As soon as Arthur's bold challenge rang out, the Reach nobles erupted in outrage.
"Who do you think you are, to challenge Horace and Hobber Redwyne?"
"You're overestimating yourself, Bracken. Meryn Trant was a disgraced Kingsguard, barely tolerated by his brothers. Beating him doesn't mean you can stand against the Redwyne twins."
"Men from the Trident love their boasts as much as their wine."
"He's relying on Ser Loras's favor to shield him. He thinks we won't call his bluff."
Patrick's face turned red with anger. Seeing his idol insulted, and the men of the Riverlands mocked so casually, he exploded.
"Rubbish! Arthur Bracken is the kind of man who can kill five or six wild boars alone! You think he'd be scared of two wine-sipping courtiers? Defeating them is child's play for him!"
Naturally, that claim only fueled more skepticism.
"Five or six wild boars?" someone scoffed. "That's not strength, that's fantasy."
"Indeed. A single wild boar is enough to maul a small hunting party. Either he's lying or Patrick is. Likely both."
"Enough," Loras Tyrell's voice cut through the noise. "Is this how the sons of noble houses behave?"
Though Loras, the Knight of Flowers, didn't completely believe Arthur's tale, a part of him was intrigued. A brawl with Meryn Trant was one thing—but this? He wanted to see Arthur's true measure. Still, decorum had to be maintained.
The Reach nobles fell quiet, but their expressions made their opinions plain: they weren't done, just silenced—for now.
Loras turned to Arthur. "You truly mean to face both Redwyne brothers at once?"
"Yes," Arthur replied calmly. "Strength shuts mouths better than words ever could."
He gestured for his attendant, Meidan, and instructed him to retrieve both his weapons—the warhammer and Shuo Yue, his crescent-bladed sword—from the inn. Meidan departed quickly, joined by two of Patrick's men. After all, carrying two massive weapons was no task for a single man.
Loras paused a moment, pretending to deliberate, then gave his assent.
The yard behind the training pavilion had a fenced tourney ring, built for melee practice. It would serve perfectly.
The only issue: Arthur had no armor. Of course, he believed he could win without it—but Loras, ever the chivalrous host, offered his own.
"Your plate is being forged still, yes? Take mine," he said. "I won't have my guest bloodied for lack of steel."
The two men were close in build, and Loras's custom-fitted armor suited Arthur well. He accepted with a nod and allowed squires to help him into it.
But the gesture stirred more mocking whispers from the Reach nobles.
"Borrowing another man's armor now? Can't even dress the part of a warrior."
Arthur smiled thinly beneath the helm. "Talk all you want. My answers are always louder than yours."
The duel would prove it.
Meidan and the others returned, carrying Shuo Yue and the massive iron warhammer Arthur had commissioned. The crowd gathered in earnest now—noble sons and wandering knights, drawn by the scent of battle. The tourney wouldn't start for another week, and this exhibition promised blood and spectacle.
Arthur stepped into the ring, shining in Tyrell silver and green, lifting both weapons—one in each hand.
"Careful with that armor," Horace warned mockingly. "You won't be able to pay for it if it's damaged."
"And wielding two heavy weapons? Let's see how long you can last."
Arthur didn't respond. He just lowered the visor of his helm. Let steel speak.
The three combatants took their places. Nobles and commoners crowded the ring's edge, eager for violence.
One Redwyne twin advanced first—shield in one hand, short sword in the other—probing forward. The other circled wide, wielding a two-handed longsword, clearly planning to strike while his brother distracted.
Not bad, Arthur noted. At least they understood basic tactics.
He stepped forward, hammer in his right hand, crescent-blade in the left, and met the advance head-on.
The hammer struck first. With a thunderous blow, it crushed the face of the painted five-pointed shield, splintering wood and denting steel. Gasps echoed as the shield broke under a single swing.
Then came Shuo Yue. The crescent blade collided with the short sword in a bright cascade of sparks. The force of Arthur's swing nearly knocked the weapon from Hobber's hand.
"Gods!" someone breathed. "He broke that shield like it was kindling!"
Hobber faltered, forced back by the relentless pressure. His sword arm trembled under the strain. "What… what strength is this?" was all he could think.
Before Arthur could press his advantage, Horace attacked from behind. Arthur pivoted, blocked the overhead slash with his sword, and countered with the hammer.
"Die!" Horace roared, swinging his greatsword with all his might.
Steel crashed against steel. One hand against two—but Arthur didn't yield. His left arm held firm. Then his right arm swung low and wide.
The warhammer struck Horace's thigh with a sickening crunch. The knight screamed, staggering back. The plate had caved in from the blow.
He barely kept his feet, retreating with a limp.
That left Hobber alone—and exposed.
Arthur turned and launched another hammer strike. Hobber raised his ruined shield too late. The impact shattered what remained and sent him sprawling.
Simultaneously, Shuo Yue slashed clean across his chestplate, forcing the wind from his lungs. Hobber hit the dirt, stunned, blinking up at the crescent-shaped blade now resting at his throat.
"I yield! I yield!"
Arthur didn't move. He simply turned to the other twin.
Horace, wincing, lifted his battered sword—and then dropped it.
"I yield as well. Seven save me, you're strong."
The crowd roared. Some cheered in disbelief, others laughed in shock. Two well-trained knights defeated—barely a minute into the match.
The Redwyne twins removed their helms, red-faced and humbled. They bowed their heads in silence.
Loras said nothing at first. Even he seemed caught off guard, processing the display.
As for Arthur, he was satisfied.
He handed his weapons to Meidan, then walked—calmly, confidently—back to Loras and the gathered nobles, the victor of the duel, and now something more.
A name worth remembering.
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