Arthur, accompanied by Brin and Lucien, arrived outside the Lions Den to receive a knight who had traveled a long way to offer his services.
Upon reaching the valley entrance, they saw over forty muscular men, stripped to the waist, on the plains outside the deep cliffs of the Lions Den. Facing the morning sun, they practiced in pairs with blunted training swords, each sword-and-shield block producing a dull thud, and each swing and smash delivered with full, unforgiving force. Sweat drenched their bodies, as if they had just been pulled from a river.
The high-intensity training of these squire-riders had already begun to sculpt perfect muscle lines on their bodies.
Arthur nodded in satisfaction. Since he had given them land, freeing them and their families from agricultural labor, they should naturally train with all their might for battle.
He stood by the field, arms crossed, silently watching the squire-riders. His gaze swept over each strong man, observing their movements, assessing their progress, and watching their relentless, powerful attacks and their sweat-drenched, muscular physiques. The more he watched, the more satisfied he became.
Just then, a steady sound of hooves broke the soldiers' training rhythm, causing them to stop and look in the direction of the sound.
A burly knight, riding a horse, slowly approached. He appeared to be in his thirties, with an unremarkable face, a sunken nose, and a square jaw. His chainmail was old and inexpensive, yet it had been polished spotlessly by its owner.
Arthur did not recognize him. Or rather, there were so many names of noble knights in Westeros that he only recognized the truly prominent figures.
Arthur raised his chin at Lucien, who had stopped the knight's advance: "Let him through."
He was somewhat interested in people who actively sought him out to offer their services.
The knight rode to Arthur's front, his reins held steady in his calloused hands. He assessed the young lord before him, and a hint of surprise and shock flashed in his eyes at such a youthful face.
When he was still five paces from Arthur, he immediately dismounted with swift, decisive movements, preparing to kneel on one knee and request enfeoffment according to tradition.
Arthur raised a hand, stopping his action: "Ser, don't be so quick to kneel."
"I have no intention of enfeoffing you."
The knight's movement froze in mid-air. He looked up, meeting Arthur's eyes.
Arthur met his gaze and cut straight to the point: "Why should I enfeoff you?"
"Or rather, what qualifications do you have to receive my enfeoffment?"
This question was too direct, devoid of any noble pleasantries or small talk, like a drawn dagger striking at the heart.
The knight named Rosso Brun was silent for a moment. He did not feel offended; instead, he found this pragmatic attitude reassuring. If enfeoffment were so simple, Westeros would not have so many wandering knights.
His hoarse voice rang out, clear and strong: "My Lord, my name is Rosso Brun. My family is a distant relative of the Brun family of Brown Hole Hill on Claw Isle."
Arthur shook his head: "Ser, attempting to prove your noble lineage is meaningless to me."
Rosso Brun paused, a flicker of imperceptible sadness in his eyes: "My Lord Arthur, I am not here to boast of my noble blood."
"After my father died, I once took my mother to Brown Hole Hill to seek refuge with them, but they... refused to acknowledge our blood ties."
The painful expression on the knight's face was quickly replaced by resolve. He straightened his back and continued his narration.
"These past years, I have wandered, living off tournament prize money and working as a mercenary. To survive, I've developed some passable skills."
Arthur listened quietly, not interrupting.
Rosso took a deep breath, as if recalling something: "It was Ser Brynden Tully who suggested I try my luck here."
"He said you are a unique lord in Westeros, one who values a person's strength over his noble lineage."
"So, My Lord, I come to you to request enfeoffment based on my strength."
A faint smile touched Arthur's lips: "So, Ser, you are very confident in your abilities?"
Rosso Brun looked up, his grey eyes sweeping over the forty-plus bare-chested, sword-and-shield-wielding strong men who had gathered around, smiling.
His gaze did not waver in the slightest: "Yes, My Lord Arthur."
Arthur's interest grew. He used to prefer absolutely loyal people, but now he liked capable people, provided they were truly capable.
