Buzz!As the final banner was hung atop the platform, it felt as if the very air had stilled for a moment.
Seated high above, Gawen observed the increasingly noisy crowd with a cold expression, inwardly amused at how many literate people there were in this part of the Reach.
Had this been the Crab Claw Peninsula, most of them wouldn't even be able to read.
All the announcers and plants he had arranged in secret turned out to be useless—just another part of the atmosphere.
What a pity, Gawen thought. If only time had allowed, he could've even opened some betting on the side.
The first challenger of the day stepped onto the stage amidst the clamor.
Gawen spotted the sigil on the man's chest: a field of pure blue with a flock of golden cranes.
His brow rose slightly. House Crane?One of the Reach houses sworn directly to House Tyrell.
Gawen recalled that after Renly Baratheon had declared himself king, one of the Cranes had been named the Purple Guard among the Rainbow Guard.
Gawen held his sword casually to the side. "Begin, Ser, of House Crane."
The man remained silent and slashed diagonally toward Gawen.
Clang!Gawen raised his sword to parry, their blades screeching as steel ground against steel.
Though his face remained stern as if locked in a duel of skill, Gawen was internally critiquing him.
Yet another hot-blooded youth with sloppy technique.
Yesterday, Gawen had drawn out the bouts to around a dozen exchanges for spectacle.
But now that he had begun taunting the Reach openly, he could afford to cut things short.
Eight or nine passes later, Gawen suddenly increased the force of his strike.
The Crane swordsman, having adjusted to Gawen's earlier rhythm, was caught off-guard. His arm went numb, and he nearly lost his grip.
Before he could recover, Gawen's sword crashed down once more.
The man could only grit his teeth and raise his blade to block.
With a clang, his sword was sent flying—Gawen's blade came to rest at his throat.
Without a word, Gawen sheathed his sword and gave the man a cold glance before turning away.
No warm words of consolation today.
The Crane swordsman sat on the ground, disheartened, and quietly left the stage.
"Next!"
Second challenger—defeated in seven or eight moves.Third—six or seven.
After that, Gawen kept each bout within six or seven exchanges.
By dusk, with the red sun sinking behind thin clouds, he stood at the center of the platform bathed in golden light—the very image of a champion.
The crowd stared in stunned silence, jaws agape.
Boom. Another swordsman, one of the most respected in the Reach, had just been sent tumbling with a single slash.
Though the previous challengers had all lost, at least they'd put up a fight. But this man—so famed—was… that weak?
A brewing resentment stirred in the crowd, a sense of betrayal.
Seizing the strange silence, Gawen declared coldly, "The challenge continues tomorrow."
He sighed faintly, shook his head, and left the stage flanked by his men in blue cloaks bearing the Crabb sigil.
King's Landing – Chataya's Establishment, beneath Rhaenys' Hill.
The brothel had two stories and a round tower. Its windows were inlaid with lead, and a gilded lantern decorated with deep red glass hung above the door.
Dick Rivers arrived just before nightfall and called for his sister.
Her face was blank at first, but when she saw him from afar, a stiff smile formed. As she approached, it slowly turned genuine.
"Dick, did you come to see me?" she asked, voice tinged with joy.
Despite the new clothes, Dick still stank.
His sister barely furrowed her brow—so slightly it was almost imperceptible—and affectionately took his arm.
"The gold cloak captain you mentioned said I should report tomorrow."
"Don't worry, I've already arranged everything," she assured him.
Dick hesitated. "Do you think… tomorrow, I should write my name as Dick Crabb?"
His sister pulled away slightly, paused, then clutched his arm again. Her hands trembled.
"Brother… what are you trying to do?"
"I thought if I used the name Crabb, the gold cloaks wouldn't look down on me for being new. I tested the waters with the captain—he didn't seem to care. It's not like the name means anything to them. As long as I'm careful…"
His voice trailed off as he noticed her trembling worsening.
Crabb… She thought she had forgotten that name.
No—she'd even heard it recently… from a client's drunken talk.
"Are you alright? Are you sick?" Dick asked.
His sister snapped out of it. "Dick, are you mad? Do you want to be hanged?!"
"I… I'll be careful… Don't cry, please. I just wanted to make a name for myself, so I can get you out of here."
"I am doing well!"
Dick shrank his neck, glanced around nervously, and relaxed when he saw no one watching.
"Please, trust me this once."
His sister wiped her tears. "I just… don't want you to die. And… maybe there's a better way."
She glanced around, lowered her voice, and whispered, "Someone I know has recently caught the favor of… a Lannister. The little one."
"Lanni—Lannister?" Dick blinked.
To him, the gold cloak captain had already been a big shot.
But Lannister? The Lannisters? The family made of gold?
"One of his friends… has the surname Crabb. I think he's still in the city."
She had heard it in passing, never paid it much mind. But now, with Dick's rash idea, the name rang in her ears.
The next morning.
A new banner appeared on the platform:
"The Swordsmen of the Reach Aren't Men at All."
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