Harrenhal's massive tower blocked the blazing afternoon sun, casting its shadow over the courtyard, which was perfect for training. Dozens of knights were sparring in the yard.
Walter stood on the balcony under the dome of the main tower's second floor, watching the knights below in the courtyard. A proud smile lifted his lips—he couldn't hide his admiration. Already, about ten knights had been effortlessly knocked down by William: the strong ones bullied with speed, the fast ones were countered with skill, and the skilled ones were forced to endure attacks with their heavy armor before being flipped to the ground. After going through all of them, not only was Walter greatly pleased, but the dozens of knights present were also impressed.
At this moment, William was sparring with Harrenhal's instructor, Ser Robin Guberk. Although Ser Robin was highly skilled, his technical advantage could not make up for the overall difference in physical ability. After a dozen rounds, Ser Robin gradually fell behind.
The great sword swept through the air with a gust of wind. Ser Robin dodged to the side to avoid the edge. William didn't pursue; instead, stepping back two paces and laughed. "Robin is indeed highly skilled. This bout has left me wanting more. But I'd like to spar with the other knights too. Can we call it a draw for now so I don't use up all my strength?"
Harrenhal's instructor knew William was giving him face, nodded in agreement, and silently felt grateful. Walter, on the balcony, smiled in approval.
William then glanced around at the other knights with a cheerful grin. "Knights, who else dares to challenge the 'Invincible William'?"
The knights chuckled good-naturedly. Before the contest began, William had said something similar, and back then, everyone laughed, thinking he was boasting. Now, hearing it again, they laughed even louder—but their feelings had completely changed. The knights looked at each other. One nudged Vary Ward with his arm. Vary, tall and imposing with a stern expression, clearly a tough man, shook his head. "My strength isn't necessarily greater than Ser William's. My speed is too low. I don't stand a chance."
Seeing the knights' reactions, William briefly worried he might have gone too far. His purpose in training was to build rapport with them for better coordination in future wars. This awkward silence was embarrassing. He looked toward the mercenary knights standing separately and had an idea. "Ah, it seems the knights want to leave the chance to challenge me to the Hedge knights." He stepped closer to the Hedge knights, smiling broadly. "Knights, I don't yet have a sworn knight. Perhaps today, I'll gain one!"
The Hedge knights stirred with excitement.
Hedge knights usually came from small or declining families. Some had been squires and were formally knighted, but their families couldn't support them, so they traveled seeking employment. Often sleeping outdoors under hedges, they were called Hedge Knights. Their circumstances were tough. Many dreamed simply of finding a lord to serve as a sworn knight. William, as the future Lord of Harrenhal, offered a promising future—this was a huge temptation. But after the earlier round of sparring, William had truly established an image of being unconquerable, making the mercenary knights hesitate.
"Alright, it's still a bit awkward, but at least it's not the family knights who are shy," William shrugged. Just as he was about to end the awkward moment, a middle-aged knight stepped forward, parting the crowd. His nose wasn't high, he had a square jaw, gray hair neatly combed, and a plain appearance—but he was calm and composed as he introduced himself: he was Rosso Brunn, from the Crackclaw Point, clearly a man of few words.
His steady demeanor gave off reliability. William also noticed the other mercenary knights' approving glances and thought, This one's not simple! Excited, he said, "Pleased to meet you, Ser Rosso!"
After exchanging salutes, they took their stances and slowly approached each other. In the previous sparring, William had already shown unparalleled strength and speed. Ordinary knights would have only thought about defending for a few rounds, but Rosso unexpectedly struck first with fierce attacks, revealing the intelligence and courage hidden beneath his quiet exterior.
They soon exchanged ten or so intense rounds. William attacked with full force. Rosso mostly defended, yet was not entirely overwhelmed. He moved with ease, occasionally countering, which surprised and delighted William. Could it be I've truly found a gem?
With his enhanced strength and speed, William knew that even randomly swinging his sword would be enough to leave ordinary knights helpless and retreating. There were few in all of Westeros who could handle him at full strength.
To fully test Rosso, William unleashed everything. Every strike left multiple afterimages and wind gusts, making the observing knights hold their breath in astonishment. Rosso responded calmly, navigating the storm of attacks without danger, moving freely in defense and counterattack. Those unfamiliar with him were immediately impressed.
With dozens of strikes launched in rapid succession but no sign of breaking the stalemate, William suddenly grew impatient. A flash of anger surged in his chest as he brought his sword down with a fierce chop. Rosso was taken completely by surprise—he had never imagined that William, already unimaginably fast, could suddenly accelerate even more. His timing disrupted, Rosso could only instinctively raise his sword to block.
"Clang!" The resounding crash of metal rang out as a tremendous force shoved his arm backward. In the blink of an eye, Rosso twisted his wrist, only to feel the sword slam into his chest like a heavy club. The overwhelming force continued to push forward, and before he could react, he was sent flying.
William's anger dissipated as quickly as it had surged. He calmed instantly, watching Rosso crash heavily to the ground. The surrounding knights all drew in a sharp breath, hearts racing—this was a remarkable knight; they prayed he wasn't hurt and rushed forward. "Ser Rosso, are you alright, Ser?"
Rosso coughed a few times and struggled to sit up. "I'm fine, Ser William."
At that moment, Instructor Robin and a few mercenary knights who were close to Rosso approached. Robin spoke to one of them: "Ser Marven, go fetch the Maester."
"No need for the Maester. I'm not seriously hurt," Rosso said, standing with William's help. His armor bore a noticeable dent across the chest, his face pale but breathing steady.
Seeing that he was truly okay, William relaxed. "It's been a long time since I fought this freely. I didn't hold back just now, but your performance was truly outstanding."
Rosso gave a wry smile. "I still have a long way to go compared to you." He felt a little disheartened after losing so decisively.
William removed the iron gauntlet from his right hand and extended it toward Rosso with an appreciative smile. "I formally invite you to join House Whent. What do you say?"
Rosso froze in disbelief. After a moment, joy flooded his expression, and he knelt on one knee before William, swearing his oath with excitement.
Walter, who had somehow made his way from the balcony to among the knights, now smiled broadly at William and Rosso, clapping. The other knights followed suit, cheering and applauding.
That evening, Walter gathered the knights for a small celebration. William had originally been seated on the high platform with Walter and a few others, but unlike pure Westerosi nobles, he didn't care about rank or status and wouldn't miss a chance to bond. Once the banquet began, he descended from the platform and joined the knights at the long table, drinking freely with them. Rosso, newly promoted as one of the ten cavalry captains, sat at the long table below the platform, with William beside him. His face was flushed, whether from the wine or excitement, no one could tell.
After a slightly tipsy William returned to the platform, Walter stood to give a speech, outlining House Whent's bright future and the knights' promising prospects. The knights raised their cups in unison, cheering, and the banquet reached its peak energy.
Leaning back in his chair, William propped his chin with one hand and held his cup with the other. Watching the knights below, all exhilarated and full of morale, he felt immense satisfaction—and even more confidence in defending Harrenhal in the battles to come.