Around the edge of the wheat field, knights from both sides rested their hands on the hilts of their swords.
Gawen narrowed his eyes, carefully sizing up the Hawke knights one by one.
There were twenty of them.
Five wore polished full plate, their armor gleaming brilliantly beneath the autumn sun.
They were clearly House Hawke’s elite warriors.
By comparison, House Rowan had only eight mounted knights under Ser Harwyn Grey’s command.
The rest were lightly armed infantry.
Ser Alan Hawke’s expression shifted repeatedly.
He hadn’t expected Lord Rowan—normally cautious and never one to provoke conflict—to respond with such firmness.
“Start a war?”
Ser Alan sneered as his hand slowly settled upon his sword.
“My lord, your words are rather severe.
I’ve merely come seeking justice, not to wage war.”
“You marched twenty armed men into my lands.”
Mathis refused to yield an inch.
As he spoke, he calmly unfastened the bronze clasp of his coat, revealing the sword at his waist.
“And you call that seeking justice?”
“Ser Alan, you’ve spent too long in the Westerlands.”
“You seem to have forgotten the customs of the Reach.”
“You misunderstand me, my lord.”
Ser Alan spoke leisurely.
“I only wished to discuss the matter.”
“As for these knights…”
He gestured casually behind him.
“The border has grown rather unsafe these days.
Surely you can understand why I would bring an escort.”
An escort?
More likely they had come to test House Rowan’s resolve.
Gawen’s gaze drifted past Ser Alan to the men behind him.
Although their armor had been meticulously polished, several shoulder plates bore obvious signs of prolonged wear—marks left only by days of continuous patrol.
Their horses breathed steadily.
Their hooves were clean and well-rested.
These men had not just completed a long journey.
They had already been stationed near the border for at least three days.
Waiting.
Waiting for an excuse.
Just then, a young voice rang out from the rear of House Hawke’s formation.
“Uncle.”
“Why waste time arguing with them?”
A youth of fifteen or sixteen stepped forward.
He was tall and broad-shouldered for his age, carrying himself with the arrogance common to young warriors.
He wore a breastplate over a padded gambeson, with a broad-bladed longsword hanging from his waist.
The white sea hawk of House Hawke was engraved upon its scabbard.
Mathis narrowed his eyes.
“And this is…?”
“My nephew.”
Pride crept into Ser Alan’s voice.
“Ed Hawke.”
“He was knighted at Casterly Rock last year after training under House Lannister’s master-at-arms.”
Ed strode confidently to the front of the formation.
Without even acknowledging Mathis, he fixed his gaze directly on Gawen.
His eyes swept over the smaller boy with obvious disdain.
“So…”
“You’re the heir of House Rowan?”
Gawen said nothing.
Instead, he studied Ed’s posture.
The way he gripped his sword.
The rhythm of his breathing.
Years of druidic training had sharpened his powers of observation far beyond those of ordinary men.
“My uncle says your family stole our hunting grounds.”
With a metallic hiss, Ed drew his sword.
Its broad blade gleamed coldly beneath the autumn sunlight.
“I couldn’t care less about dusty old land charters.”
“According to the ancient customs of knighthood…”
“…territorial disputes can be settled with steel.”
Mathis frowned.
“What exactly are you proposing?”
“A duel.”
Ed raised his sword and pointed it directly at Gawen.
“In the name of the Seven and the Old Gods.”
“Draw your blade.”
“Defeat me.”
“If you can, House Hawke will not set foot upon Goldengrove’s lands for the next three years.”
A wave of murmurs spread across the gathered crowd.
“Shameless!”
Ser Harwyn was the first to speak.
“Young Master Gawen is only ten years old!”
“You’re already a knight!”
“Then he can surrender.”
Ed shrugged indifferently.
“If he admits defeat…”
“…that pine forest belongs to House Hawke.”
Mathis’s face darkened.
If he accepted…
…his ten-year-old son would have to face a trained young knight.
