He took a life with the sa ease and casualness as brushing dust off his shoulder—and not a single emotion flickered across Kal's face.
As if this was all perfectly natural.
But as those chilling words left Kal's lips, Ser Borros Blount—who had just watched his sworn brother die before his very eyes—felt as though he'd fallen into a frozen tomb.
All traces of the disdain and arrogance he'd shown Kal just monts ago had vanished.
He stood there clad in resplendent white armor that glead like fresh snow, a white velvet cloak draped across his shoulders, and a golden lion badge pinned to his chest—its ruby eyes glinting coldly.
And yet, beneath all that grandeur, sweat poured from his body in heavy drops, like a soaked bandage squeezed dry—completely out of his control.
A chill spread through him. His whole body was trembling.
Raising a trembling hand, he pointed at Kal, who stood before him—sword in hand, its tip still dripping blood, staring back with terrifying indifference.
His voice stuttered from fear.
"You… you…!"
"H-how did you get behind us?!"
As one of the n involved, Borros hadn't seen anything—he had no idea how Kal had even launched his attack.
He didn't even know how Kal had "suddenly" appeared… or how he'd "suddenly" killed ryn Trant.
Because just a few seconds earlier, they had only been dodging a flying brazier full of burning coals. It couldn't have taken more than a handful of seconds.
And yet, by the ti both he and ryn had finished dodging, Kal Stone had vanished from view—like a ghost.
Then, as soon as Borros turned to look for him again, he realized Kal had already cut ryn down.
Just like that. Casual. Effortless. Like killing a chicken.
Faster than it took to take a piss.
But while Kal Stone had seemingly "vanished" in Borros Blount's eyes, the sa wasn't true for the bystanders.
What they saw had been sothing else entirely.
Yes, they were shocked—shocked that ryn Trant could be taken out so easily.
But underneath that shock, they'd all had a mont of clarity.
Because unlike Borros, the onlookers had seen Kal's every move—plain as day.
All he had done… was take a fire brazier full of burning coals and toss it straight at the two of them.
And while the pair frantically scrambled to deal with the fiery rain that had suddenly descended on their heads…
Kal Stone took two leisurely steps back—then swiftly picked up the pace and circled around the twin bonfires, coming to a stop right behind the two Kingsguard knights.
That's right—just like that. With a move so simple it felt almost lazy, Kal Stone secured his critical position.
And what happened next… was only natural.
Anyone who's ever worn a full suit of armor knows: once your head's tucked into that iron can, your field of vision narrows to whatever's directly in front of you.
And Kal? He didn't need any flashy moves.
He simply raised his sword… and thrust it with precision and speed straight into the exposed seam in ryn Trant's armor—right at the base of the neck as he turned his head.
The entire battle had been so absurd it almost looked like Kal Stone was playing so strange ga of hide-and-seek… or dancing face-to-face with his opponents.
And the two n facing him? Might as well have been his most synchronized dance partners.
If not for the undeniable fact that ryn Trant lay dead on the ground, one could almost believe he'd willingly offered up his neck to Kal's sword.
But the shock rippling through the crowd had nothing to do with Kal.
And as for Borros Blount's frantic question—Kal had no interest in answering.
After all, what good is an explanation… to a man already dead?
More importantly, Kal didn't have the habit of explaining anything.
So, after casually wiping the blood off his blade using the hem of ryn Trant's white cloak, Kal said nothing. With a cold, unreadable expression, he began walking toward Borros Blount.
This ti, though, he didn't move in for an instant kill like before.
He simply raised his sword and started strolling forward—slowly, unhurriedly, like soone taking a walk after dinner.
But with every step Kal took, Borros Blount's courage drained away.
He had already been rattled—haunted by the way his sworn brother had just died in the blink of an eye.
To him, Kal really was like a ghost—one second there, the next, gone.
And then, without warning, ryn Trant had dropped dead. How could he not be terrified?
But no matter how shaken he was, this was still trial by combat.
