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“Alliser, so this is the lad who stole the show here yesterday?
Word reached even Shadow Tower this morning — Castle Black’s got a southern savage mixed in with the recruits.” Broken-Hand Corin looked Leon up and down with an easy grin.
“Looking at him bounce around like that, he sure doesn’t seem like someone who took a dozen cuts.”
The rangers traveling with him all fixed their eyes on Leon, curious what exactly set him apart from ordinary men.
Before long, Corin stepped right up to him.
Through the gaps in the armor, he could see that Leon’s torso was wrapped in bandages.
The grin faded considerably.
“The Night’s Watch’s finest rangers are right here.
Beat them, and I’ll consider you fit to join us.”
Up on the platform, Alliser Thorne delivered those words in an utterly shameless tone, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
The rangers behind Corin erupted.
“The hell d’you take us rangers for?
I could pin this pipsqueak with one hand.
Why do we need so many people?”
“Alliser, you gone blind in your old age?
A southerner who’s never even seen a wildling has got you this frightened?”
“Looks to me like I ought to take over as master-at-arms.
Guarantee I’d do a damn sight better job than you.”
The jeering made Alliser Thorne’s face cycle from pale to purple, but he thought of his own plan and swallowed every last coarse word without argument.
“Fine, let’s fight.
We’ve no duties today anyway — perfect chance to stretch our legs.” As Broken-Hand Corin spoke, his gaze kept drifting toward the recruits.
There stood Jon, like a crane among chickens, strikingly conspicuous amid the crowd of misfits.
“Once I’m done with this lad, I want to see if there’s any other decent stock around.”
So this is Benjen’s nephew?
He looks the part of Stark blood, at least.
That was Broken-Hand Corin’s thought.
“Wooden swords or steel?”
Leon tossed the question out casually.
As far as he could tell, these rangers weren’t in a combat-ready state and wore no heavy plate.
If he injured one with a steel sword, who would be left to guard The Wall?
Broken-Hand Corin didn’t quite catch his meaning.
He rubbed his chin.
“Wooden swords will do.
Don’t want to damage the Night’s Watch’s future blooms.”
One of the rangers behind Corin swaggered out of formation, picked a wooden sword off the nearby weapons rack, and strode toward Leon.
“Lad, blades have no eyes.
Watch yourself.”
Then he swung straight at Leon’s neck, right at the narrow gap between helmet and breastplate.
This ranger hadn’t let his guard down just because Leon was a recruit.
His opening move was a killing stroke.
Had this been a steel sword, Leon’s head would have left his shoulders the next instant.
Seasoned.
Ruthless.
One strike, one kill.
Leon narrowed his eyes.
That was his assessment.
Martial skill forged through countless battles was nothing like what recruits who’d trained under Alliser Thorne for a short while could match.
But what this ranger could never imagine, no matter how hard he racked his brains, was that the man standing in front of him was a sword-saint with a one-handed weapon proficiency of 15 points.
CLANG.
DING-CLANG.
CLATTER-CLANG.
Leon moved like a phantom.
In the blink of an eye, they had traded three, four, five exchanges.
Up on the platform, Alliser Thorne’s expression turned grave.
His own martial strength was roughly on par with this ranger’s, which meant his earlier decision not to act rashly had been the right one.
The recruits behind Leon cared nothing for that.
Seeing Leon trade blow after blow with a Night’s Watch ranger — soldiers regarded as among the finest in the kingdom, and not come out worse, they erupted into cheers.
Jon was the loudest.
He clapped and shouted without pause, urging Leon on, as excited as if he were the one out there dueling.
The ranger’s face was a different story.
He’d been going at this for a while now and still couldn’t bring down a green recruit.
He could feel his pride slipping.
The rangers behind Broken-Hand Corin only made it worse, jeering without letup.
The boos and catcalls rattled him.
By now Leon had gauged what he needed to know.
One-handed weapon skill somewhere between 160 and 180.
He wondered whether the First Ranger would be something else entirely.
With that settled in his mind, Leon kept fending off his opponent with easy, unhurried strokes, not even turning his head as he studied Corin’s severed hand with a look of quiet calculation.
“Shaw!
You can’t put this lad down, you’re scrubbing the privies for a month!”
Corin was ordinarily a patient man.
But watching Leon fight while staring at his stump without shame, he felt the provocation like a heat behind his eyes, and his temper snapped.
Shaw clenched his jaw and said nothing.
He couldn’t understand it.
He was giving everything he had, and still couldn’t beat a single recruit.
Had his opponent been a wildling beyond The Wall, he’d have ridden through the enemy seven times over by now.
But losing was losing.
Worse, Shaw could feel it.
Aside from those first few exchanges where Leon had pressed hard, the rest of the time Leon had been playing with him.
A cat with a mouse.
When Leon saw the first real signs of exhaustion in his opponent’s movements, he stopped waiting.
Two fierce, chopping strokes, and the ranger hit the ground.
Victory and defeat decided.
The outcome left everyone stunned: the ranger, in crushing defeat.
Jon stiffened.
Becoming a Night’s Watch ranger was his lifelong goal, the thing he’d built every ambition around.
And yet here was Leon, already possessing the strength to beat one outright.
➤ Next: Champion Swordsman of the North?
Hmm, a Worthy Opponent