He had little confidence in such a contest.
If he refused…
…House Rowan would forever bear the stain of cowardice in every future border dispute.
“I accept your challenge.”
Gawen’s calm voice broke the silence.
With one smooth motion, he drew the sword at his waist.
“May the Seven bear witness.”
It was an ordinary arming sword.
The steel was decent, though hardly exceptional, but its balance was nearly perfect.
The blade bore no decoration.
Its hilt was wrapped in dark leather, and the crossguard was a simple straight bar.
Ser Harwyn had personally chosen it as Gawen’s training weapon.
Though sharpened, it looked almost fragile beside the much heavier longsword in Ed’s hands.
“Gawen…”
Mathis stared at his son in shock.
But once a formal duel had been accepted…
…a knight’s word could not be withdrawn.
…
A circular clearing was hastily made in the middle of the wheat field.
Ed Hawke stepped into the ring and removed his cloak, tossing it to a waiting squire.
Rolling his shoulders loose, he gripped his longsword with both hands and raised it before him in the textbook opening stance of a Westerlands knight.
Across from him, Gawen lifted his own blade horizontally.
His left hand lightly supported the flat of the sword.
His body sank into a stable stance.
The blade rested over one shoulder.
House Rowan possessed four traditional sword styles:
Oakleaf Guard
Golden Harvest Thunder
Redwood Hidden Thorn
Ancient Oak Cleave
Unlike the elegant, tournament-inspired techniques favored by House Tyrell…
Or the overwhelming, heavy strikes preferred by House Lannister…
The Rowan school emphasized patience, defense, and timing.
Its practitioners weathered an opponent’s assault before turning their own strength against them.
Designed for fighting through forests and river valleys, it was equally effective whether facing heavily armored knights or lightly equipped Dornish skirmishers.
Gawen assumed the opening stance of Oakleaf Guard.
There was nothing flashy about it.
Nothing intimidating.
Only a simple defensive posture.
Like an ancient oak rooted firmly in the earth.
To any observer…
…it seemed completely harmless.
“Begin!”
Ser Alan announced loudly.
Ed attacked first.
Taking two powerful strides forward, he brought his broad blade crashing downward with a shrill whistle through the air.
It was the classic fighting style of the Westerlands.
Overwhelm the opponent immediately through superior weight, strength, and momentum.
Break the defense with the very first strike.
Gawen did not retreat.
The druid’s gifts flowed silently through his consciousness.
He could “see” every contraction of Ed’s muscles.
He knew exactly where the sword would fall before it moved.
It wasn’t sight.
It was instinct on a far deeper level.
His blade angled upward.
Oakleaf Guard—Oak Spine Deflection.
Clang!
Steel exploded against steel.
Rather than meeting the blow head-on, Gawen twisted his sword at the instant of impact, redirecting the tremendous force away from himself.
Ed’s heavy blade slid harmlessly past Gawen’s shoulder before burying itself deep into the muddy ground, sending wet earth flying.
This was the signature technique House Rowan had developed specifically to counter the crushing greatswords of the Westerlands.
Ed froze.
His full-powered strike should have blasted the child’s sword from his hands.
Instead…
…his opponent had slipped aside like an eel.
Gawen noticed it instantly.
Ed’s breathing had faltered.
His rhythm was broken.
An opening.
His sword darted forward like a striking serpent.
Leaf Gap Thrust.
The point shot cleanly through the opening left by Ed’s overextended swing, aiming directly for the vulnerable gap beneath his right arm.
Ed instinctively twisted away.
The blade scraped violently across his breastplate with a harsh screech of metal.
The tip pierced barely two centimeters before the interlocked rings of his mail stopped it.
“Ugh!”
Ed let out a muffled cry as he staggered backward, clutching his right shoulder.
Crimson blood seeped through the gaps between Ed’s fingers.
Silence fell over the wheat field.
Ser Harwyn Grey stood frozen, his mouth hanging open.
He had taught Gawen swordsmanship.