He waved his hand: "If that's the case, let me see it, Ser Rosso."
"As you command, My Lord Arthur." Rosso answered without hesitation, taking his longsword from his horse.
Arthur's gaze shifted behind him, and the figure standing beside him like a giant bear or an iron tower immediately understood.
Brin stepped forward with long strides. With each step he took, the ground beneath his feet seemed to tremble slightly.
Rosso Brun looked at Brin's massive physique and arms almost as thick as his own thighs, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
He looked at Arthur and spoke: "My Lord..."
2
Arthur looked at him: "Are you afraid, Ser?"
Rosso shook his head, his gaze still calm: "No, My Lord."
"I merely wish to say, when two fierce tigers fight, blood will surely spill. When the duel concludes, whether it is I or this warrior under your command,
both will be covered in blood. This man is your trusted confidant, and his injury would be a loss to you."
Arthur listened to this somewhat unexpected statement, a little surprised; this was interesting.
He raised an eyebrow: "You are very confident."
"Or rather, you are confident you can injure him?"
Rosso Brun's gaze swept over the other soldiers around: "I am merely stating a possibility."
"To prove my worth, I hope to fight three against one."
This proposal made the surrounding soldiers stop their actions, all casting curious and somewhat malicious glances, eager to try.
What had they heard? Someone said he would fight three of them to prove his worth.
Arthur, however, shook his head: "There are no such rules here. To prove your strength, start with one-on-one."
His gaze passed over Brin and Rosso, landing on a strong man who was watching the commotion: "Corin, you're up."
The strong man whose name was called immediately stepped forward. His name was Corin, one of Brin's ten brothers. Although his build was not as exaggerated as Brin's, his entire body was also made of lean, powerful muscle.
With Arthur's command, he said nothing, took a real sword handed to him by another strong man, and walked into the arena. Rosso Brun also picked up his longsword.
At Arthur's command,
the battle erupted instantly.
Corin charged forward, powerful and fierce, bringing his sword down in a mighty cleave. The two swords clashed.
Rosso Brun felt a tremendous force transmit through the sword, making his tiger's mouth go numb.
Rosso Brun was forced to retreat repeatedly by Corin's fierce assault. Corin's offensive came in waves like a tide, giving him no chance to breathe. He could only rely on his richer experience and more refined parrying techniques to barely hold on.
Although Arthur had not studied any particular sword styles, he could see that Corin's swordplay was broad and open, each move executed with full force. It was a killing sword style honed on the battlefield, requiring no special technique, only full commitment.
This fighting style had no technique to speak of, but it was just as effective against others who also relied on brute force without technique.
The strong men on the sidelines cheered loudly, proud of their comrade's ferocity. This scoundrel had dared to claim he would fight three of them right off the bat, showing such contempt for them.
Rosso Brun was shocked. He had thought it would be easy to deal with one of Arthur's soldiers, but he hadn't expected the opponent's strength, speed, and fighting style to far exceed his expectations.
In a lull in the parrying, he glimpsed Arthur's calm face. He knew that if he couldn't even pass this test, he would be utterly humiliated. He would have to slink away today.
And from then on, he would become infamous throughout the Seven Kingdoms for this incident. He would be humiliated to the point of being known throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
He took a deep breath, biting his lip, determined not to hold back any longer, to give his all. No longer just defending, he feigned an opening, luring Corin into a full-force chop. As Corin's longsword was about to strike his body, he sharply sidestepped. Corin's blade grazed his chest chainmail, and blood splattered.
Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly. Corin was going to lose. After all, combat on the battlefield was different from fighting techniques in a duel.
Sure enough, Rosso Brun delivered a flying kick to Corin's back, who, due to overexertion, could not stop his forward momentum and stumbled.
The battle was over. Corin was kicked to the ground. Although Rosso Brun won, the price he paid was a gash across his chest, with blood seeping from the gaps in his chainmail.
He was breathing heavily, his face devoid of any joy of victory, instead filled with shock.
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