For the spectators around the arena, Lind's sudden halt made them let out waves of regretful sighs. After all, the number of people who had died at Lind's hands had already reached eighty-seven, nearly encompassing the warriors sent by every noble house except House Tyrell.
House Tully in particular had been completely wiped out—every single one of their warriors, including their leader, Ser Dalton, had died by Lind's hand. As for House Arryn, aside from two men who withdrew due to injuries inflicted by others, all the rest had also been killed by him.
Although many of those who died to Lind were killed through ambushes while they were already engaged in combat with others, in the eyes of the crowd, this was not considered dishonorable at all.
In truth, many people in the melee had done exactly the same thing. The only difference was the number of kills. Lind simply seemed uncannily capable of finding targets ripe for ambush amid the chaos.
Everyone had been waiting for the death toll at Lind's hands to break past a hundred—but just then, Lind abruptly stopped fighting. Regretful cries immediately echoed through the arena, and some people even loudly urged the remaining participants to attack Lind together.
However, the pile of corpses beneath Lind's feet was far too shocking. Even those participants who had not personally witnessed his slaughter were terrified. No matter how viciously the spectators hurled insults from the sidelines, none of them dared step within ten meters of Lind.
At this very moment, in House Tyrell's temporary camp, the nobles of the Rose House watching the battle were also deeply shaken by the scene before them. Whether on the battlefield or in tourneys, there had been examples of one man fighting many—but a massacre like Lind's, cutting down nearly a hundred people like harvesting grass, was something they had never seen before.
Duke Mace Tyrell stared in a daze for quite a while before finally turning to Garlan and asking,
"I remember… what was his name again?"
"Lind. Lind of White Village," Garlan replied with a nod, once again introducing Lind's identity. He was confident that this time, his father would not forget Lind's name.
When Mace Tyrell learned that Garlan had recruited Lind into House Tyrell from under House Clegane's banner, he praised the decision repeatedly, seemingly forgetting that Fortimo, Highgarden's master-at-arms, was standing right behind him.
It was only after Maester Moryn tugged at his sleeve to remind him that Mace realized he had gone too far. He awkwardly turned to Fortimo, whose face remained expressionless, and said,
"I recall that your niece, Menedys Clegane, has already taken up residence in Highgarden. She's about the same age as my daughter Margaery, who happens to need a companion. Let her serve as Margaery's lady-in-waiting."
"Yes, my lord. To become Lady Margaery's companion is Meny's honor," Fortimo replied. He understood this was the Duke's way of compensating his family and accepted it without hesitation.
Duke Mace Tyrell turned his attention back to the arena. While he was thrilled by Lind's outstanding performance, he could not help but voice a concern.
"If that Lind ends up fighting His Majesty the King… he won't go for the kill, will he?"
Faced with the Duke's worry, both Garlan and Fortimo—who knew Lind fairly well—froze for a moment. They exchanged glances and answered uncertainly,
"He probably… won't?"
At this point, the number of fighters left in the arena had dropped to fewer than a hundred. Aside from Lind, every remaining participant was wounded. Even King Robert had taken a blow to the head from someone unknown—his helmet was dented, and one of the antlers had snapped off. Yet he showed no sign of fatigue. On the contrary, his face was lit with excitement, and the warhammer in his hands still swung with tremendous force.
Compared to Lind, who left no survivors once he struck, everyone else was clearly lacking. Most had withdrawn due to injuries, and relatively few had actually died. This made Lind, standing amid a field of corpses, stand out all the more starkly.
At this moment, King Robert was leading his remaining Storm's End guards, along with warriors from the Vale, the Riverlands, and the North, in a joint assault on the remaining Lannister fighters—determined to wipe them out completely.
House Tyrell's ducal guard had fallen early during the encirclement. Out of the entire unit, only nine men managed to walk out of the arena alive. Ser Salif, who had earlier declared he would not rescue Lind, was struck on the back of the head by a warhammer at the very start of the battle, his fate unknown. The remaining guards fought hard, but without a commander, they were eventually scattered by attacks from all sides and defeated.
On another front, House Martell of Dorne still had six warriors remaining. Clearly experienced in similar dueling melees, they coordinated seamlessly. Even when surrounded by over a dozen fighters from minor noble houses, they handled the situation with ease—pressing their enemies back instead. From the looks of it, they were likely to emerge as the ultimate victors on this battlefield.
Meanwhile, a few surviving noble warriors foolishly wandered toward Lind. They apparently had no idea that all the corpses on the ground were his handiwork. As a result, they too became part of that pile of bodies, and the number of people killed by Lind rose to ninety-four.
After more than ten minutes passed, the two remaining battlefields quickly decided their outcomes. Though the Lannister warriors were well-equipped and seasoned veterans, they still could not withstand the encirclement led by King Robert and were forced to withdraw from the arena.
As they withdrew, they also took most of King Robert's remaining allies with them. Now, only three men stood by the King's side. Judging from their sigils, one was from House Karstark of the North, while the other two were warriors of House Tarpadon of Ninestars in the Vale. From their equipment, it was clear all three were of noble birth.
On the other side, the Martell warriors had eliminated all their opponents. Two of them had died in the arena, leaving four survivors, all badly wounded. They exchanged glances and chose not to attack the lone Lind. Instead, they charged straight toward King Robert.
The three warriors standing beside King Robert naturally would not allow the Dornish fighters to approach him. They rushed forward to intercept.
However, these noble warriors clearly underestimated the Dornishmen's resolve. Three of the four Dornish fighters charged like men ready to die, trading their lives for their enemies'—falling together with the noble warriors. The last one continued toward King Robert, clearly intending to take the King down with him in the same way.
