Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

"Old Baine is going to get it this time!"

"Corruption? The smiling guy, Will? I remember him as someone who valued honor above all else."

"You don't know anything. Corruption is just an excuse. He's actually caught up in the internal struggle of House Crane."

"Following the wrong person?"

"No, following the right person. It's just that he doesn't realize he's not as important to that person as he thinks he is."

"What do you mean?"

"Idiot, he's just a pawn in a trade!"

Among the crowd gathered outside the tavern to watch the spectacle, many were merchants who regularly traveled between cities. These traders had far more information than the average onlooker, and their hushed conversations unveiled the recent power shifts in Red Lake.

Lynd, whose hearing had mutated slightly, easily caught snippets of these conversations. Through them, he pieced together the reasons for the current situation and made a plan for his next move.

In truth, even without Old Baine's orders, Lynd had already resolved to go all out. He needed Ser Clov Crane to establish his reputation among the nobility of Red Lake.

With this thought in mind, Lynd gave Old Baine a subtle nod to signal his understanding. Without sparing Ser Clov another glance, he stepped into the open space in front of the tavern and spoke in an even tone, "Come on."

Lynd's calm demeanor and unflinching expression took the crowd by surprise. They had expected him to act out of anger, fear, or desperation. After all, he was an innocent man caught in the internal power struggles of House Crane, unjustly dragged into an unfair duel. It seemed natural for him to display strong emotions.

But Lynd remained eerily composed. Facing his heavily armed opponent, he appeared entirely indifferent, as if the other man were no more than an ordinary passerby. His calmness brought to mind the unsettling rumors about him circulating in Red Lake.

At that moment, the soldier chosen by Ser Clov began to look tense. The unshaken Lynd exuded an oppressive aura, as though he were some formidable, otherworldly presence. The soldier couldn't help but recall the tales of Lynd devouring the spirit of the mountain bear.

Yet, like Lynd, he had no choice but to proceed. Gritting his teeth, he tightened his grip on his sword. When he noticed Ser Clov's impatient expression, he took a deep breath and charged, swinging his blade diagonally toward Lynd's shoulder and neck in a well-practiced move.

Lynd, however, remained unperturbed. He sidestepped with the casual grace of someone taking a stroll, his body tilting slightly to evade the oncoming strike. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, he surged forward, colliding with the soldier.

The impact sent the soldier sprawling to the ground, unable to resist Lynd's momentum. Before he could recover, Lynd's foot came down on his neck. A sharp, blinding pain surged through the soldier's body, and in the next moment, everything went dark.

At that moment, an eerie silence fell over the clearing. The crowd, still trying to process what had happened, could only remember seeing Lynd take a few effortless steps before the soldier collapsed. The battle ended with a decisive stomp on the soldier's neck, breaking it instantly.

Ser Clov's composure faltered as he watched his man be eliminated so effortlessly. His frown deepened, and with a sharp gesture, he directed the next soldier to step forward and continue the fight against Lynd.

The second soldier's expression was one of despair. He was well aware that his skills were on par with his fallen comrade, and the prospect of facing the man who had just dispatched him with such ease filled him with dread. Yet, retreat was not an option. Gritting his teeth, he charged ahead, resigned to his fate.

As expected, Lynd disposed of the second soldier with the same effortless precision, as though snapping a twig from a roadside bush.

The crowd erupted into murmurs of disbelief. Lynd's strength was beyond what anyone had anticipated. While some among the merchants' sellswords might be capable of defeating such opponents, none could do so with Lynd's casual, almost dismissive ease. Even more unsettling was that after killing two soldiers, Lynd remained utterly calm, giving the impression that taking lives meant nothing to him.

"It's the spirit of the Mountain Bear! The spirit of the Mountain Bear!" exclaimed several White Holdfast residents in the crowd. Many of them were familiar with Lynd's past demeanor, and the stark contrast between the man they remembered and the one before them only fueled belief in the miraculous rumors surrounding him.

