19 – Invitation from Casterly Rock The sound of hoofbeats stopped at the village entrance.
Mud flew.
Ser Goodwin reined in hard.
His warhorse stamped restlessly in place.
The old master-at-arms of Evenfall Hall stared at the Cedar Village in front of him for a long time, unable to recover his composure.
A brand-new wall of round logs had risen from the ground.
The sharpened stakes still carried the bitter scent of freshly cut timber.
In front of the chevaux-de-frise, two dark-gray giant wolves of absurd size were lying on the ground gnawing at something.
The sharp crack of breaking bones rang especially harsh in the thin morning mist.
At the sound of hoofbeats both wolves lifted their heads at the same time.
Dark-red tongues licked across blood-stained fangs.
Ghostly green vertical pupils stared coldly at the newcomers.
Ser Goodwin’s warhorse let out a piercing scream of terror.
Its front hooves rose high, nearly throwing the old knight to the ground.
The three squires behind him were even more panicked, faces ashen.
“Steady!” Goodwin yanked hard on the reins.
A fine layer of cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
The village gate creaked open.
Brienne strode out wearing a set of chainmail polished to a bright shine.
Her steps carried an unprecedented steadiness and killing edge.
“Ser Goodwin?” “Lady Brienne.” When Goodwin clearly recognized the person, the tension in his shoulders suddenly released.
“Are you… are you all right?
Gods above, how can there be monsters like these at the village entrance?” “They are my master’s battle pets, and also the guardians of Cedar Village.” Brienne’s tone was calm.
She did not even place a hand on her sword hilt.
“Please come in.
Master is waiting for you.” Goodwin swallowed hard and dismounted with his squires.
Leading their trembling warhorses, they forced themselves to walk between the two giant wolves.
Low, deep rumbles rose from the wolves’ throats, as if they were measuring whether these few people would make a sufficient breakfast.
Walking into the village, Goodwin was shocked again.
The dilapidated fishing village was gone.
On the square, several dozen able-bodied young men were holding wooden practice swords and performing chopping drills under Pat’s direction.
Sweat mixed with mud.
No one was slacking.
Not far away, a terrifying wild boar the size of a battering ram was lying on its back in a mud pit while a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl vigorously scrubbed its back with a grass brush.
The boar was making comfortable grunting sounds.
This place no longer looked like a rural village.
It looked more like a tightly run military camp.
Goodwin looked at Brienne.
He discovered that the female apprentice who used to be constantly mocked now stood with her spine perfectly straight.
The blind fanaticism for knightly honor that once filled her eyes had disappeared, replaced by a cold, sharp edge.
In the newly built stone hall at the center of the village, Rek’Sai sat in the main seat.
His massive body was like a small mountain cast from raw iron, making the wide oak chair creak under the weight.
He was looking down as he wiped that exaggeratedly shaped Arcanite Reaper.
The ancient gold set into the blade reflected a dark gold-red sheen in the firelight.
“My lord.” Goodwin stepped forward and gave a slight bow.
Although deep in his heart he still resisted this hunter who had not the slightest knightly bearing, when he faced that overwhelming size and power, his body instinctively assumed a posture of submission.
“Lord Selwyn has business?” Rek’Sai did not even lift his head.
His low voice hummed through the hall, making the torches on the walls flicker.
Goodwin took a letter sealed with golden yellow sealing wax from his breast.
“Duke Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock has sent an invitation.” He offered the letter with both hands.
“To celebrate the complete end of the Greyjoy Rebellion, Duke Tywin will hold a grand tourney at Casterly Rock.
Every family of any standing across the Seven Kingdoms has received an invitation.” Rek’Sai’s hand wiping the axe blade paused.
Casterly Rock.
The Westerlands.
The Lannisters.
The richest place in all of Westeros.
“Lord Selwyn hopes you will represent House Tarth in the competition.” Goodwin looked at Rek’Sai, his tone taking on a trace of solemnity.
“This concerns the face of the Stormlands, and also the honor of House Tarth.
Lord Selwyn said that since you are already a landed knight of Tarth, you should naturally don armor and fight for the family.” Rek’Sai casually hung the Arcanite Reaper back at his waist and roughly tore open the envelope.
“How much is the prize money?” Goodwin was choked by the direct question for a moment.
His brow furrowed slightly.
“My lord, the champion of the tourney will receive an astonishing prize of forty thousand gold dragons.
The champion of the melee will also receive twenty thousand gold dragons.
But more importantly…” “Enough.” Rek’Sai interrupted him without the slightest courtesy.
At that exact moment a semi-transparent light screen appeared at the edge of Rek’Sai’s vision.
[Quest Activated: Proceed to Casterly Rock and Participate in the Tourney] [Requirement: Achieve a ranking in the tourney and make a name for yourself.] [Basic Reward: Greatly increased fire resistance.] [Single Combat Champion Reward: Greatly increased poison resistance.] [Melee Champion Reward: Greatly increased recovery ability.] Rek’Sai grinned.
A wild smile spread across his rough face.
Sharp white canines appeared and disappeared in the firelight.
All of them were excellent things.
Especially the fire resistance.
He knew the true nature of this continent very well.
Against certain winged reptiles, or those red-robed priests who loved playing with fire, this was absolute life-saving capital.
“Go back and tell Lord Selwyn.” Rek’Sai stood up.
His 2.4-meter shadow completely swallowed Goodwin in an instant.
The old master-at-arms felt his breath catch, as if he were facing a giant bear about to pounce on its prey.
“I accept the honor of House Tarth.” Rek’Sai looked down at him from above.
“But let’s make one thing clear first—all the prize money I win is mine.
Not a single copper star will be shared.” Goodwin secretly let out a breath of relief and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“Of course, my lord.
Lord Selwyn never intended to take any of your prize money.
How many men do you plan to take?
Evenfall Hall can provide you with an elite guard of twenty men.” “I don’t need that kind of dead weight that will only drag me down.” Rek’Sai turned his head toward Brienne, who had been standing in attendance the entire time.
“You.
Then just pick two reasonably clever attendants.
Too many people on the road is pure waste of food.” Brienne’s brow furrowed slightly at the words.
She stepped forward.
“The journey is not short, Master.
From here to Casterly Rock we have to cross the Crownlands and the Riverlands.
The territory has only just gotten started.
Can it do without us?” Goodwin also showed a worried expression.
“Indeed, my lord.
Cedar Village only just suffered a pirate attack.
Right now the village is full of farmers with no real combat experience.
If the pirates from the Stepstones come seeking revenge…” Rek’Sai gave a cold snort and strode to the doorway of the hall.
He raised his right hand.
A piercing shriek came from high in the sky.
A massive black raven dove down from mid-air like a black lightning bolt and landed precisely on Rek’Sai’s thick arm.
Deep blue-black feathers reflected a metallic sheen in the sunlight.
That pointed beak, two fingers longer than an ordinary raven’s, carried a fierce aura.
“I’ll arrange everything.” Rek’Sai rubbed Blackfeather’s chin with his rough thumb.
Blackfeather obediently let out a rasping cry.
Its black-bean eyes coldly swept over everyone in the hall.