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Chapter 80: Bronze and Blood! - Part 3
🕑 Added 2024-04-26 00:09:46 +0000 UTC"By the Seven! Wonderful, Damian, simply wonderful!" King Robert bellowed, his robust laughter echoing across the dueling ground as he watched Damian expertly dispatch three veteran Ironborn warriors. His voice, thick with awe and delight, resonated with the force of his unabashed approval.
As King Robert's cheers rang out, they ignited a wave of enthusiasm among the other Westerosi nobles. The northern soldiers and nobles, in particular, responded with the loudest cheers, their voices swelling in a powerful chorus of acclaim among those gathered on the grounds.
Observing the scene, Ned Stark felt a surge of pride for his younger brother. The cheers and recognition showered upon Damian by the assembled crowd filled him with a deep sense of satisfaction. Watching Damian's prowess in battle significantly eased his worries about his brother's capabilities and future safety. This relief was visible in the subtle loosening of his grip on the hilt of 'Ice,' his Valyrian sword.
Once the noise settled, Damian issued the same stern decree as before, dissolving House Tawney, House Farwynd of Sealskin Point, and House Volmark on Harlaw. Although the lord of Harlaw Island, Rodrick Harlaw, was absent. Should he, too, fail to recognize Damian's authority, he would face the same stark choice: combat or the dissolution of his house. But those concerns were for another day; Damian still faced further challenges on the field.
Looking around at the remaining challengers, Damian's voice cut through the tense air, "Do you all still wish to fight, or will you kneel and swear fealty to me?" His question was pointed, meant to probe the resolve of his opponents after he displayed lethal efficiency. Despite the fatigue that edged his voice, a hard weariness evident in his posture, Damian’s presence remained daunting.
Dunstan Drumm's response was as fierce as it was defiant. "You're a skilled fighter, I'll grant you that, but we Ironborn will never bow to a Stark pup." He surveyed his remaining allies, Lord Wandon Wynch and Lord Donnor Saltcliff, who both nodded as if they had planned something beforehand.
Dunstan’s sneer widened as he stepped boldly towards Damian. "Since you've already faced three of us together, surely you wouldn't balk at another trio. Or would you prefer us one by one?" His voice boomed across the dueling ground, filled with defiance.
Damian’s response was swift and sharp, his voice echoing with confidence. "As if you all coming together would change anything. You all will have the same fate as the rest of them." He shifted into a defensive stance, his bronze sword held ready, reflecting his readiness to face any number of opponents.
With a flourish that drew the crowd's eyes, Dunstan unsheathed his Valyrian steel sword, 'Red Rain.' The blade glimmered ominously, its dark red steel catching the light and reflecting the colour that mesmerized the onlookers. Murmurs of admiration swept through the crowd at the sight of such a renowned and rare weapon.
To Dunstan's left and right, Donnor and Wandon positioned themselves strategically. Wandon was armoured heavily, from his helm to his greaves, the clank of his steel armour punctuating each movement. He wielded an axe in each hand, and on his arm, a large shield was strapped, ready to fend off any of Damian’s attacks.
Donnor, on the other hand, presented a different challenge. He surprised everyone by choosing a smaller shield paired with a long spear, offering him both defense and reach. His choice of weapons clearly suggested that they had closely studied Damian’s previous duels and adjusted their tactics accordingly.
Before the clash of steel and the roar of battle consumed the dueling ground, Damian stood at a measured distance from his opponents, his expression unreadable behind the mask of his battle focus. Yet, just as the tension reached its peak and the crowd held its breath in anticipation, he did something unexpected and subtle, unnoticed by many.
Damian closed his eyes briefly, his lips moving in a faint murmur. To any onlooker, it seemed he was merely steadying his nerves or focusing his mind. However, his lips formed words—a quiet mantra or perhaps a brief invocation. Only the slight upturn of his lips into a knowing smile hinted at the significance of the moment.
The spells he whispered before the duel were not just words but ancient magics that coursed through him. 'Bless Strength' filled his limbs with power, and 'Oakskin' fortified his flesh against the iron kiss of his foes' blades.
Wandon, a brute of a man clad in iron from head to toe, was first to meet this enhanced foe. His downfall began with a simple feint towards Donnor, an expected move, yet when Damian spun to face Wynch, the shift was so swift, so precise, that it seemed time itself bent to his will.
With a strength that seemed to mock him, Damian's boot met Wandon's knee, not merely striking it but reshaping it. The crunch of shattering bone was a gruesome symphony to the ears of the onlookers, a sound followed by Wandon's howl of agony as he crumpled to the ground, his leg became grotesque to Damian's merciless strength.
The crowd gasped, a mixture of awe and horror rippling through the spectators as they witnessed Damian's sheer physical prowess. Before Damian had only used his speed and unimaginable body movements to dispatch his opponents quickly.
Damian did not pause to revel in the shock of his actions. Turning swiftly, he faced Donnor, who had recovered from the initial feint and was now advancing with a raised shield and spear. Damian’s smile was gone, replaced by a focused grimace as he prepared to engage.
With the agility that his spells further enhanced, he sidestepped Donnor’s spear thrust, grabbed the shaft, and pulled Donnor forward. Utilizing the momentum, Damian drove his elbow into Donnor's face with a force that echoed through the silent field. The shield fell as Donnor staggered back, blood streaming from a broken nose.
As Damian's fingers closed around the spear shaft, his senses heightened by the spells coursing through him, he was acutely aware of every movement around him—even those obscured by the chaos of combat. Yet, despite his preparation, what followed was a stark deviation from the codes of honour often sung about in the ballads of knights and heroes.
The crowd's murmurs turned into a shocked silence as they witnessed Dunstan's next move. It was a maneuver driven by desperation and a chilling willingness to sacrifice anything—or anyone—to achieve victory. Dunstan, his face set in a grim mask of determination, moved not around but through his own ally. With a ruthless thrust, his Valyrian steel sword, 'Red Rain', sliced through Donnor's back, emerging coated in blood and aimed directly at Damian's head.
The betrayal of the maneuver was not lost on the onlookers; a collective gasp rose from the crowd, a mixture of horror and intrigue at the unfolding drama. Donnor's scream was cut short as the blade pierced his body, his eyes widening in pain and betrayal before he collapsed, his life extinguished by the hand of his Iron comrade.
'Ah Shit', Damian had not anticipated this type of move from Dunstan.
