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"Milord, be careful! There are enemies charging down from the mountain!"
Jai Lannister's closest guards, those few who remained constantly at his side in the army, cried out in unison, reporting the imminent danger to their commander.
Just monts ago, they had relied on their superior equipnt and their desperation to resist, managing, despite being only slightly over a hundred n, to hold off several hundred Northern cavalry. For a ti, they even kept the Northerners from breaking through.
But all such illusions were shattered the instant a mysterious cavalry unit surged down from the western ridge. That single thunderous charge had thrown them into chaos. Dozens were cut down in re monts, their ranks broken like driftwood in a storm. Of the original hundred-plus, more than forty had fallen, while the remaining seventy or eighty were split into two isolated fragnts, both now encircled and hemd in by Northern horsen.
Jai Lannister swiftly realized that the cavalry unit that struck with such terrifying force must be under the command of a key figure among the enemy.
It beca painfully clear to him now: these were never Riverlands cavalry at all. Damn it, those Northerners had disguised themselves in the armor of Riverlands soldiers to deceive honest n like them—and now they had returned to strike with treachery.
This narrow valley, closed in from both the front and the rear, with a deep depression in the middle, was a battlefield the cunning Northerners had carefully prepared in advance. Once their decoy cavalry lured Jai's two thousand n into the trap, the Northerners launched a full-scale assault without hesitation.
When Jai saw the hills on both flanks swarming with cavalry, descending like a tidal wave, he knew then and there that there was no escape for him.
He had experience commanding troops in battle. Even the least experienced commander could see at a glance that the number of Northern cavalry who ambushed them was certainly more than four thousand.
The Northern cavalry had long been fad throughout the Seven Kingdoms for their ferocity and skill in battle. And now, not only were they twice his number, but they also had the advantage of terrain, charging down from higher ground.
His own two thousand n, because of the narrowness of the valley, had been stretched out into a thin, vulnerable column. Each ti the Northern horsen descended in another wave, they punched clean through the hastily ford Lannister lines like blades slicing through parchnt.
Damn it all! There was no way out of this now.
Jai Lannister was fully aware of the dire situation he faced. So with the resolve that even killing one would be worth it, and taking down two would be a great gain, he gathered fifty of the most elite Lannister knights still under his command and charged straight toward Clay's position.
He would see for himself just how formidable this mysterious Northern cavalry truly was. He refused to fall without striking a final blow. If he, Jai Lannister, were to die today, then he would do so with a sword in hand and fire in his veins.
In truth, he was overthinking it. As Lord Tywin's precious firstborn son, the mont his identity beca known, no one would dare lay a hand on him.
It would be utter madness. The value of Jai Lannister was beyond asure. Probably the only one who didn't realize just how valuable he was, was Jai himself.
Even if Lord Tywin had to offer up both his daughter Cersei and his second son Tyrion as bargaining chips, he would trade them both away without hesitation to bring Jai safely ho.
"Lannister!!!" Jai roared aloud, his voice echoing across the field. Behind him, his Lannister elite cavalry answered with a thunderous cry, their charge swelling like a crimson tide.
"Hear roar!"
In but a heartbeat, the two hundred cavalryn under Clay Manderly's command surged forward like a wall of grey stone and collided head-on with the crimson tide of over fifty Lannister knights. The clash took place on the northern side of Maiden's Valley.
Neither side held anything back. Both understood that, at this point, there was no reason to conserve speed or strength. This portion of the battlefield had been montarily cleared amid the chaos, and so the cavalry from each side t at full speed, thundering into one another with brutal force.
The clash was like the breaking of the world itself. The sound of shattering bones, the shrieks of horses in agony, and the dying screams of n who fought with everything they had all rose up at once, filling every corner of that narrow space.
As leaders of their respective forces, after hacking and cutting their way through the chaos, Jai and Clay soon spotted one another amidst the carnage.
It was inevitable. In this age, a nobleman differed from an ordinary soldier in every way, from armor to bearing, and both n stood out like torches in the gloom.
Jai Lannister flicked the blood from his sword, its crimson trail vanishing into the air. He raised the blade, its point aid directly at Clay.
"Let us settle this between us," he declared, "as knights do, young man of the North."
Clay Manderly stood soaked in blood from head to toe, not a single part of him untouched. He looked like a demon risen from the seventh circle of the Abyss, terrifying in his silence. Only the youth on his face betrayed the fact that he was not so ancient monster of war.
Jai Lannister could find no words to describe the figure before him.
