❝There is no justice in this world.
We make our own.❞
The guardsman’s blade flashed beneath the lamp hanging from its hook, coming down in a sweeping strike.
Arthur barely managed to raise his sword in time.
He knocked the blow aside and jumped backward.
The blade screeched against his own as it slid away, but Arthur couldn’t counterattack.
He’d lost his balance.
He took another step back and immediately felt his sandal sink into thick, filthy sludge.
His foot slipped across the wet straw, and Arthur crashed hard onto the floor, splashing himself with foul-smelling muck.
Horse shit.
“Ha!” William sneered as he stepped toward him.
“You’re going to die in shit…”
He raised his sword, preparing to drive it into Arthur’s chest.
Then he suddenly cried out and lurched forward.
Marea had leapt onto his back like a wildcat.
The girl dug her fingernails into him, desperately clawing at his face and neck.
She was screaming something, but Arthur couldn’t hear her.
The blood pounding in his ears drowned everything else out.
“Bitch!” the guardsman snarled, throwing her onto the floor.
He spun around, slashing backward almost blindly in his fury.
The blade tore through flesh with a horrible wet sound.
The girl jerked.
Dark blood sprayed from her throat.
Marea’s mouth opened in a silent scream.
She collapsed onto the floor, clutching her slashed throat, but the blood kept pouring out, filling her hands, running between her fingers, soaking her pale chest and torn tunic.
“Fuck!”
William had completely forgotten about Arthur.
He staggered back, angrily wiping at his face.
Apparently, Marea had managed to get him in the eye.
“Filth…
whore’s spawn…”
Arthur froze.
Her wide, glassy blue eyes were staring directly at him.
Only a moment ago, she’d been alive.
“Marea…” he whispered.
Then something inside him exploded.
With a scream, barely aware of himself anymore, Arthur charged William, swinging his sword wildly.
William reacted in time, knocking the blow aside with his blade, but Arthur was already crashing into him and knocking him to the ground.
They rolled across the filthy floor and straw.
Their swords fell from their hands.
Now it came down to fists.
The enraged boy struck wherever he could, hitting the man’s face, neck, chest, hearing the guardsman curse and struggle to throw him off.
William’s fist slammed into Arthur’s side, knocking the air from his lungs, but the boy didn’t stop.
“You killed her!”
Arthur screamed as he brought his fists down again and again.
His fist smashed through William’s defensive arms and slammed directly into his face.
A dull crack.
William’s nose folded sideways.
The next punch knocked out one of his front teeth.
Blood poured from his split lips, but Arthur kept hitting him.
Again.
Again.
Even after his knuckles became slick with blood.
“Bastard!” William rasped, twisting beneath him and trying to push the unexpectedly strong boy away with his legs.
Suddenly, a powerful hand grabbed Arthur by the collar and yanked him away from the guardsman like a kitten.
Arthur screamed and kicked wildly, but the grip didn’t loosen.
“Enough!”
The familiar voice belonged to Sandor.
Arthur was gasping for breath, struggling violently, but Clegane’s grip was like iron.
He threw Arthur aside like a kitten, and the boy crashed onto the floor beside the horse pen.
The horses nervously paced in circles, stomping their hooves in agitation.
They had no idea what was happening.
The shouting echoing through the barn had brought the others running.
The door flew open, and knights stumbled inside one after another.
Their faces still showed traces of sleep and drink.
Some weren’t wearing armor, but all of them already had weapons in their hands.
“What the hell is going on here?” Ser Cryston rasped as he looked around.
The first thing the knights saw was the blood-covered girl.
Her blonde hair was matted with blood, and her eyes were glassy and empty.
Then their gazes shifted toward Arthur, who was shaking with rage.
Sandor Clegane stood between them, glaring darkly at the guardsman.
William sat on the floor, spitting teeth and blood.
His face had been badly battered.
“That bastard…” Arthur rasped, his voice breaking but filled with fury.
“He tried to rape her.
Then he killed her!”
Several of the warriors exchanged glances.