Lynd himself seemed entirely unaffected by the murmurs and stares. He bent down, picked up the long swords of the fallen soldiers, and gave them a few casual swings to get a feel for their weight. Then, with an air of complete nonchalance, he turned to Ser Clov and said, "Let the rest of them come at me together."

Ser Clov's face turned a deep shade of red. Humiliation burned through him. Originally, he had considered recruiting Lynd upon witnessing his strength, but now, the man had become a symbol of his disgrace. Erasing that humiliation became his sole focus.

"All of you, attack together!" Ser Clov roared at the remaining four soldiers.

The crowd responded with open disdain. Though it was Lynd who had suggested a group attack, Ser Clov's command drew scattered boos and jeers from onlookers. The whispers of disapproval, now audible, deepened Ser Clov's humiliation and fueled his growing hatred for Lynd.

The four soldiers hesitated briefly but then exchanged glances. Moving in sync, they removed the round wooden shields strapped to their backs and formed a standard shield wall formation. Slowly and methodically, they advanced on Lynd.

Seeing four soldiers adopt such a defensive formation against a single man drew even louder scorn from the crowd. The murmurs of disapproval erupted into outright jeers. Even those from White Holdfast, who were known not to get along with Lynd, found themselves criticizing Ser Clov's tactics.

Yet Lynd's calm remained unshaken. Unlike earlier, when he had taken a defensive stance, this time, he chose to attack. He charged directly at the gap between the shields of the two central soldiers, seemingly aiming to break their formation through sheer force.

This strategy was a familiar one, often used by armored knights to counter shield walls. However, its success relied heavily on the knight's heavy armor, which could amplify the impact and protect them from surrounding strikes. Lynd, dressed only in a thin short shirt, appeared to be making a reckless, suicidal charge.

The two soldiers bracing for Lynd's attack had the same thought. They pressed their shields tightly, preparing to absorb the impact and slow him enough for their companions to flank him. The soldiers at the sides, reading the situation perfectly, raised their swords, ready to strike the moment Lynd collided with the shields.

But Lynd's charge defied all expectations. Just as he was about to crash into the shields, his momentum vanished in an instant. Pivoting gracefully, he danced around the formation with uncanny agility, whirling like a skilled dancer in perfect rhythm. In a flash, he bypassed the shields entirely, slipping behind the soldiers before they could react.

During the spin, Lynd's dual swords did not remain idle. With surgical precision, he struck the napes of all four soldiers' necks in a single fluid motion.

The force of Lynd's rotation, combined with the strength of his arms, proved devastating. Three heads were severed cleanly, flying into the air with the residual energy of his strikes. The fourth head remained attached by a thin strip of flesh, hanging grotesquely at the wound. Blood gushed from the neck wounds in violent arcs, splattering onto Lynd's clothes and painting the ground in red.

The jeers and boos aimed at Ser Clov and his soldiers died instantly. The clearing was consumed by a stunned silence, broken only by the sickening hiss of blood pouring from the lifeless bodies.

"Bear Hunter!"

"Bear Hunter!"

...

No one knew who had first shouted Lynd's nickname, but the silence shattered instantly. Cheers erupted in a cacophony of accents, ringing out from all sides. Even the people of White Holdfast, normally at odds with Lynd, joined in the uproar, their voices loud and exhilarated, as though they had been the ones fighting moments ago.

Though the battle had lasted only a few seconds—over in the blink of an eye—for those who had witnessed it, it was the most thrilling fight they had ever seen. In their collective memory, no one had dispatched four opponents with such speed and elegance.

"Stay where you are!" Ser Clov's panicked voice cut through the noise. All pretense of noble composure abandoned, his face pale, he stumbled backward as Lynd, still drenched in blood, turned his gaze toward him. Ser Clov's terror only grew as he fumbled to untie his horse's reins. Without another word, he mounted the horse and galloped away in a desperate bid for escape, disappearing down the road at the edge of the village.

