Mormont's expression became very grave upon hearing Viserys's words, and he asked in a somewhat respectful tone, "His Majesty Viserys, do you have any evidence?"
"I have no physical evidence right now," Viserys said truthfully. "But I have the Targaryen prophecy. Moreover, my Red Priestess also saw visions in the flames: The Wall collapsing, the dead walking, and the cold night consuming everything. Haven't you noticed anything unusual lately?"
Benjen still scoffed at this. "Prophecies? Flames? It sounds like those tricks the red god followers across the Narrow Sea use to attract believers. You expect us to believe you with such nonsense?"
Viserys looked at Benjen. "Lord Stark, you hate me, which I can understand, but hatred should not blind your judgment. Since you do not believe in prophecies, how about we let the swords in our hands speak? A trial by combat, leaving everything to The Seven."
Viserys had always been speechless regarding this method of judgment; it was completely nonsensical and lacked any basis for evaluation. After all, as long as one's martial prowess was high enough, a villain could completely ignore all laws. By requesting a trial by combat during judgment, they might even directly eliminate the victim and gain freedom—killing two birds with one stone.
This was entirely the fault of the Faith of the Seven's inaction.
But there was no helping it; this method was exceptionally effective in Westeros right now. Since it currently only benefited him, he couldn't say much. However, once he reclaimed the iron throne, things would certainly have to change. After all, he wouldn't need these methods by then, so he wouldn't allow Others the opportunity to use them, letting truly guilty people escape justice.
"What?" Benjen was somewhat shocked.
"A duel," Viserys emphasized. "I know the Nights Watch respects martial prowess, so let us have a trial by combat right now and leave everything to The Seven. If I win, you must believe my words and take me to retrieve something—the Targaryen family's valyrian steel sword, 'dark sister.' It should be north of The Wall. If I lose, I will leave immediately and never set foot on The Wall again, nor even in The North."
These words caused an even greater stir. The men of the Nights Watch exchanged glances; some were surprised, some excited, and Others worried.
Benjen Stark was one of the finest swordsmen in the Nights Watch, while as for Viserys Targaryen, no one knew how his swordsmanship was.
Mormont frowned. "This is inappropriate. Benjen is the First Ranger, and you are..."
"I am a Targaryen," Viserys interrupted him. "Since Lord Stark doubts my words, the simplest way is to let the sword speak."
He looked at Benjen. "Do you dare to accept the challenge, Lord Stark?"
Fire ignited in Benjen's eyes.
He was a Northman, a man of House Stark, with the blood of valor and honor flowing in his veins. Viserys's provocative words had struck his pride directly, and with so many brothers around, if he refused, he would surely be seen as a coward.
"Fine, I accept." Benjen drew his longsword. "I hope you can keep your word." He certainly didn't think he would lose, and if Viserys could keep his promise and never enter The North again, it would be a good thing for House Stark. Provided, of course, there were no Others.
Mormont wanted to stop it, but it was already too late. The men of the Nights Watch automatically formed a circle, leaving an open space for the two.
Viserys unfastened "Blackfyre" and "Bloodshadow" from his waist and approached a young-looking man of the Nights Watch. "Could you lend me the training sword in your hand?"
As soon as these words were spoken, all the men of the Nights Watch present were taken aback. Using a training sword against Benjen's real sword? This was a direct insult to him, or perhaps this Dragon King possessed extreme confidence.
Benjen's face turned grim. "Do you look down on me?"
"No." Viserys took the sword from the man, weighed it, and said, "I just don't want the Nights Watch to lose an excellent Ranger. Besides, this sword is enough to teach a lesson to someone blinded by hatred."
"You!" Benjen roared. Wasting no more words, he stepped forward, his longsword tracing a sharp arc as it slashed toward Viserys's left shoulder. This was standard Northern swordsmanship—broad, powerful, and heavy. It was clear he had no intention of holding back.
Viserys did not meet the blow head-on. He took a half-step back to the left, avoiding the slashing blade. Simultaneously, he thrust the training sword forward, aiming at the opening on Benjen's right side exposed by his overextension.
Benjen hurriedly pulled back his sword to parry, but the training sword changed targets at an awkward angle. With a "clang," it struck his blade, leaving his arm slightly numb from the vibration.
Benjen's heart tightened, and he cast aside his contempt; he hadn't seen Viserys's movements clearly at all. He changed his style, his swordplay becoming dense and swift. Combined with his footwork, he tried to use speed against speed, using the sharpness of his real sword to force his opponent back.
However, Viserys's movements seemed to anticipate every one of his attacks. The training sword danced in his hand; he frequently tapped accurately at Benjen's wrists, elbows, and other joints. Sometimes he parried the blade directly, and every contact sent a surge of force that disrupted Benjen's original momentum.
What chilled the onlookers was Viserys's posture. He maintained a near-elegant composure throughout, his footwork minimal but always perfectly timed to evade attacks. His gaze was terrifyingly calm, as if he weren't in a life-and-death struggle but conducting a swordsmanship lesson.
The men of the Nights Watch watched the duel with bated breath. At this point, even a layman could easily see that Benjen was completely at a disadvantage, drawn into Viserys's rhythm and firmly under his control.
In the blink of an eye, a dozen exchanges passed. Sweat appeared on Benjen's forehead, and his breathing grew heavy. The swordsmanship he took pride in seemed full of holes before his opponent; every attack was easily neutralized, and every defense felt strained.
Being watched by so many brothers, shame and anger tormented his heart, and his moves began to falter.
"Enough," Viserys suddenly spoke. At the same time, the training sword traced a strange arc, bypassing Benjen's guard. The blade landed with a heavy "thwack" on Benjen's wrist.
"Argh!" Benjen cried out in pain, the longsword flying from his hand and landing on the ground a few paces away. He clutched his rapidly swelling wrist and looked at Viserys, his face turning pale.
Viserys casually sheathed the training sword back into the scabbard at the young Night's Watchman's waist, looking relaxed as if he hadn't just been in a duel. "Hatred has made you blind, Ser Benjen. Your swordsmanship shouldn't have been like this. I hope you can learn from this lesson."
After speaking, he turned away, no longer looking at Benjen who still stood there dazed, but facing Mormont and the many brothers of the Nights Watch. The courtyard fell into silence once more, save for the sound of the wind and Ghidorah's snorting as he tossed his heads, seemingly in triumph.
He didn't care about Benjen's reaction. After all, the men of House Stark were very rigid; since he had lost, he would certainly force himself to accept Viserys's request.
The gazes of many black-clad brothers toward Viserys had completely changed, with less of the previous suspicion and more trust, or even a subtle respect.
To be able to defeat the First Ranger, Lord Benjen, so cleanly without even using a sharp blade—this strength was enough to win their respect. This was exactly the result Viserys had sought when he proposed the duel.
Mormont gave Viserys a long look, stepped forward to pat Benjen on the shoulder, and then said to Viserys, "Please, His Majesty Viserys, let us go to the main keep to discuss further matters in detail."
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