The Lannister guardsman, his mouth mangled from Arthur’s punches, wiped blood from his chin and spat:
“Liar!
That girl wanted it herself.
The little shit attacked me first!
It was an accident…
I was defending myself…”
“Monster…” Arthur hissed through his teeth, stunned by the sheer shamelessness of the lie.
“I saw you tearing her clothes!”
“Oh, come on, boy.
What’s gotten into you?” one of the knights sneered.
“Women are women.
Who’d refuse one if she was willing?”
“She didn’t want it!” Arthur roared, grabbing the hilt of his sword.
“She was screaming, and…”
“And this little bastard attacked one of our own first,” William interrupted, wiping his split lip.
“By every law, he should be thrown out of the company!”
“By every law, rapists should hang from a tree,” Merlon Crakehall said firmly.
“Not to mention murderers of women.”
The big man stared heavily at the guardsman, who was rapidly sobering and turning pale.
“The boy did the right thing.”
Silence fell over the barn.
Clegane looked from one man to another, clearly thinking.
He desperately didn’t want to lose a fighter as capable as William.
But he couldn’t simply do nothing either.
Sandor hated rapists himself.
He maintained discipline in his group with an iron hand.
The example of his own brother immediately came to mind.
“Well?” he grunted.
“Who’s got something to say?”
Ser Cryston folded his arms across his chest, thoughtfully looking at the girl’s body.
“If the girl really attacked first, then it isn’t exactly murder.
Though honestly, I find that hard to believe.
Why would the boy lie about it?”
“I didn’t lie!” Arthur snapped.
“He…”
He wanted to continue, but stopped when Clegane gave him a warning look.
Arthur had already had his chance to tell his side.
“If you’re saying everything was consensual,” Steffon said skeptically, “then why were her clothes torn?”
William glared at him but reluctantly muttered:
“So what?
She wanted it…”
“Apparently having her scratch your face was part of the fun too,” the Hound said with a snort.
He had already made his difficult decision.
“I’ve got a strong suspicion it wasn’t the boy who started this.
“The girl was clearly resisting,” Willit quietly confirmed.
He had stepped closer and carefully examined her hands.
He’d seen the aftermath of soldiers’ brutality before, and he knew exactly what to look for.
“The boy should have told us,” Emerek said disapprovingly.
“He’s nobody, while William has served our liege lord faithfully for years.
You can’t simply attack a comrade over some girl.
And who is he anyway?
Some kid!”
“The fact that the boy beat him with his bare fists,” Ser Cryston said cheerfully, “actually makes me happier than it worries me.”
“And if you remember, that kid saved all of us by raising the alarm.
If he’d hesitated even a little longer, I’d be lying here with my throat cut.”
Several knights grunted in agreement.
Then heavy silence returned.
Everyone’s eyes turned toward Sandor.
He was the commander.
The decision was his.
Clegane suddenly looked at William in a way that made the guardsman uncomfortable.
William paled.
He realized where this was going.
Before Sandor could deliver his verdict, William shouted:
“I see what our brotherhood means to you!”
“I was born noble, and I demand trial by combat!
Right now!”
“Trial by combat?” Sandor repeated with a grin, resting a hand on his belt.
“Well, if that’s what you want, I’d be happy to beat every bit of shit out of you…”
“No,” William quickly spat.
“The cowardly bastard who caused this whore’s death lied about me and continues to accuse me.”
He pointed toward Arthur.
“That means I should fight him.”
The silence became ominous.
“Fight the boy…” Ser Merlon muttered contemptuously.
“You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?”
“Coward,” Steffon said more bluntly, glaring furiously at William’s smug face.
“Fight me!”
“He has the right,” Emerek said, crossing his arms.
“If the gods are on the boy’s side, he’ll win.”
Sandor crossed his arms and grinned.
“Remembered your rights, have you?
If memory serves, there was something about a protector and being underage…”
He smiled.
“You know, I’d be happy to…”
“I’ll fight him myself!”
Arthur’s voice cut through the conversation.
He straightened.
His face was twisted with anger.