And Kal kept coming—his tall figure looming ever larger in the firelight, blood still wet on his blade. His shadow stretched out across the ground like a demon, crashing down over Borros Blount's trembling form.
His fear reached its breaking point.
The disdain and false courage he'd held earlier, when standing beside ryn Trant, had long since vanished—washed away with the blood spilling from his brother's neck.
"Gulp…"
Instinctively, Borros swallowed hard, as if that would help him calm down.
But it didn't work. Kal's imposing presence grew heavier with every step, and Blount could feel the weight of it pressing down on his chest.
His entire body began to shake.
His heart pounded faster. His breath ca in short, ragged bursts.
Then—without even thinking—he glanced once more at the lifeless body of ryn Trant…
And lifted his eyes toward Queen Cersei Lannister, who had changed positions during the earlier scuffle and now sat behind Kal.
Cersei, too, was staring at the fallen Kingsguard knight.
Perhaps she sensed what was coming, because just then, she raised her gaze—and her eyes t Borros Blount's.
In that mont, whatever shred of courage he had left crumbled.
Suddenly, he flung his weapon aside—
—and with no warning whatsoever, dropped to his knees right as Kal closed to within two steps, completely blocking Cersei's view of the scene.
"I yield! I yield!"
"Please don't kill —I'm begging you!"
No warning, no resistance, not even a single exchange of blows.
Borros Blount had been crushed entirely by Kal's aura alone. He threw away his weapon and dropped to the ground in surrender, begging for his life.
In that mont, he abandoned all courage, hoping it might sohow spare his life.
The suddenness of it caught Kal off guard.
He hadn't expected Borros Blount to throw down his weapon and beg for rcy so pathetically.
This was the sa man who had just been cursing him—calling him a bastard. Kal had been fully prepared to finish him off just as cleanly.
After all, Borros Blount was still a mber of the renowned Kingsguard, a knight of supposed noble bearing.
Kal had seen him many tis in King's Landing, slipping into the brothels of Silk Street in disguise.
He also knew, deep down, that this guy was a coward.
That ugly-faced man, despite his foul temper, was all bark and no bite.
Without the white cloak and armor that symbolized the honor of the Kingsguard, he was nothing—get into a scuffle on the street, and after taking a couple of slaps, he'd fall right in line.
But Kal never expected even him to be this spineless—to collapse without even lifting a finger, kneeling and pleading before a fight even began.
And as Kal looked down at Borros Blount, who was sobbing, bowing, and begging for his life...
He suddenly lost all interest.
With a cold sneer, Kal turned away and looked toward Queen Cersei Lannister.
After all, by the rules of trial by combat, there were three ways it could end early.
First, if the champion of one side died or surrendered during the fight.
Second, if the accuser—Cersei, in this case—chose to withdraw her charges.
And third, if the accused confessed to their cris.
Now that Borros Blount had chosen to throw away his honor—and Cersei's—by groveling on his knees…
Kal had no objection. His goal was already achieved.
Besides, he had no desire to dirty his sword with that man.
What interested Kal more now was seeing Cersei's reaction. One of her chosen champions lay dead. The other had surrendered in disgrace.
What would that beautiful queen's expression be like now?
By rights, all she needed to do was open her mouth, and Kal would have officially won the trial.
He would have cleared his na with nothing but strength alone.
Borros Blount's sudden collapse hadn't just stunned Kal—it had left the hundreds of onlookers utterly dumbfounded.
No one had expected this: a mber of the Kingsguard—an order standing at the pinnacle of knightly honor in Westeros—reduced to begging for his life without even drawing his sword.
Honestly, even the most cowardly mutt would at least bark a few tis and take a kick before tucking its tail between its legs.
But Borros Blount wasn't begging—he was slapping Cersei across the face.
And with this disgraceful display, he'd shattered everyone's illusions of the Kingsguard.
No—that's not quite right.
He had revealed the truth behind these n who always strutted around with their tails raised high, cloaked in arrogance.
What kind of disgraceful trash was this man, really?
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