The open ground designated for the trial by combat at the Castle Darry army camp was already teeming with people.
The vassals of Castle Darry, knights, their squires, and soldiers were all present.
They whispered among themselves, discussing the events, their eyes fixed on the figures in the center of the arena.
Most people's gazes were filled with curiosity, but even more with bewilderment.
They wanted to see what kind of audacity and courage that young Stinkfort Family knight possessed to dare challenge Ser Joses Buck, a knight of long-standing fame, to a trial by combat to the death.
"Oh, why did Suleiman have to do this?" a soldier whispered mournfully to his companion; they had quite a good impression of this minor noble Suleiman.
Another soldier lowered his voice and replied, "Our nobles value family honor more than life itself, just like the legendary tales in the bards' songs. Poor young Lord Suleiman."
On the other side of the crowd, Ser Joses, due to his excessive corpulence, was being helped by his squires to dress. As agreed, he was not wearing armor.
In his view, dealing with an inexperienced Suleiman and two peasants hardly required full armor.
Ser Joses glanced coldly at the three figures of Suleiman standing quietly not far away. A cruel smile stretched across his lips.
He then took the longsword, polished to a gleam by his squire, its blade reflecting a chilling light in the sun.
"What a fool." His voice was full of disdain and mockery.
In his opinion, Suleiman's fate was sealed today, right here and now. This was to be the burial ground for this ignorant young noble.
He was ready to make Suleiman suffer a torturous death, like a cat playing with a mouse.
He hadn't expected Suleiman to declare a trial by combat, giving him an opportunity to kill him. After all, Suleiman was a knight, even if a minor one, he was still a noble lord with inherited lands.
Ser Ronald hurried to Suleiman's side, his face still grim, his voice very low.
"Lord Suleiman, one last chance! It's still not too late to give up now! Let this matter be dropped!"
Suleiman looked at him calmly and shook his head.
"Thank you for your kindness, Ser Ronald."
"My mind is made up."
Ser Ronald sighed heavily, said no more, and stepped aside.
More words were useless; this young man had made up his mind. He was ready to send Suleiman's remains home.
An elder, dressed in a simple monk's robe, slowly walked to the center of the arena.
He was the accompanying Septon, responsible for presiding over and witnessing this trial by combat.
The Septon's aged voice rang out in the slightly noisy environment, carrying a unique solemnity.
The previously noisy environment instantly quieted down.
"Today, Lord Suleiman of Dreadfort and Ser Joses Buck of Castle Darry, shall decide their honor and guilt with swords!"
"All swords are the hands of the divine oracle; the survivor is innocent!"
"The Seven look on, life and death by the sword!"
"May the Father judge you justly!"
"Begin!"
The Septon motioned for both sides to step forward. Suleiman and Ser Joses stood facing each other, five meters apart.
Ser Joses held his head high, looking arrogantly at Suleiman, his voice booming.
"I, Ser Joses Buck of Castle Darry!"
Suleiman's voice was not loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears.
"I, Lord Suleiman of Dreadfort, hereby judge your crimes."
There was no superfluous talk.
Then, both men retreated, walking to the designated positions at opposite ends of the arena, thirty meters apart.
Lucien and Lauslin tightly gripped the longswords bestowed by Lord Raymon Dayne, their palms sweaty, standing nervously beside Suleiman.
Ser Joses twisted his neck, his body making cracking sounds.
He said to his two squires, "You two, stay put. Today, I will personally kill these three fools!"
Before he finished speaking, Ser Joses let out a roar, pushing off the ground with force, and charged fiercely towards Suleiman with his sword.
He wielded his longsword with an imposing aura, truly living up to his nickname, the White Pig Knight, charging forward like a wild boar.
"Suleiman!" Lucien and Lauslin exclaimed, instinctively moving to rush forward.
"Stand still." Suleiman's voice was not loud, but it carried an irresistible force.
Their steps halted, and they could only watch helplessly as Ser Joses's fierce figure drew closer and closer to their Suleiman.
Many of the watching soldiers even closed their eyes, unable to bear the sight of the bloody and brutal scene that was about to unfold.
In their eyes, the frail young man would be headless in the next moment.
A tragedy, it seemed, was about to occur.
However, just as Ser Joses's longsword was about to cleave towards Suleiman's head—
A sudden change occurred!
A sharp, pig-like shriek pierced the camp's original atmosphere!
"Ah——————!" Everyone opened their eyes in astonishment, and the sight that greeted them made them gasp.
Ser Joses staggered backward, his right wrist empty, blood gushing out like a fountain!
His right hand, which had held the longsword, along with half of his wrist, now lay on the muddy ground a few steps away!
Suleiman stood in place, the Myrish longsword in his hand pointing diagonally at the ground, its blade speckled with bloodstains.
Those who watched saw that his movements were as fast as lightning, as graceful as a dance, seemingly without force, yet so deadly.
"My hand! My hand!" Ser Joses let out a sharp, mournful shriek like a pig being slaughtered, his bloodshot eyes filled with unbelievable shock and intense pain.
He never dreamed it would end this way!
How could it be so fast!
The severe pain almost made him faint, but years of combat instinct made him react quickly.
He fiercely drew the short dagger from his waist with his left hand, needing to kill with one blow! He lunged at Suleiman regardless of the consequences, his bloodshot eyes like a Mad Dog.
Suleiman's eyes were cold, and his figure shifted lightly again.
Ser Joses only felt a blur before his eyes, and that figure, like a ghost, had circled to his other side.
