New students start from 'Game of Thrones'

Chapter 11 The Duel

"Lord Eddard, are you certain you want to send this guard to his death? Sometimes, being tall doesn't mean you can win," Jaime Lannister sneered, glancing at Owen with undisguised contempt.

Eddard paid no attention to his taunt. He simply asked a servant for a cup of wine and settled comfortably into a chair.

"Haha... Eddard, you never cease to surprise me. Letting your guard challenge a Lannister lord—what a fine idea! Come here," Robert, seated on the high table, was thoroughly amused by the scene. He had sobered up a little and called out to Eddard. "Since you won't fight, sit with me. Let's enjoy this entertaining duel together!"

At Robert's words, Eddard stood and walked over. Robert waved him up, gesturing for him to climb onto the high table. Reluctantly, Eddard gripped the edge of the table and hauled himself up.

"Bring a chair for our future Hand! Let him sit and watch the fight in comfort!" Robert said, slapping the plump kitchen maid on the bottom as he held his wine cup.

A servant quickly fetched a chair for Eddard. He sat down, casting a helpless glance at the flushed, boisterous Robert and sighing softly.

"Begin! Let's see if the swords of the North can truly defeat the Kingslayer!" Robert shouted, waving at the two men standing in the center of the hall.

At Robert's command, Owen gave a slight bow in his direction, then turned to Jaime Lannister, his eyes alight with amusement.

"Boy, your look is quite annoying," Jaime said quietly, his gaze sharp.

"And your hairstyle is equally irritating," Owen replied with a smile.

"Foolish enough to be Eddard Stark's pawn—and still dare to be so insolent!" Jaime drew his sword, his eyes narrowing.

"We'll see," Owen shrugged, unconcerned. He pulled his Viking-style sword from his waist—a weapon he had spent a fortune to forge.

Their swords were of different makes. Jaime's was a typical bastard sword: a long hilt and slender blade, usable with one or two hands. Owen's, by contrast, was a classic one-handed sword—broad-bladed, with a heavy pommel for balance. Though the hilt was not overly long, it could still be wielded with two hands. Forged specifically to suit Owen's height, it was technically a one-handed sword, but in practice, it was closer to a greatsword.

As the two drew their blades, the noise in the great hall fell silent. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the pair in the center.

They circled each other slowly, inching closer. When they were near enough, their swords clashed with a sharp clang.

"Ha!"

Jaime let out a roar, thrusting his sword at Owen's chest with lightning speed.

Ding!

Owen parried the sudden strike with ease, then changed his stance in a fluid motion. His sword arced toward Jaime's head in a powerful slash.

The force of Owen's blow threw Jaime off balance. He barely managed to block the strike in a fluster, then stumbled back several steps to put distance between them.

In just one exchange, Jaime had nearly been caught off guard. He abandoned his arrogance, using the momentary gap to steady his breathing and wipe the cold sweat from his palm on his clothes.

"Ha! What skill! Never thought I'd see the Kingslayer look so cautious!" Robert watched the brief skirmish, delighting in Jaime's setback. His mood lifted considerably.

"Go on! Keep fighting! Tall one, teach that Lannister boy a lesson!" Robert waved his hand, shouting.

Only Robert dared to shout so loudly in the hall. No one else would risk angering Cersei—the lioness.

The two men circled each other again. Their swords clashed rapidly, filling the air with a continuous ding-ding-ding. Jaime attacked with all his strength, but every strike was parried effortlessly by Owen. And each of Owen's counterattacks forced Jaime to fight for his life.

Cersei sat frozen in her chair, watching as her brother—and lover—was pushed into a flustered, dangerous position by Owen. Her anger boiled over. She no longer cared about decorum; she smashed the wine cup in front of her and screamed, "Kingsguard! Seize him!"

At Cersei's yell, three of the Kingsguard who had traveled with Robert—all except Barristan Selmy—drew their swords and surrounded Owen.

The Stark guards were incensed by Cersei's shamelessness. Jory Cassel immediately drew his sword, ready to lead a guard forward to aid Owen.

"Stay back!" Owen shouted to Jory, fending Jaime off with a single strike. He stepped forward to meet the three approaching Kingsguard.

Now, Owen held nothing back. His expensive sword whirled in his hands as he took the initiative to attack the three men.

Against Owen at full strength, the three Kingsguard stood no chance. In the first exchange, Owen used his agility and powerful strikes to take down the lead Kingsguard, disarming him with a single move.

It was a stroke of bad luck for that Kingsguard—Meryn Trant, a loyal follower of House Lannister. Eager to curry favor with his mistress, he had charged first, only to be knocked senseless by Owen's close-quarters assault.

The remaining two royal guards attacked Owen together. Without fear, Owen effortlessly wielded two swords, blocking their attacks while constantly repelling James who was circling and attacking from behind.

Owen was a natural with dual swords. He bore the title "Mountain"—a name not easily earned. It was a title of the Viking giants, who were born with the blood of berserkers. In the game Northgard, berserkers were masters of dual swords—charging into battle, breaking enemy lines, and unleashing whirlwind attacks even when surrounded.

Thus, even against three Kingsguard and Jaime Lannister, Owen remained unafraid. He fought with growing ferocity, driving the four men back step by step.

The great hall was no longer silent. The Stark family and their guards cheered loudly, shouting encouragement to Owen. Even Robert, seated on the high table, stood up, waving his empty wine cup and roaring.

This thrilling display had stirred the warrior's passion deep within Robert. He could only vent his fighting spirit through loud shouts.

The battle in the center was drawing to an end. The three Kingsguard were already overwhelmed. When one of them had his sword flicked away by Owen and was struck down with a slash to the back, the outcome was sealed.

In the blink of an eye, the other Kingsguard was also knocked to the ground. Only Jaime Lannister remained standing.

Owen was barely breaking a sweat, his breathing steady. Jaime, by contrast, was drenched in sweat, gasping for air, his grip on his sword growing unsteady.

"Ser Jaime—are you satisfied with the swords of the North?" Owen asked, advancing toward Jaime step by step.

"Why not concede? It would save you some dignity," Owen added, his tone calm.

Jaime felt humiliated by Owen's words. Like a wounded lion, he let out a roar, gripping his sword with both hands and charging at Owen in a blind rage. He thrust his blade forward with all his remaining strength.

Ding!

Jaime's sword was sent flying, clattering to the floor nearby. Owen's other blade struck Jaime hard on the back, knocking him unconscious. He crumpled to the ground, motionless.

"Owen!" Jory Cassel raised his fist and shouted, saluting him.

"Owen!" The Stark guards and the Wolf's Keep servants all raised their hands, shouting in unison.

"Owen!" Arya shouted from her chair. All the Stark children—except Sansa Stark—joined in, honoring Owen.

Owen did not let the cheers cloud his judgment. He walked to Robert and bowed slightly, then raised his voice: "Glory to the king! Victory to House Stark!"

"Glory to the king! Victory to House Stark!" Everyone in Winterfell echoed Owen's cry.