William’s last words had reignited the rage burning inside him.
He had to do it himself.
“You sure about that, boy?” Sandor asked pointedly.
He tried to catch Arthur’s eyes, but the boy’s gaze remained fixed on the grinning guardsman.
Arthur tightened his grip on his sword.
The desire for revenge pulsed through him.
“I am.”
His voice was firm.
“I want to kill him.”
“For Marea.”
William gave a crooked grin, feeling an incredible sense of relief.
His chances against Clegane were, frankly, terrible.
Against the boy, however…
He could only laugh at the foolish kid seeking revenge.
“Fine.
Fuck it, stubborn little bastard.
A duel it is,” Sandor said with a frown.
Then he turned toward the grinning guardsman.
“If you win, I’ll let you leave.”
“But you’ll be traveling alone.”
“As if I’d stay with you anyway,” William muttered.
He had absolutely no doubt that he would win.
The road where Arthur and William were going to fight wasn’t exactly an ideal battlefield after the rain.
But there was nowhere else.
The warriors silently moved aside, forming a living circle.
Only two men remained in the center.
Moonlight faintly reflected from their naked blades and metal shields.
Before the fight, Steffon handed Arthur his shield.
It wasn’t as large as Willit’s.
It was light, with a rooster painted across it.
Arthur tested its weight.
It felt far lighter than anything he’d used before.
“Take the helmet too,” the knight offered, holding his out.
“Thanks, but I don’t need it.”
Arthur shook his head.
The helmet Ray had gotten him was still on the Black Beta.
But even when he’d trained in it, he’d clearly been slower and had missed some blows.
Right now, he needed speed and visibility.
Just before the fight, Ser Merlon unexpectedly approached him.
Without drawing attention, he handed Arthur a long, thin dagger with a faceted blade.
“Misericordia,” he said with a crooked grin.
“Mercy dagger.
If you knock him down, don’t hesitate.
Stab.”
Arthur nodded and accepted the weapon.
It was light and comfortable, fitting his hand perfectly.
He tucked it behind his belt.
“You should have listened to me,” William said viciously.
“You’re going to die over some whore…”
He’d recovered from Arthur’s earlier beating, though his face was still badly damaged and dried blood covered his lips.
Now that he was sober and ready for the fight, he looked like the one in control despite his broken nose.
Arthur said nothing.
He simply tightened his grip on his battered blade, still stained with dried blood.
The difference between their weapons wasn’t enormous, but William could keep Arthur at a distance with his longer sword.
Arthur needed to get close.
Clegane raised one hand.
“There was supposed to be some sort of formal speech here…”
He sighed.
“Fuck it.”
“You fight until one of you is dead.”
“Begin!”
The guardsman cautiously stepped forward, balancing his longsword as though he were playing with prey.
Arthur tightened his grip, trying to predict the next attack.
The rain had turned the packed earth into a slippery battlefield.
Large puddles covered the ground, and the fighters’ feet slipped constantly, threatening to throw them off balance.
He had to be careful.
A sudden sweeping strike.
Arthur barely managed to step aside.
The blade sliced through the air, missing his head by a hair.
Another strike.
Arthur raised his shield and took the blow.
The dull crash of iron against wood sent pain through his numb arm and tightened his injured leg.
William had plenty of strength.
“Well, puppy?” he mocked, effortlessly changing his stance.
Arthur said nothing.
He watched every movement.
The longsword gave William the advantage.
He could keep Arthur at a distance, preventing him from getting close.
Every attempt Arthur made to close the gap ended with another swing of the blade, forcing him backward.
He knew he needed only one chance.
William knew it too.
And he wasn’t going to give him one.
Arthur circled his opponent, forcing him to move and attack.
He needed to wait.
He needed to exploit his advantage in speed and allow the alcohol and exhaustion to catch up with William.
And then, when the guardsman’s movements finally began to slow…
The worst happened.
Another crushing blow landed directly against Arthur’s sword.
A sharp metallic crack rang through the night.
The blade broke like a rotten branch.
The broken piece flew into the mud.