Again and again.
No one knew the boy’s abilities better than he did.
And he knew with absolute certainty—
That strike was not something he had taught.
It had been precise.
Decisive.
Lethal.
Gawen was only ten years old, yet his mastery of the Oakleaf Guard Style was already comparable to Harwyn’s own.
His judgment.
His defense.
His timing.
His counterattack.
Every movement had been executed flawlessly.
In a single exchange…
…he had wounded an anointed knight.
Mathis’s face reflected the same disbelief.
The anxiety that had weighed upon him moments before slowly faded, replaced by astonishment.
“You—!”
Ed’s features twisted violently.
Humiliation and fury burned within his eyes.
“You little bastard!”
“How dare you—!”
Roaring, he gripped his sword with both hands and charged like a wounded boar.
This time…
…he had no intention of holding back.
Gawen drew a slow breath.
His consciousness once more merged with the earth.
His swordsmanship still lacked years of experience.
Fortunately…
His druidic senses could compensate for technique.
What he could never afford, however, was to meet Ed’s superior strength head-on.
His awareness spread beneath the ground.
With Earth’s Resonance now at Level 1…
…he could subtly reshape the terrain around him.
The instant Ed’s left foot struck the earth—
A faint sensation of weightlessness disrupted his footing.
“What…?”
As a trained knight, Ed’s balance did not collapse immediately.
But as he tried to shift his weight…
The damp soil tightened around his boot.
His foot stuck fast.
His body lurched out of alignment.
Yet his momentum was already unstoppable.
The only attack he could complete was another heavy downward slash.
[Earth’s Resonance Proficiency +2]
Gawen seized the opening.
He lowered his body and slid half a step to the left.
The greatsword screamed through the air, passing so close that it sliced away several strands of his hair.
Falling Branch Deflection.
At the precise instant when Ed’s old strength had been spent and new strength had yet to gather…
Gawen swept his blade low.
The strike landed squarely against Ed Hawke’s shin.
Ed’s balance vanished instantly.
He stumbled forward and crashed face-first into the muddy ground.
He struggled to rise—
But the tip of Gawen’s sword was already resting lightly against his throat.
“You’ve lost.”
Gawen’s voice remained calm.
Standing over the fallen knight, he held his blade perfectly steady.
[Rebirth Incarnation Proficiency +1]
Natural energy flowed quietly through his body, repairing the minute strains caused by the intense duel.
The expanded reservoir granted by Rebirth Incarnation restored his stamina at an astonishing pace.
“You…”
Ed Hawke’s throat tightened.
No complete sentence emerged.
Three moves.
A single anointed knight…
…had been defeated in only three exchanges.
Ser Alan Hawke’s face darkened until it was almost green.
The soldiers behind him exchanged uncertain glances, unsure whether they should rush forward or retreat.
Still kneeling in the mud, Ed stared blankly at the emotionless boy before him.
“Ser Hawke.”
Mathis finally broke the silence.
“According to our agreement, House Hawke will make no further territorial claims against Goldengrove for the next three years.”
Ser Alan clenched his jaw so tightly the muscles bulged.
For a long moment he said nothing.
Finally…
One word escaped through gritted teeth.
“Leave.”
Without another glance at his nephew, he turned and strode away.
Two squires hurried over, helping Ed to his feet before retrieving his fallen sword.
The Hawke party departed in complete humiliation.
[You have defended your family’s territory.]
[Nature’s Guardian Proficiency +5]
Soon, only the men of House Rowan remained beside the wheat field.
“My lord…”
Ser Harwyn approached Gawen slowly, his voice unusually hoarse.
“That last sword technique…”
“I learned it from you, Ser.”
Gawen sheathed his sword and smiled modestly.
Harwyn remained silent for a long while.
At last, he shook his head with a wry smile.
“I’m afraid…”
“…there’s nothing left for me to teach you, my lord.”
Mathis walked over to his son.
A proud smile finally appeared on his face.
“Well done.”
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