Another sword shadow flashed!
"Ah——————!"
A more tragic, pained howl than before rang out.
Ser Joses Buck's left wrist was cleanly severed!
The short dagger, along with the severed hand, dropped to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Blood gushed from Ser Joses Buck's arms, and the intense pain made him unable to stand any longer.
Finally, he knelt to the ground with a thud.
Suleiman did not give him any chance to breathe.
He stepped forward, and the Myrish longsword in his hand precisely sliced across Ser Joses Buck's eyes.
"My eyes! My eyes!" Ser Joses Buck painfully covered his face with his arms, blood flowing like a stream between them.
He had completely lost the ability to resist.
But Suleiman still did not stop; he moved like a gust of wind behind Ser Joses Buck, the longsword striking twice.
Ser Joses Buck's legs gave out, and he collapsed completely to the ground, his hamstrings severed.
He writhed and twitched on the ground like a fish out of water or a pig being bled, letting out sharp, terrifying wails.
The sound was so tragic, so horrifying, so despairing, that the surrounding vassals, knights, and soldiers all felt a chill down their spines.
Some timid soldiers even turned their heads away, unable to bear watching.
Their gazes towards Suleiman were filled with fear.
Even awe?
"Too cruel," someone cursed in a low voice.
"There is no knightly mercy to speak of."
"By the Seven, this man will surely suffer divine punishment!"
Ser Joses Buck writhed on the ground like a caterpillar, his blood staining the earth beneath him.
He shrieked hoarsely, his voice filled with fear and despair.
"Marwyn! Tobiah! Save me! Save me! Come quickly and save me!"
His two squires stood not far away, already scared out of their wits by the bloody and terrifying scene, their faces ashen, their legs trembling like sieves.
How could they dare to step forward?
Suleiman coldly watched Ser Joses Buck rolling on the ground, slowly raising his right arm, the tip of the Myrish longsword pointing downwards, aimed at Ser Joses Buck's shoulder blade.
"Pfft!" The longsword plunged down fiercely, piercing Ser Joses Buck's shoulder bone and deeply embedding itself in the soil.
Ser Joses Buck let out a cry of pain, his body convulsing violently, but he could no longer move an inch.
Suleiman gestured with his eyes to Lucien and Lauslin behind him.
Lucien and Lauslin exchanged glances, seeing shock and fear in each other's eyes; Lord Suleiman had always been amiable towards them.
They gripped the longswords in their hands, let out a roar, and charged towards Ser Joses Buck's two terrified squires.
Suleiman did not move.
He knew that some paths, these two farmers had to walk themselves.
If they wanted to go further, they had to shed some blood.
Just like him, in fact, he, like his two guards, was trembling, but he was restraining himself; he knew that once fear and timidity were shown in Westeros, he would die without a burial place in the future.
He had to go through all of this!
Lucien roared furiously as he charged, as if to vent all the indignities he had suffered in the first half of his life at this moment.
"You two bastards! You dared to hit me!"
The two squires were already in a state of shock, and seeing Lucien and Lauslin charging at them menacingly, they lost their composure.
They hastily drew their swords to defend themselves, but their movements were already distorted, nowhere near their usual well-trained appearance.
After only resisting for a few tens of seconds, the two squires were cut down by Lucien and Lauslin.
"Mercy! Have mercy!" one of the squires cried out, clutching his leg; his leg had been severed, and blood gushed from the wound.
Lucien panted heavily, his eyes bloodshot, staring intently at the squire wailing and begging for mercy on the ground, his sword slightly pausing.
He remembered Suleiman's words, and the humiliation he had once suffered.
The next moment, he roared, raised his longsword high, and brought it down fiercely!
"Pfft!" The blade deeply cleaved into the squire's skull, splattering red and white everywhere.
The squire had stopped breathing, but Lucien's longsword continued to fall, hacking at the squire's body, as if to vent all the anger hidden for half his life.
On the other side, Lauslin also cut down his opponent.
The squire was weeping and snotting, desperately kowtowing and begging for mercy.
"Don't kill me! Please, don't kill me!"
Lauslin's sword-holding hand trembled constantly, looking at the squire's face, contorted with fear, for a moment he was at a loss.
He subconsciously looked at Suleiman.
Suleiman just looked at him calmly, with no emotion or instruction in his eyes.
Lauslin took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the hint of hesitation in his eyes had vanished, replaced by utter resolve.
He raised his sword and swung it down forcefully. A head flew up and rolled far away.
Ser Joses Buck, pinned to the ground, heard the screams of his squires abruptly cease, knowing that it was all over.
His last shred of will completely collapsed, his voice hoarse and weak.
"Kill! Kill me! Please! Lord Suleiman! Give me a quick death! Give me an end!"
Suleiman slowly walked in front of him, looking down at the knight who had just been so arrogant as if victory was in his grasp, but now was twitching on the ground like a bled pig.
He slowly pulled out the Myrish longsword embedded in Ser Joses Buck's shoulder blade.
"Pfft!" Another gush of blood spurted out.
Ser Joses Buck let out a tragic howl of pain, but there was no quick end as he had expected.
Suleiman raised the blood-stained longsword, its tip pointing to the sky, his gaze sweeping over the silent crowd around him.
His voice was so clear in the unspoken environment, echoing in everyone's ears.
"This is the consequence of insulting me! Of insulting the Stinkfort Family!"
"No mercy! No quick end!"
"Only endless pain and torment in the future!"