The crowd instantly saw through the Dornishman's intent, and gasps rang out. The Kingsguard rushed into the arena, preparing to intervene.
Yet King Robert paid no heed to the Dornish warrior's suicidal intent. Like a charging war chariot, he rushed forward. With his right arm's gauntlet, he blocked the incoming scimitar, then seized the Dornishman's throat with his left hand and twisted violently—snapping his neck.
"What are you doing? The melee isn't over yet! Who let you in here? Get the hell out!" King Robert roared when he saw the Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks storming into the arena.
The crowd halted. Seeing King Robert toss the Dornishman's corpse aside, they finally relaxed and withdrew from the arena.
At this moment, only Lind and King Robert remained inside the field. The entire arena fell silent.
Robert Baratheon stared at Lind, his final opponent, his gaze sweeping over the corpses littering the ground. His expression grew noticeably more serious.
Though he had been fully focused on fighting earlier, he had still heard the cheers from the spectators—heard that a monstrously powerful warrior had appeared, one who had killed nearly a hundred men.
At the time, he thought it was merely exaggeration born of excitement. But now, seeing Lind and the bodies at his feet, he began to believe those cheers.
At the same time, Lind was also observing Robert Baratheon, his mind racing as he calculated his strategy.
There was no doubt about it—this Robert Baratheon was nothing like the man he would become over a decade later. At this moment, he was at his absolute peak, far surpassing ordinary knights in strength.
Moreover, he wore heavy armor, with an inner layer woven from special materials beneath it. In all the attacks he had endured so far, aside from the blow to the head, none had been able to breach his armor. Even strikes that landed precisely on the gaps were stopped by the inner armor.
Although Lind's hand-and-a-half sword was forged from special materials, whether it could pierce Robert's heavy armor and inner protection was still unknown. If his attack failed, Robert's combat experience would allow him to seize the opening and counterattack, placing Lind in a passive position.
More importantly—his opponent was the King. If Lind truly inflicted a fatal injury on him, Lind would undoubtedly be doomed afterward. No one would spare him just because of tournament rules. Because of that, Lind would inevitably fight with restraint.
Thinking this through, Lind began to consider withdrawing from the arena altogether.
However, Robert Baratheon seemed to see through Lind's intention. Without giving him a chance to speak, Robert lifted his warhammer and charged straight at him, forcibly initiating the battle.
Facing the onrushing Robert, Lind instantly cast aside all hesitation. He entered full combat mode, gripping his hand-and-a-half sword with both hands as he advanced to meet him.
When Robert reached Lind, he skillfully raised his warhammer and swung it horizontally toward Lind's waist. Even as he attacked, he prepared for Lind to dodge—no matter which direction Lind evaded, Robert's follow-up strikes would come relentlessly, leaving no opening for counterattack.
Yet Lind did something that shocked everyone present.
He released his grip on the sword entirely.
Leaping upward just beyond the warhammer's sweep, he curled his body in midair, perfectly avoiding the weapon as it passed beneath him. Before Robert could react, Lind gathered all his strength and kicked off toward him.
Lind was already powerfully built. Adding the weight of his armor and the momentum of the charge, when his boots struck Robert, the King suffered no injury thanks to his armor—but the sheer force sent him flying backward, crashing heavily to the ground.
As he hit the ground, the weight of his helmet slammed his head into the earth. The earlier head injury flared up immediately, leaving him dizzy and unable to rise.
In contrast, Lind had prepared for this. As he landed, he rolled smoothly across the ground to dissipate the impact, then sprang back to his feet.
Without hesitation, he charged to the fallen King and kicked hard at the arm gripping the warhammer, snapping it under the sheer force.
As Robert screamed in pain, Lind dropped his weight onto him, straddling his torso. Pinning one arm with his legs, Lind raised both fists and began raining down heavy punches on Robert's head, left and right.
Robert tried to block, but one arm had already been broken, and the other was firmly pinned beneath Lind's leg. He could do nothing but endure the iron-gauntleted blows.
Before long, his once-handsome face swelled visibly. Blood flowed from the broken skin, and he slipped into a semi-conscious state.
"Enough! Warrior of House Tyrell—I believe you've gone far enough."
Just as Lind was about to knock Robert Baratheon completely unconscious, a longsword came down against his neck, and Jaime Lannister's voice sounded from behind him.
Hearing the voice, Lind lowered his raised fists, turned his head to look at Jaime Lannister, and—panting—rose from atop the King. Under the threat of the blade at his neck, he stepped away from Robert's body.
In truth, although Lind had been beating King Robert, he had never relaxed his awareness of his surroundings. When Jaime rushed over and drew his sword, the blade was not aimed at any vital point—it was clearly a warning rather than a killing strike. Lind judged that Jaime posed no real danger, so he did not evade and allowed the sword to rest at his neck. Now, it seemed his judgment had been correct.
At the same time, Ser Barristan and the rest of the Kingsguard rushed over to check on King Robert. Others moved toward Lind, intending to seize him—but Jaime Lannister stopped them.
The arena fell deathly silent.
No one had expected this grand melee to end like this: the King beaten senseless in the arena, the final champion threatened at swordpoint. Everyone waited for the final verdict—especially House Tyrell, whose nerves were stretched tight, since Lind belonged to them.
"What are you waiting for? Arrest this man who attacked the King!"
At that moment, Queen Cersei stormed forward in a fury, shouting orders at the people around her.
Her command echoed across the arena, stirring waves of uproar and even boos. In the eyes of many, Queen Cersei's order was nothing but a stain on this spectacular melee.
The Gold Cloaks immediately stepped forward to seize Lind. Jaime Lannister wanted to stop them, but since the order came from Cersei herself, he hesitated.
...
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(End Chapter)