel dagger.
At that moment, Kal also withdrew his own right hand from the fire.
Unlike Timett, Kal's right hand bore no wounds—only a deep flush of red.
And Kal's hand, too, held no dagger.
Seeing Timett's empty, ruined hand, Kal himself was surprised.
Looking down, he saw the dagger still lying in the bed of coals.
He had not tried to snatch back the dragonbone-hilted blade—for he had acknowledged Timett's will.
Any man willing to sacrifice himself for his people was worthy of respect.
Kal was no bloodthirsty devil.
What he had not expected was that, at the very last moment, Timett too had let go, leaving the dagger where it lay.
Exhausted and trembling, Timett knelt weakly on the ground. The strength to scream had left him; his eye was vacant as he stared at his ruined hand. Even his ragged breathing came now in shallow whispers.
Around them, all who had witnessed such a contest could only marvel.
This struggle had no victor—
Yet both men had won the respect of all.
Seeing that Timett had not claimed the dagger, Kal let out a sigh.
He had offered a chance, and at the last moment had even shown mercy to honor the man's iron will.
But in the end, Timett had not seized it. Or rather, he had surrendered to his body's final instinct.
Which meant he had lost.
Kal did not know what he had yielded to—but it was not weakness.
Even so, a loss was still a loss.
Kal sighed again, then stooped and plucked the dagger from the fire.
He stood tall, holding the Valyrian steel weapon in one hand, its red-hot blade gleaming like a beacon in the dark of night.
"Tell me your answer—or rather, tell me your people's answer!"
Kal spoke the first part to Timett, then lifted his gaze, voice carrying to the rest of the clansmen.
Timett looked blankly at his ruined hand.
But when he heard Kal's voice, he lifted his head to gaze at the man before him—his sleeve burned to ash, his right arm bare, yet his flesh seemingly untouched.
That dagger, glowing red, was held in his hand as lightly as a child's toy.
Timett had lived that impossible moment himself. His one remaining eye no longer held the same defiance.
And the warriors of the Burned Men, who had seen it all as well, glanced at one another—then one by one let fall their weapons.
They dropped to one knee.
They bowed their heads.
And to the new Warden of the East, they submitted.
In that moment, Kal Stone became the first man ever to conquer the mountain clans.
With the radiant dagger in hand, Kal lowered his eyes to gaze upon them.
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