Clay's face betrayed no emotion, but in his heart, he could not help but scoff. The Kingslayer really was as naïve as the rumors suggested. To believe that in such a mont, a duel would an anything. What, did he think winning a one-on-one fight would let him break through and escape?
Still, the idea itself was not a bad one.
Clay gave a brief check to the stability of the Quen Sign inscribed on his body, ensuring it remained firm and undisturbed. Then, he lowered the visor of his helm with practiced ease.
Around them, the Lannister troops were collapsing one after another beneath the ever-tightening encirclent of the Northern cavalry. The battlefield had beco a sea of gray and steel. Not a single trace of the Lannister red could be seen now, save the blood that stained the earth.
The two warhorses sprang forward at the sa instant, hooves pounding like thunder. In the blink of an eye, they t in a fierce collision.
Jai Lannister slashed upward in a sharp arc, aiming his blade at Clay's horse's legs, seeking to bring down both rider and steed with a single blow.
But Clay knew exactly what he intended. He saw through Jai's intention instantly. With a swift swing of his longsword, he intercepted the blow. A loud tallic clang rang out as the two blades collided, sending a shower of bright sparks into the air.
In that first exchange, both n learned what they needed to know about the other's strength.
Though Clay's body was not yet fully matured—after all, he was still shy of eighteen—the transformation he had undergone as a Witcher had granted him strength beyond that of an ordinary man. The power he possessed was already on par with the Kingslayer, a fully grown adult, and in so respects, even surpassed him.
However, this also ant that brute force alone would not be enough to overpower his opponent. To claim victory, he would have to rely on superior skill in mounted combat.
But that was fine. In truth, it suited him perfectly. The taste of a real challenge stirred a deep excitent within Clay. Tasks that pushed him to his limits were the only ones worth pursuing. If every enemy crumbled the mont he struck, then where would the joy of battle lie?
"Again!" he growled lowly, voice brimming with anticipation. Raising his longsword once more, he spurred his horse forward. Although the fad Witcher sword techniques could not be fully utilized on horseback, that did nothing to diminish his confidence in his own blade.
The two warriors clashed again. This ti, Clay's sword forced the Kingslayer into a sudden dodge. The angle of Clay's thrust was vicious and unexpected. His swordpoint shot forth like the fangs of a venomous serpent, aiming straight for Jai's waist with lightning speed.
Jai had intended to aim for Clay's chest with a counterattack, but instinct for survival kicked in. He abandoned the strike, twisted his torso, and narrowly avoided the deadly blow.
The two warhorses weaved through one another, their hooves kicking up dust as their riders continued their duel. For the mont, neither could gain the upper hand.
Yet as the fight wore on, Clay grew ever more exhilarated, while Jai Lannister found himself gripped by mounting fear.
He was beginning to realize that his opponent fought without fear, without hesitation, and seemingly without regard for his own life. More than once, Jai's sword had nearly sliced across Clay's neck, yet the young Northerner never flinched. He remained determined to drive his own blade into Jai's body, as though willing to trade lives if that were the price of victory.
This reckless, self-sacrificing style of fighting left Jai deeply unsettled.
As he panted for breath, confusion crept into his mind. Who was this madman, this reckless brute who fought as though his life held no value? Why was he so desperate to kill him? What grievance lay between them? Jai was fairly certain he had never even seen this man before.
It certainly was not over a woman. If anyone in his family were to provoke such a feud over a lady, it would be Tyrion. His little brother had far more talent in that regard.
But there was no ti for idle thought. His opponent was charging again. And this ti, from the way Clay moved, Jai could sense sothing that filled him with dread.
His recovery rate was monstrous.
As a seasoned Kingsguard who had participated in countless tourneys, Jai knew just how exhausting prolonged mounted combat could be. Riding and striking over extended periods demanded enormous stamina. Most n would falter quickly under such strain.
Yet this young warrior before him showed no sign of fatigue. On the contrary, each of Clay's swings was stronger than the last, brimming with undiminished power. There was not the slightest hint of weakness in his rhythm. This completely upended Jai's plan of stalling until his opponent tired, then seizing the chance to counterattack.
Though they were not wielding the heavy lances typically used in jousting, even a hand-and-a-half sword carried weight. It certainly was not made of Valyrian steel. How had he been swinging it so fiercely for so long without slowing?
As their battle dragged on, Jai's expression shifted. What had started as a confident smirk gave way to growing seriousness, then disbelief, followed by bafflent, and finally utter confusion.
By now, it was clear. Their swordsmanship was evenly matched. A single decisive strike to end the fight was out of reach. But the problem remained...
Why was Clay not tired?