The crowd looked on in disdain, their faces etched with contempt for Ser Clov's cowardice. However, none dared speak openly against him. He was, after all, a member of House Crane—a family that, despite its decline, still ruled Red Lake. Mocking him quietly was the furthest they were willing to go.

"Disperse! Everyone disperse!" Old Baine's stern voice brought order to the lingering chaos. His expression remained somber, untouched by the excitement that had swept over the crowd. Turning to his subordinates, he barked out instructions. "Find that squinty-eyed guy and clean up the bodies. Strip them of their weapons and armor—they'll be useful. House Crane will probably send someone to collect them anyway."

He then gestured for Lynd to hand over the swords he held. Without hesitation, Lynd complied, passing the bloodied weapons to the tavern workers. With a nod, Old Baine motioned for Lynd to follow him, leading the way toward the backyard of the tavern.

Despite Lynd and Old Baine's departure, the onlookers remained rooted in place, still caught in the aftermath of the spectacle they had just witnessed. Some of the bolder caravan mercenaries gathered around the bodies, inspecting the wounds with morbid curiosity. They mimicked Lynd's swordsmanship, attempting to replicate his precise, fluid movements.

Others, however, whispered anxiously among themselves. Questions swirled: Would House Crane retaliate against Lynd for this incident? Would they send enforcers to arrest him—or worse, execute him?

As the crowd speculated on the trouble Lynd might face, Old Baine was addressing the same concerns with Lynd in the open space behind the tavern.

"How did you do it?" Old Baine asked eagerly as soon as they were alone.

Lynd, confused by the question, replied, "What do you mean?"

Old Baine attempted to mimic the move Lynd had used to dispatch the four soldiers. When Lynd had executed it, the motion was fluid and graceful, almost like a dance. Old Baine's attempt, however, looked more like he was struggling to swing a heavy wine barrel, resulting in an unintentionally comical display.

Lynd fought the urge to laugh, keeping his expression composed as he replied, "You told me to go all out."

"Yes, I told you to use your full strength," Old Baine admitted with a rueful smile. "But I didn't expect your full strength to be so devastating. The soldiers of House Crane may not be the finest troops in the Lord's Guard of The Reach, but they're still regular soldiers. I never imagined you'd kill six of them in one go. I underestimated you, Lynd. If I'd known your true combat ability, I would've gone straight to Lord Vortimer instead of involving Will. Things might not have turned out this way."

Lynd's expression turned serious. "Old man, what's really going on in Red Lake? Why would a noble suddenly come after me today?"

Old Baine sighed deeply, his tone heavy with regret. "You've been dragged into this because of me. I didn't foresee the internal strife in House Crane flaring up again, and it just so happened to ignite right after I visited Will."

With that, Old Baine began to explain what he had learned.

In the past, House Crane had been divided into two factions due to differing views on allegiance. One faction argued that, as the Lords of Highgarden and Wardens of the South, House Tyrell was the rightful authority to support. They believed House Crane should align itself with House Tyrell as a matter of loyalty and pragmatism.

The other faction disagreed, pointing out that the ties between House Crane and House Tyrell were tenuous at best, with no significant historical alliances. Aligning with House Tyrell, they argued, offered little tangible benefit. In contrast, House Florent of Brightwater Keep shared a much closer bond with House Crane. The two houses had intermarried frequently, fostering strong familial, economic, and political ties. House Florent's power, while not equal to House Tyrell's, was substantial enough to make an alliance more advantageous for House Crane.

The disagreement simmered for years without escalating, largely because it was overshadowed by a sudden reconciliation between House Tyrell and House Florent. However, the split within House Crane did not fade; instead, tensions deepened, culminating in a complete eruption of hostilities only recently.

The outcome of this internal conflict was both expected and surprising. The faction loyal to House Tyrell was decisively defeated, and power within House Crane shifted entirely to the faction aligned with House Florent. Ser Clov, the man Lynd had just fought, was a prominent member of this faction.