7 – The First Real Lesson In a quiet, out-of-the-way empty house in Rain House, the air carried a faint scent of blood mixed with the damp mold of old wood.
A massive shadowcat corpse lay on a rough wooden rack.
Brienne held a sharp flaying knife and carefully cut open the flesh around the beast’s neck.
Her movements were slow.
Fine beads of sweat formed on her forehead.
She had expected the inside of the shadowcat’s body to be little more than pulp.
After all, she had seen the power of Rek’Sai’s punch with her own eyes—the hard skull had been shattered outright.
Yet when the knife peeled back the hide and revealed the muscle beneath, her hand suddenly stopped.
The shadowcat’s skull was indeed broken, but that violent force had been controlled with extreme precision, confined to an extremely small area.
Aside from the fatal wound, every other bone in the body remained intact.
Even on the underside of the pelt there were only pinprick-sized spots of blood.
The thick black-and-silver fur was shockingly complete.
Not a single unnecessary tear.
This was impossible.
Brienne murmured under her breath.
It required not only overwhelming power, but also masterful control over that power—like using a battering ram to carve a fragile walnut.
One bit more force and the pelt would be ruined.
One bit less and the beast would not die in a single blow.
Rek’Sai sat on a wooden chair nearby, sharpening both of his axes with a rough whetstone.
The steady shhh-shhh of stone on steel filled the empty room.
“Power is only a tool.” He did not look up.
His rough voice vibrated through the space.
Brienne watched him and quietly corrected her earlier judgment of the giant.
He was no mindless savage.
He was a master of killing.
She drew a deep breath and continued working on the pelt.
The next day, in an open lot behind the street.
With gold dragons driving them, the blacksmith and leatherworker worked at high speed.
Three days would be enough.
Rek’Sai decided to enjoy himself in the meantime and properly train his Pig.
The saddle was made of thick, well-tanned cowhide, edged with refined iron, and weighed over a hundred pounds.
Rek’Sai decided to wash the big beast himself.
Even for money, no one was willing to scrub it clean.
Pig refused to go near the water buckets.
The thousand-jin Boar King dug all four hooves into the ground and protested with low, stubborn grunts.
It was used to coating itself in mud.
Losing that protection made it uneasy.
Pig suddenly jerked backward.
Its enormous strength exploded.
On the other end of the iron chain, Brienne was almost pulled off her feet.
Her boots carved deep furrows in the mud.
What the hell is inside this thing?
she cursed silently.
How many giant souls does this pig have?
Its strength was ridiculous.
And somehow he kept it as a pet.
Rek’Sai sighed, set the whetstone on the table, and strode over.
Disobedient beasts needed a beating.
He walked to Pig’s side.
No fancy movements.
He simply raised a palm the size of a fan and slammed it across the Boar King’s thick rump.
The sharp crack of the slap carried halfway down the street.
Pig’s massive body staggered half a meter sideways.
It howled in pain.
It twisted its head around.
Those eighty-centimeter tusks pointed straight at Rek’Sai.
Savage light flashed in its eyes.
Instinct told it to strike back at the human who had challenged its dignity.
Rek’Sai gave a cold snort, stepped forward, and clamped both hands around the tusks.
His waist coiled.
He shouted once.
Under the stunned eyes of Brienne and the watching blacksmiths, Rek’Sai heaved the one-ton monster completely over onto its back.
Dust flew.
The ground trembled.
Pig lay on its back, belly exposed.
Rek’Sai climbed straight on top of it.
Fists the size of iron pots rained down on the Boar King’s thick skull.
The heavy, meaty impacts made everyone listening grind their teeth.
The ferocity in Pig’s eyes vanished, replaced by pure grievance and submission.
Its gaze cleared.
It whimpered, tucked its tail, and rubbed its huge head against Rek’Sai’s leg, no longer daring to resist.
Rek’Sai stood up and brushed the dust from his hands.
Brienne’s eyelid twitched as she watched.
In the end, Pig stood obediently beside the water buckets and allowed the big brushes to scrub it completely clean.
After the washing, the Boar King’s dark-gray bristles even shone a little under the sunlight.
Once the iron-reinforced cowhide saddle was strapped on, it looked like a moving fortress of steel.
Late on the third night, on the inn’s balcony.
The sea wind was cool and carried a salty dampness.
Brienne had changed into clean linen clothes.
She stood under the moonlight holding a wooden practice sword, mechanically repeating chopping motions.
Rek’Sai leaned against the wooden railing, holding a jug of cheap ale, drinking without much interest.
“Your movements are too stiff.” He spoke suddenly.
Brienne stopped, looking at the wooden sword with some discouragement.
Rek’Sai snorted and took another swig.
“Why do you want to be a knight?” “Because a knight stands for honor and justice.” Brienne straightened her back and spoke loudly.
“I want to be like the ones in the songs—protect the weak and serve my lord.” Rek’Sai turned.
His green vertical pupils gleamed with sharp intelligence in the dark.
He walked up to her.
His height created overwhelming pressure, completely covering her in shadow.
“Stop the bullshit, little girl.” His voice was low, but it struck exactly where she was most sensitive.
“You fight so hard to put on armor and pick up a sword only because you’re not pretty enough, not soft enough to be a proper highborn lady.
You’re afraid of the men’s mockery.
Afraid of the disappointment in your father’s eyes.
Because in your family… there’s only you left.” Brienne instinctively stepped back.
The hand holding the wooden sword trembled slightly.
“That’s not—” “Lying to me is easy.
Just say ‘no’ and you’re done.
I only hope you can lie to yourself the same way.” Rek’Sai cut her off, tone certain.
“You think that as long as you follow those fucking oaths better than anyone else, they’ll look at you as an equal.
You’re wrong.
Prejudice is a mountain.” He pointed at his own chest.
“In this world, the weak beg for recognition.
The strong make others beg for theirs.
Strength is the only passport.
Understand, disciple?” In his heart Rek’Sai silently cursed: Westerosi noble education is pure poison.
It took a natural-born heavy infantry talent and turned her into a girl full of knightly fantasies.
Brienne stood frozen in place.
The night wind stirred her blond hair.
Her eyes had gone a little red, but something that had bound her for years was quietly cracking apart in those blue eyes.
She looked at Rek’Sai’s enormous, almost demonic frame and felt that what this master said was the truth.
She drew a deep breath.
When she spoke again, her voice no longer trembled.
It was steadier than it had ever been.
On the morning of the fourth day, on the deck of a large sailing ship.
Pig had already been settled in the hold.
The three-masted vessel slowly pulled away from Rain House’s docks.
Sea wind howled.
The canvas stretched taut.
Rek’Sai stood on the deck, watching the outline of Rain House grow smaller.
Brienne stood behind him.
Her eyes had already changed.
Ser Goodwin emerged from the cabin, face still dark.
He looked at the two standing side by side—especially at Brienne’s new, aggressive stance—and his brow furrowed even deeper.
“Set sail!” the captain shouted from the sterncastle.
The great ship cut through the waves and raced toward the island of Tarth.