The question lood large in Jai's mind. His own arms were so sore he could barely lift them. His muscles ached, his grip trembled, and he could feel the weapon slipping in his sweat-slick hands. Yet Clay pressed on like a relentless machine. Every blow carried with it the sa crushing force.
Using all his strength to hold the sword upright at his waist, Jai raised his longsword in a defensive stance and gritted his teeth to withstand Clay's latest, thunderous strike. The blow drove both him and his horse several paces backward, breaking his montum entirely.
Clay, having halted his opponent's charge with a single, devastating slash, licked the corner of his lips. He, too, was beginning to realize sothing. His enemy... was starting to tire.
Before the battle began, Clay had imagined countless ways to win this duel. But never had he considered that he might erge victorious simply by wearing his foe down with the superior endurance and recovery speed granted to him as a Witcher.
Up until now, the protective Quen shield he had cast upon himself at the beginning of the fight had not even broken. All his caution seed almost unnecessary in hindsight.
As he spared a quick glance toward the valley, he saw that the tide of battle had firmly turned. Northern cavalry, having charged down from the mountain slopes on both the eastern and western flanks, had successfully split the Lannister forces apart.
Each charge claid the lives of at least a hundred Lannister soldiers.
Before the battle had begun, Clay had given a cold and unforgiving order to every commander leading a cavalry assault.
"In this battle, we take no prisoners. Even if they surrender, we cut them down all the sa."
These words stirred imdiate protest among so of the northern officers, who argued that such a command was dishonorable and went against the code of nobility. Clay, however, dismissed their protests with a sharp rebuke, without hesitation.
"My lord, we have barely over five thousand n. Even if not a single one of us falls in this battle, how many do you plan to leave behind to guard prisoners? A hundred? Two hundred? Perhaps three hundred?"
He fixed them with a steely gaze and continued, "Opportunities in battle co and go in the blink of an eye. We must utterly crush the Lannister cavalry before their infantry has a chance to react. If we leave too many n behind to guard captives, we will not have enough troops to carry through the next wave of attacks. If we leave too few, and even one or two prisoners manage to escape, the consequences could be disastrous."
"Let say it again. In this battle, I want twelve thousand Lannister heads. I want every soul bearing the na Lannister to tremble at the ntion of my na and of this army. Do you understand ?"
Clay knew very well that slaughtering those who surrendered was viewed as a grievous sin. But he did not care. Not for this battle. For the Lannisters, he had no intention of offering rcy or the chance to yield.
Back on the battlefield, Clay's eyes settled once more on Jai Lannister, the Kingslayer, who stood panting not far from him. Feeling the power still coursing through his limbs, Clay spun his sword in a swift, practiced motion, the blade whistling through the air like a silver flower blooming in midflight. Then, without hesitation, he charged forward once more.
Around them, the freed northern soldiers—noblen who had no enemies left to fight—had gathered in a wide circle. They watched in silence, tension thick in the air, their eyes fixed on the duel between the two commanders.
After a long mont of watching, Lord Howland let out a soft sigh and murmured in awe, "By the gods, Lord Clay's stamina is like that of a dragon. He's been fighting for so long, and yet he still charges with such force. It is simply beyond belief."
His words drew nods and murmurs of agreent from many other lords nearby. At this point, the duel no longer felt like a life-and-death confrontation. It had beco sothing almost surreal.
It was a rare sight indeed. None among them had ever imagined that soone could go toe-to-toe in a one-on-one fight with Jai Lannister, a man ranked among the top ten warriors in all the Seven Kingdoms, and wear him down to the point where he could barely hold his sword.
The northern nobles were in high spirits. They knew without a doubt that this battle would end with the complete annihilation of the two thousand Lannister cavalryn. It would mark the greatest victory the northern forces had achieved since the war began. A triumph worthy of toasting with three great barrels of wine.
But for Jai Lannister, the vanquished, there was no joy to be found.
He looked ahead at the mysterious knight thundering toward him like an unstoppable bull, and he summoned every last drop of strength he had left in his weary body to prepare for one final block.
But it was no use. His fatigue had reached its limit. His wrist had stiffened like stone. He could no longer hold his sword.
With a tallic clang, the weapon slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. A mont later, the overwhelming force of his opponent's blow knocked him clean off his horse and sent him crashing down into the dirt.
Flat on his back, he stared up at the dim golden sky of dusk, his eyes hollow and dazed.
He had given it everything he had. There was truly nothing more he could do.
He felt the razor-sharp point of a sword pressing against the artery in his neck, and then heard the voice of his conqueror. The voice was startlingly young, and eerily calm.
"You've lost, Lannister."
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[Chapter End's]
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