Below the Red Hill, the tourney grounds.
Andalos sat at roughly the same latitude as the Vale of Arryn in Westeros. In the height of summer, the climate here was pleasant, lacking the scorching heat of Dorne.
A faint scent of blood wafted through the air; though the grounds were a distance away from the site of the Battle of Red Hill, the echoes of the slaughter still lingered.
The Greenvine father and son were still letting out desperate wails, two prisoners lashed to the trees.
Viserys held a blunted training sword, his gaze fixed on Donnel, who stood not far from him.
A trial by combat was often a duel on foot, without the aid of horses—a straightforward clash of sword and shield.
Both men wore bright training mail. Their blunted iron swords and oak shields gleamed under the sun.
Donnel Rock's face was a mask of focus and determination, while Viserys appeared remarkably relaxed.
This relaxation didn't stem from arrogance, but from a foundation of absolute strength and rigorous training.
Battle! Thrilling! Powering up! Exhilarating!
Donnel was confident in himself; he was the Patriarch of the Rock family and a famous knight of northern Andalos.
Yet, facing Viserys, Donnel knew he had to be at his absolute best.
The dead Tyroshi mercenaries and the broken Greenvine soldiers served as a grim testament to Viserys's power and intellect.
This bloodthirsty and brave Viserys possessed a strength as sharp as his handsome features.
The spectating cavalry and infantry automatically formed two lines, creating an irregular circle around the combatants.
"Viserys Targaryen, do you really not wish to select a champion? Or perhaps we should choose another time?" Donnel asked.
"There is no need. Your opponent is me," Viserys told him.
"You will pay for your hubris," Donnel gritted his teeth. He had initially wanted to give Viserys time to recover so as not to win an unfair victory.
The knights of the Rock family were confused. In their minds, the massive Argos was clearly more dangerous than this pretty silver-haired youth.
"The Father!"
"The Mother!"
"The Warrior!"
"The Smith!"
"The Maiden!"
"The Stranger!"
"We shall follow the will of the Seven, acknowledge their decree, and respect the outcome of this duel. Let the gods on high choose: see whether Donnel of House Rock or Viserys of House Targaryen holds the favor of the gods."
"I pray the Father judges their innocence, and the Warrior grants strength to the side of justice."
Argos and a knight from the Rock family recited the prayers together, acting as the marshals for the trial by combat.
Ideally, a septon would have performed the rites, but there was no time. The presence of both sides ensured the fairness of the outcome.
"Begin!" The murmurs of the crowd vanished instantly.
As the moment of the clash arrived, two figures blurred into motion, launching themselves at one another.
Donnel struck first, his longsword whistling as it swung down toward Viserys's head.
Viserys had to admit that Donnel was a more dangerous opponent than Argos; the strength and angle of his strike were perfect.
But Viserys did not back down. His sword rose to meet the blow.
Clang! The two blunted iron swords collided in mid-air, producing a piercing metallic shriek.
Donnel's eyes shone with confidence. His sword strokes were like the rising tide—swelling, relentless, a flurry of rotating slashes.
Viserys remained unhurried, expertly parrying and countering, neutralizing every move.
Donnel's inner shock grew. He was thirty years old, the prime age for a swordsman. He was confident that his strength, experience, and speed had reached their zenith.
Yet, Viserys—half his age—was an equally terrifying swordsman.
Viserys's strength was not inferior to his own. Within that tall, elegant frame lay a hidden, terrifying power comparable to a muscular beast.
Donnel lunged forward, his blade carrying the weight of a thunderous surge, a savage strike intended to shatter Viserys's rhythm.
Faced with this blow that felt like a mountain collapsing, any knight would have faltered.
Instead, Viserys pressed the attack. He shifted his body with the agility of a leopard, evading Donnel's full-strength strike before lunging back in.
There were no flashy flourishes; the blade seemed to be an extension of Viserys's own body.
Because his strength and speed were so perfectly balanced, every strike was lethally efficient.
"My turn!" Viserys unleashed a storm of blows upon Donnel.
Plain, unadorned attacks, yet striking like a viper at the enemy's vital openings.
Viserys's blunted sword hammered against Donnel's ribs. The giant, now frantic, left a gap in his defense.