For a moment, time stopped.
Arthur staggered backward, staring at the pathetic fragment remaining in his hand.
The sword that had served him faithfully for so long…
Had simply broken.
“Time to die,” William sneered.
He threw his shield aside with relief.
Now he could focus entirely on attacking.
Fear seized Arthur for a moment.
He was almost unarmed.
His opponent was stronger.
More experienced.
And he still had a sword.
For one second, Arthur regretted refusing Clegane’s protection.
He was too weak.
He wouldn’t be able to avenge Marea’s death.
But instead of fear, something else suddenly burned inside him.
Arthur didn’t look at the numbers.
But at that exact moment, the line representing his magic finally increased by one point.
Just one pathetic point.
But the result…
Rage gave him strength for a few seconds.
Arthur clenched his teeth and suddenly threw the broken sword fragment straight at William’s face.
William reflexively jerked aside, knocking the fragment away with his blade.
Arthur didn’t waste the opportunity.
He raised his shield and charged.
He slammed into William with enough force to knock the guardsman off balance.
William’s sword became lodged in the wooden shield.
But that wasn’t enough.
William yanked at the blade, trying to free it.
Arthur had already grabbed his armor, practically hanging from him and dragging him downward.
They crashed into the mud.
Two heavy bodies encased in iron slammed into one of the puddles, sending filthy water flying in every direction.
The ground was slick and soaked.
It seemed almost as though the earth itself were trying to swallow them.
The guardsman growled and tried to shove Arthur away.
But Arthur had already grabbed his neck and began punching him in the face.
Again.
And again.
Until a powerful hand in a metal gauntlet seized Arthur by the hair.
William yanked his head downward, smashing Arthur’s face into the mud.
For a moment, the world disappeared into darkness.
Arthur’s hands blindly searched across the man’s strained face until his fingers found something soft.
“Ahh!”
“My eye!”
The guardsman screamed from the unbearable pain of having his eye crushed.
He released Arthur’s head.
Arthur twisted free and managed to draw a breath.
William tried to roll him over and pin him again.
But Arthur clung to him, fighting desperately for control.
They rolled through the mud, each taking the top position in turn.
The knights watched in silence.
And to their surprise…
The larger, armored man couldn’t overpower one boy.
All his weight.
All his strength.
None of it was enough.
The boy seemed almost equal to him.
Everything came down to endurance.
And luck.
Luck was on Arthur’s side.
With the last of his strength, he twisted, planted his feet against the ground, and rolled them over again, forcing the man face-first into the filthy mud.
William tried to escape.
But this time he couldn’t find the leverage he needed.
Arthur had already drawn the thin, faceted dagger.
If you knock him down, don’t hesitate.
Stab.
He raised it.
Then drove it deep into the guardsman’s back, throwing his entire weight behind the strike.
The sharp blade scraped through the rings of the mail, punched through the padding underneath, and sank deeper.
The guardsman arched violently.
His one remaining eye widened in pain and terror.
He choked.
Mud filled his mouth.
Arthur didn’t see any of it.
He pulled the dagger free.
Then drove it down again.
This time into the neck, where the mail was thinner.
Again.
And again.
William jerked and thrashed desperately in the mud, but his movements quickly weakened.
Finally, his last rasping breath faded.
His lifeless body went limp beneath Arthur as the boy continued striking.
Hot blood covered Arthur’s hands, running down his forearms and mixing with the mud.
Only then did Arthur realize he was trembling.
He breathed heavily, leaning over the body beneath him.
He had killed.
He had survived.
He had taken his revenge.
Grave silence settled over the road.
Several men’s faces had gone slack with shock.
They certainly hadn’t expected that.
Then someone slowly began clapping.
“I guess this puppy has some long teeth after all,” came Sandor Clegane’s deep voice.
Arthur slowly raised his head.
Mud ran down his face.
His hair clung to his forehead.
His breathing came in ragged gasps.
Arthur didn’t know what he was supposed to feel.
But he knew one thing.
He had done what he had to do.
And once again, golden symbols began flickering before his eyes…