The Throne Room
No roaring crowds.
No vast arena.
Only cold stone pillars. The jagged Iron Throne. Nobles with varied gazes.
This trial felt suffocating.
Robert Baratheon sat like an enraged bull.
Breathing heavily. Clouded eyes burning with bloodlust.
Cersei Lannister stood nearby. Pale as parchment. Fists clenched.
Her only hope—the black-cloaked Lynn.
Lynn and Donnar walked to the hall's center.
Ten paces apart. Facing each other.
Donnar's face held devout resolve.
As if he truly fought for the king's honor.
But his trembling sword hand betrayed his fear.
The poison needles hidden throughout his body—his trump cards—gone.
Now he was just a decent swordsman.
Nothing more.
Lynn was far calmer.
He slowly drew his weapons.
Left hand—Longclaw, his favored blade. The wolf-head pommel lifelike in firelight.
His right hand gripped another sword.
Pitch black. Shorter than a longsword. More slender.
Narrow blade. Ancient design. No decoration. But radiating sharpness.
Dark Sister.
He'd had craftsmen disguise it.
"Two swords?"
Low murmurs rippled through the nobles.
Dual-wielding knights existed—but few mastered it.
Jaime Lannister leaned lazily against a pillar.
When he saw Lynn draw the second sword—
—his brow furrowed involuntarily.
That black blade... familiar.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!"
"START FOR YOUR KING!"
Robert's roar exploded through the hall.
The Duel Begins
The instant the words fell—
—Donnar moved!
Like a hunting leopard.
Body low. Feet cracked the stone.
He lunged at Lynn!
No armor. Not even leather.
Only speed.
Fast.
Faster than anyone imagined.
His longsword—no flourishes.
Just a simple, lethal thrust.
Aimed at Lynn's heart.
Not a knight's swordsmanship.
An assassin's.
No sweeping strikes. Only direct thrusts.
CLANG—!
A crisp ring of steel.
Lynn's left-hand Longclaw deflected Donnar's blade precisely.
The tip scraped his side armor. Sparks flew.
One strike failed.
Donnar's wrist twisted. Sword swept upward—
—toward Lynn's exposed neck!
Vicious. Cunning.
But he was fast.
Lynn's second sword was faster.
Dark Sister struck first.
CLANG!
Perfectly blocked Donnar's path!
Sparks erupted!
Jaime's Realization
Jaime Lannister's pupils contracted!
That wasn't just a block!
Lynn's second sword—at the moment of contact—
—his wrist made an infinitesimal twist.
Not only deflecting force—but guiding the opponent's blade aside—
—creating a perfect opening for his main weapon!
Longclaw swept down.
Donnar dodged nimbly.
This swordsmanship...
This impossible dual-blade coordination...
Jaime's mind went blank!
I've seen this before!
In my youth. From my idol—the Sword of the Morning, Arthur Dayne!
Arthur Dayne—legendary Kingsguard. The Seven Kingdoms' greatest knight!
He used this dual-sword style!
One blade offense. One defense. Perfect balance. No openings!
Impossible!
Ser Arthur Dayne is dead!
His swordsmanship was lost!
How does Lynn...?
The Tide Turns
While Jaime stood stunned—
—the duel's momentum shifted rapidly.
Donnar launched a flurry of attacks.
Lynn deflected them all effortlessly with his two swords.
Lynn was a reef.
No matter how waves crashed—he stood unmoved.
His feet didn't shift an inch.
Left-hand Longclaw—sweeping, steady as a mountain. Frontal blocks and slashes.
Right-hand Dark Sister—opportunistic, appearing at impossible angles. Sealing Donnar's every dirty trick.
Donnar's heart pounded!
His pride—speed and skill—like a child's game!
Lynn's every parry, every counter—as if predicting his moves—
—landing precisely on every rhythm point!
It's like fighting two sword masters at once!
And this swordsmanship that completely reads my style...
As if Lynn knows me intimately.
Fear spread through Donnar.
No. I can't lose!
Failure means death!
"AAAAAHHH!"
Donnar roared like a beast. Threw everything into one strike!
Abandoned all defense.
Swung his sword at Lynn's head—mutual destruction!
His final gamble!
Betting Lynn won't trade lives!
But Lynn's face remained serene.
Facing the thunderous strike—
—Lynn's left-hand Longclaw rose to meet it.
CLANG—!
Another massive impact!
Irresistible force surged through Donnar's blade. His grip went numb!
His sword flew from his hand!
Now!
Lynn's body surged forward.
The black Dark Sister didn't aim for vitals.
Instead—precisely sliced Donnar's sword wrist!
THUD.
A muffled sound.
Donnar's right hand—severed at the wrist!
The severed hand and warm blood sprayed through the air.
Landed on the distant floor.
"AAAAAHHH—!"
Delayed agony.
Donnar's scream was inhuman.
He staggered back. Left hand clutching his spurting stump.
Face full of terror and despair.
Everything happened in a heartbeat.
The nobles hadn't even reacted.
The fight was over.
The Execution
Lynn gave no respite.
He lunged forward.
Left hand grabbed Donnar's sweat-soaked hair.
Yanked his head back—exposing his fragile neck.
Donnar's scream cut off.
He felt the cold touch on his throat.
His fear-widened pupils reflected Lynn's expressionless face.
Next second.
Lynn's right-hand Dark Sister—
—sliced cleanly across Donnar's throat.
A red line bloomed on his neck.
Warm blood gushed.
Splattered the floor.
Lynn released him.
Donnar's body crumpled. Twitched a few times on the cold stone.
Then stilled.
Silence
The throne room—silent as death.
Everyone was shocked speechless by the bloody, decisive scene.
Lynn stood beside the still-warm corpse.
Let blood drip from his blade. Blooming crimson flowers on stone.
He slowly raised his head.
Gaze crossed the crowd. Landed on Cersei.
Cersei's body jolted.
She saw Lynn's eyes.
No joy of victory. No thrill of killing.
Only condescending scrutiny.
The cold gaze one gives their property.
She survived.
But lost her freedom forever.
Jaime's Stupor
Jaime Lannister still stared at Lynn's two swords.
Lost.
He murmured—voice barely audible.
"The Sword of the Morning... Arthur Dayne?"
"Who... who is he?"
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