Even through the iron links, Donnel felt a searing, burning pain.
"Viserys!"
"King Viserys!" The soldiers cheered the King's name.
"Again!" Donnel roared, swinging his greatsword in wide arcs and lunging stabs, his steps heavy and fast.
Viserys stepped back, perfectly evading the assault.
He used his eyes, nose, tongue, ears, and skin to feel the entire battlefield—this was Insight.
It was as if Viserys possessed the power of prophecy, predicting exactly where Donnel's attacks would land.
"It's insight. Good lad, how did he learn it so fast?" Syrio was taken aback. This wasn't just a genius; this was a revolutionary talent.
Viserys gripped his sword. His blade reversed, thrusting toward Donnel's left shoulder blade at an impossibly eerie angle.
Donnel pulled his sword back to parry. If that hit landed, it could crush bone or numb the limb, slowing his attack speed.
Viserys watched Donnel's reaction. His blade flickered abruptly, changing trajectory to strike Donnel's right shoulder instead.
Donnel Rock cast aside all his arrogance and conceit. Viserys was more terrifying than he had ever imagined.
Slashes!
Thrusts!
Feints!
Charges!
Donnel watched helplessly as the blade danced in Viserys's hands. Every strike came with extraordinary speed and followed a trajectory that left him exhausted just trying to keep up.
Bang! Bang!
The sound of clashing steel rang out repeatedly across the grounds. Every soldier stared wide-eyed at the masterful duel.
Viserys was like a machine wound to its limit, his blade whipping up a dark storm of iron.
"Wavelike Sword Stance!" The air around the blade seemed to howl. His power erupted in an instant, like waves crashing one after another.
Viserys's speed was staggering—like fire sweeping a field, like a dragon soaring to the heavens.
Donnel felt himself being hammered by a terrifying force—repetitive, multi-layered damage intended to grind him down.
As the force ground him away, Donnel's speed began to flag. More and more gaps appeared in his defense.
Arms, ribs, knees—Donnel felt his muscles growing stiff, his movements sluggish.
If this had been a real blade, he would have been a dead man long ago.
Clatter. Donnel dropped his sword.
"I yield!" Donnel spoke, no longer caring about the bruises on his body.
Donnel Rock knelt in the mud, his head reeling. He looked up at the victor, Viserys.
"The Seven Heavens are above. The Warrior has smiled upon Your Grace. I apologize for my arrogance," Donnel said. "I accept any punishment."
Bitterness filled Donnel's heart. Viserys had fought a battle before this duel, yet he had still lost utterly.
Donnel took a deep breath. Perhaps this was the Warrior's will—that this man was shaped to save Andalos.
"Viserys!"
"Viserys!"
"The Warrior!"
The surrounding soldiers let out a deafening cheer. The name of the Rock family was famous in Andalos, but before a true warrior, Donnel had been powerless.
Even the knights of the Rock family who had seen battle understood that this represented a purity of power and confidence.
No flowery words or false sentiment—just raw power, speed, and ferocity. That surging sword style was extraordinary.
Raging like fire!
Immovable as a mountain!
This wasn't a victory of schemes, but of honor and strength.
"Are you willing to offer me everything, Donnel?" Viserys looked down at his defeated opponent. The feeling was intoxicating.
He wouldn't break the Rock; instead, he needed such a warrior.
"Gold, land, even my head. I repent for my hubris," Donnel answered loudly.
"I want none of those. What I seek is more precious than gold or land. Can you give it?" Viserys asked.
"I can."
"Very well. I want only your loyalty and that of the Rock family." Viserys stared at Donnel.
Donnel pressed his forehead into the mud. "In the name of the Seven, by the justice of the Father and the bravery of the Warrior, in the name of all the patriarchs of House Rock, I swear fealty to you, Viserys of House Targaryen, King of Andalos. Thus today, and thus every day, the Rock family shall be loyal to King Viserys and his descendants."
"Excellent!" Viserys laid his blunted sword on Donnel's shoulder. "Only a knight may dub a knight, and only a King may appoint a vassal. I name you my bannerman."
"Long live King Viserys!" Donnel shouted. From this moment on, the King and Andalos were his faith.
"Long live the King!"
"Long live the King!"
From this moment on, Viserys was the supreme King of Andalos.