"Sister, what you did is too much!" A shout of anger cut off Malora's triumphant laughter. Pausing for a moment, she saw who it was and began giggling again. "Oh, Garth, my dear little brother, I was just playing a joke on your little attendant."
William exhaled in relief, grateful that this obstacle had finally passed.
Garth walked from the end of the corridor, holding his helmet. He was in his thirties, broad-shouldered, with short, neatly combed blond hair. Normally imposing, he now carried a hint of anger, making him seem even more formidable. Garth had heard rumors about his second sister troubling William, but since William hadn't told him, he hadn't inquired. Seeing it with his own eyes now, he was furious. He was friends with Walter, and Walter had entrusted his only remaining son—the heir of Harrenhal—to him as an attendant. If William were forced to marry his nearly forty-year-old sister, Garth didn't even know how he could explain it to Walter.
Garth stepped between them, glaring at Malora and lowering his voice slightly. "He's still just a child! Stop making these kinds of jokes."
"A child? My adorable little brother, oh ho ho ho, look! The ghosts following him are all opposing your words—one after another, so many I can't even Lord, and a giant… ah ah ah, don't come near! Ah!!!" At first, Malora laughed playfully, pointing and gesturing at her brother. But her expression suddenly changed, and she scrambled away, rolling and crawling down the corridor.
"My badge…" William watched her disappear around the corner, his outstretched hand dropping weakly.
"She wasn't like this when she was little," Garth said to William, awkwardly trying to explain. "When she was around ten, she had a high fever. After she woke, her mind wasn't quite right. She would talk nonsense often. Don't be too scared."
"Nonsense? What she just said doesn't seem like nonsense at all." William pondered Malora's words, glancing around, feeling a chill run down his spine.
Seeing his expression, Garth asked seriously, "Do you really think she saw ghosts and knows you killed the giant Ronan?"
William nodded, then suddenly realized something was off: how did Garth know what happened?
"Haha, actually, you hadn't returned to the old town yet. The ravens already brought news from Ten Mile Town—she must have read your father's letter," Garth chuckled, patting William on the shoulder, feeling both amused and impressed. "The giant Ronan had been terrorizing the West Coast for years, with no one able to stop him. His death was truly satisfying. You did very well, William!"
William smiled awkwardly.
"Alright, let's go to the training ground. Even though you've done very well, training can't be neglected."
The training ground was huge, enough to accommodate hundreds of people practicing various exercises at once. The towering tower provided shade from the afternoon sun, and the wind from the Honeywine River brought moist air, keeping the sweating soldiers comfortable and refreshed.
In the center of the training ground, William and Garth's other attendant, Erren Floren, sparred enthusiastically. Both wore the Hightower family's standard armor, one hand holding a sword and the other a shield, simulating mounted knights fighting on foot. Their fundamentals were solid, and their strength and speed were very close, making the match evenly contested and suspenseful. Dozens of Hightower soldiers watched excitedly, cheering, shouting, and occasionally booing. Only Garth stood with his arms crossed, frowning, silently observing.
When William first arrived in the old town, after some observation, Garth had considered William's combat talent only average, expecting nothing more than that he would complete training and be knighted. After all, William would inherit Harrenhal and become a Lord eventually, and his personal combat ability wasn't essential. But since last year, William had repeatedly won local dueling tournaments near the old town. When the news reached Garth, he was incredulous. Among the defeated knights, many were friends of Garth. He had asked them directly or by letter, yet their descriptions of William were completely different from what he had seen. He had previously thought they exaggerated William to preserve dignity in defeat, but after hearing the news of the Ten Mile Town battle, Garth could no longer doubt it.
The battlefield is a place of death; the arena is a place of sport. In the arena, victory or defeat involves some luck, but on the battlefield, life or death is at stake—there is no room for deception. According to the message from Highgarden, Garlan and William, along with two other knights, launched an attack while over two hundred Ironborn were scattered across the town, committing robberies. They took them down one by one, killing more than half of the enemy while losing two of their own. Garlan and William held out until reinforcements arrived.
Garth had also dealt with the Ironborn many times and knew that while they were reckless, they were not fools. They wouldn't just let four knights pick them off one by one; they would organize a counterattack. In such fierce combat, there was no way William could have simply gone along for the ride. Moreover, the letter specifically mentioned that the giant Ronan was killed by William.
What puzzled Garth was precisely this stalemate. Could the person who killed the infamous giant Ronan really be at that level?
At that moment, the tide of the fight suddenly turned. Erren accidentally left an opening, and William decisively struck, attacking in rapid succession. Erren flailed clumsily, utterly overwhelmed, and in the end couldn't hold out. He fell to the ground, and when he looked up, William was holding his sword, lifting Erren's faceplate aside with a playful smile. Erren had no choice but to raise his hand in surrender.
Garth's tightly furrowed brows relaxed. This round of attack was flawless: keenly seizing the opportunity, launching continuous strikes, and taking down the opponent in one decisive wave. It reflected both rich experience and excellent combat awareness. Perhaps William had just wanted to spare Erren from too much embarrassment, Garth thought to himself, stroking his chin.
William raised his weapon in excitement, celebrating the victory like a gladiator who had just survived a fight to the death. The watching soldiers joined in with laughter, cheers, and shouts.
William's excitement wasn't feigned. Erren was a year older, with similar talent and effort, making him a perfect benchmark. In their training matches, William never used enhancements so as not to create illusions that might undermine his foundational practice. Erren's opening today was minor, and he later defended effectively. In the past, William might not even have noticed the flaw, or if he did, hesitation could have prevented him from exploiting it, and even if he struck decisively, Erren could have countered.
But today, William gave him no chance, taking him down in one wave. He clearly felt his own progress. "Perhaps it's because of that life-or-death test."
A waterbird flew out from behind the towering tower, its cheerful call catching William's attention. He looked at the clear blue sky, feeling a sense of clarity and lightness.
"Hey, William, give me a hand!" Erren shouted, still a little sore from losing.
William snapped back to reality, planted his sword in the ground, and laughed as he helped Erren up. "How's that, Erren? Dazed, huh?"
"Tch, that was just an accident. If I'd paid a little more attention—just a little—you wouldn't have had a chance."
"Alright, don't look so wounded. I'm the invincible William! There's nothing shameful about being defeated by me."
Erren's eyes lit up. "Eh, that's true! You've already won so many dueling tournaments. So that means I could join the next one too, as long as I pay just a little more attention…"
"Next time, we'll see!" William cut him off, unwilling to let the boy recklessly risk himself. He slung Erren over his shoulder and headed to the rest area, joking along the way with familiar soldiers.
Back in the rest area, after changing into his formal clothes, William asked Garth for leave. "Ser, I need to go to the Academy today. I probably won't be back tonight."
Garth nodded. He didn't object to knights learning knowledge, but he casually asked, "To see Archmaester Marwyn?"
"Yes, I have some business with him," William replied.
It was now the second half of 296 AC, and the time left for Lord Walter and Miss Minisa was running short.
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