The dueling stage stood beneath the slowly rising red sun.
Compared to the day before, the crowd around the platform had grown even larger, no matter how they felt personally about the spectacle.
Today's opening act had undergone a dramatic transformation.
Over thirty fully armored warriors stepped onto the stage, forming a triangular formation.
Standing alone at the very front of the formation was a rotund man, broad as a boulder.
"Roar! Roar! Roar!"
Suddenly, synchronized battle cries erupted from the platform.
These thirty-so armored warriors projected a presence that could rival a battalion of a thousand.
———
The noisy crowd froze in place, as if they were witnessing the blood and chaos of a brutal battlefield.
Drawn in by the spectacle, the surrounding onlookers fell utterly silent.
Music began to play—familiar instrunts of the Reach combined into a song that was utterly unfamiliar to the local audience.
Though foreign, the rhythm was infectious.
The armored warriors on the platform began moving in sync with the beat, producing clanging sounds of tal upon tal—each motion powerful, unified, and filled with martial grace.
Particularly striking was the fat man at the front. His movents were the most forceful, and surprisingly agile.
That nimble fat man was none other than Mondon Waters, who had earned the center position by rit alone.
The warriors performing the dance were Crabb retainers, all under Gawen Crabb's banner.
The dance itself had recently grown popular in the Crab Claw Peninsula. It was known as the Crabb Victory Dance, or the Victory Dance of the Crab Claw Peninsula.
The dance was Gawen's own adaptation of a performance from his previous life—loosely based on the "Axe Gang Victory Dance"—and had been promoted throughout his lands in the na of his household knight, Ser Pell.
In the rustic and entertainnt-starved Crab Claw Peninsula, this combative group dance was quickly embraced by the people.
At first, Gawen thought Ser Pell would earn a mocking nickna like "the Dancing Knight," but the result was quite the opposite.
Because of the dance, Ser Pell ca to be known as the Knight of Victory.
When Gawen learned of this privately, he was montarily stunned, then simply patted the deeply grateful Ser Pell on the shoulder.
———
At the climax of the performance, the Crabb warriors let out a mighty shout, raising their weapons high toward the sky, exuding such overwhelming power it felt like they might pierce the heavens.
"Haah!"
"Woooo!"
The Reach crowd, montarily forgetting any tension surrounding the dueling stage, erupted in cheers at the performance by the Crabb retinue.
With the help of the "narrators" stationed around the venue, they quickly learned the na of the dance: the Crabb Victory Dance.
Affection of the Reach locals 1.
Gawen gave a satisfied nod. Everything had to be asured—ebb and flow. This was the best way to control the tempo of his campaign.
———
Gawen stepped onto the dueling stage, resting one hand on the hilt of his sword.
Today, his expression was gentler, reminiscent of the first day he had opened the challenge.
None of the duels would last more than five rounds.
Soon enough, the first challenger of the third day ascended the platform.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Steel clashed against steel in sharp bursts.
The challenger could hardly launch a strike, forced into a defensive stance as Gawen delivered blow after blow.
Each strike from Gawen grew heavier than the last, increasing in power with frightening precision.
With a final clang, the challenger's sword was knocked from his hand, clattering to the ground.
The swordsman stared blankly at his fallen weapon, his expression utterly defeated.
He was ruthless!
The crowd murmured with montary sympathy for the challenger who had lost in just three blows.
But that sentint faded quickly. What they truly cared about was the next challenger. Their hope rested on seeing a swordsman of the Reach erge victorious.
———
Samwell Tarly and his siblings had arrived in Highgarden late the previous evening. With help from their guards, they secured an excellent viewing spot that morning.
Dickon Tarly waved his fists excitedly. "Woah! That swordplay is amazing!"
His kind-hearted sister, Talla Tarly, felt more concerned for the defeated challenger, quietly praying that he would recover his spirits soon.
Samwell, however, had one thought stuck in his mind—the fat man who had led the dance.
He and the man had similar builds, yet that perforr had moved with such agility. How?
Despite his size and weight, that man's mobility had seed completely unhindered.
Dickon, still excited, turned to his brother. "Sam, can I invite Baron Gawen to lunch with us?"
Samwell wanted to answer, That should be fine.
He knew their father, Randyll Tarly, was widely regarded as one of Westeros' greatest generals, a man of significant prestige.
Gawen Crabb, as a military noble himself, would likely be willing to make the acquaintance of Lord Randyll's children.
———
But Samwell hesitated. He opened his mouth, then didn't know how to speak.
Right now, Gawen was publicly challenging the swordsn of the Reach. If he brought Dickon to approach the baron during this campaign, it might draw resentnt, or worse—bring trouble to House Tarly and their father.
"Brother?" Dickon urged again, seeing Samwell's hesitation.
Finally, Samwell made a decision. Dickon was still young, and everyone knew their father held no fondness for Samwell.
Though he was the eldest son, he did not speak for Lord Randyll, nor for House Tarly.
For the sake of his brother, Samwell would take the risk.
He had even written a final letter to his mother the night before—just in case.
———
Summoning what little courage he had, Samwell smiled wide. "Let's watch a little longer, Dickon. We'll find the right mont."
Dickon cheered at Samwell's agreent.
Their sister Talla, observing quietly, smiled faintly for the first ti in a while.
Samwell, wiping sweat from his brow, happened to et her gaze.
They both quickly looked away.
Talla hadn't smiled at him like that in ages. Samwell didn't know why—but sohow, his heart felt lighter. The fear in his chest eased, if only slightly.
———
———
King's Landing – City Watch
Dick Rivers, thin as a rail, looked no more imposing in the gold cloak uniform of the city guard.
Hiding in a quiet corner, Dick stared blankly into space. His trembling body hinted at deep fear.
Yesterday, he had promised his sister everything would go according to plan. Yet when it ca ti to register with the Watch, it was as if the White Walkers themselves had taken control of him—he gave the surna Crabb.
He didn't even rember what he said afterward. But everyone present had already heard it.
His na was now Dick Crabb, and he was of noble birth.
"Dick Crabb" had been assigned to a relatively safe area—and even received a few subordinates. He was already a minor officer upon arrival.
Dick finally snapped out of his daze. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
He had to seize this opportunity. He couldn't afford to lose the position he had just obtained.
———
"Dick Crabb" decided—he wouldn't tell his sister. Not yet.
He would be careful. If he was careful, surely nothing would go wrong.
He believed he could handle it.
After all, everyone called him Clever Dick.
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