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Don your armor of honor.
Wield your fearless sword.
Redeem the suffering soul.
Ride free and proud, knight.
...
The battle flag soared high, scales gleamed in the sunlight, and the cloak unfurled like a streak of color in the wind as the horse galloped forward.
It was like two massive waves colliding with unstoppable force.
The leading figures were clad in jade-scale and silver armor.
One side bore flat silver plate armor, a double-winged helmet, and a black cloak embroidered with white silk wings and soaring birds. In his hands, he wielded twin swords.
The other was adorned in intricately carved silver armor, a floral-engraved helmet, and a rose pinned to his chest. A cloak embroidered with a hundred flowers flowed behind him as he held a twelve-foot lance.
Even before their weapons clashed, they knew who their opponent was.
Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers.
Ser Cole Julius, the Knight of Two Swords.
No words were needed. The duel had begun.
Loras lowered his lance, bracing it against his ribs. The sharpened tip gleamed like a crossbow bolt, aimed straight ahead. In this moment, his world contained only one thing—the knight charging toward him.
Cole held the reins in one hand and a sword in the other. It wasn't that he didn't want to use a lance, but he had never trained with one. Without proper technique, wielding it could do more harm than good—he could easily dislocate his wrist or worse. If he injured his arm in battle, retreating would be the only option.
Rushing headlong into the lance's reach was suicide, so Cole steered his horse to the side.
Loras had anticipated this and adjusted his aim, driving his horse straight toward him. The lance streaked past, but Cole dodged it effortlessly. A single-thrust weapon like that had little hope of hitting him—not with his reflexes.
With a quick shift of his weight, Cole leaned toward Loras, drawing both swords while using only his legs to steady his mount.
Loras raised his shield in defense, but a round shield could never fully block a dual-wielded assault. Seeing no better option, he yanked his lance back violently.
A sharp crack rang out as Cole's blade cut into the wooden shaft, splitting it more than half a foot deep.
Cole pressed forward, and Loras felt his entire arm twist under the force. The weight of the damaged lance was too much—he had no choice but to release it.
His shield swung through empty air as he reached for the longsword at his waist.
The moment the sword cleared its sheath, a strike came straight for his face.
Loras met the attack with his shield, but from the corner of his eye, he saw another sword sweeping toward him in a wide, deadly arc—swift as a cresting wave, sharp as winter's wind.
Steel clashed with steel. The impact sent a shudder through Loras's arms. It felt like he wasn't just blocking a sword but bearing the weight of a mountain. The sheer force nearly knocked him from his horse.
Reeling from the blow, he spurred his mount forward, putting distance between them.
But Cole wasn't about to let him escape. He pulled the reins, pressing the chase, though his horse faltered slightly, its head shaking, body unsteady.
Loras glanced back—and under his helmet, he smirked. He had always been confident in his horsemanship. With a swift turn, he circled around, moving behind Cole in an instant.
Cole spun to meet him but was just a fraction too slow.
Loras swung his shield with all the momentum of his charging horse. The sheer force behind the strike was enough to knock a man clean off his mount.
Loras expected him to block or absorb the impact. Whether Cole raised his arms or his swords, he should have been struck down.
But instead, Cole ducked.
In a split second, he flattened himself against the horse's back, dodging the shield by the narrowest of margins.
Loras's strike hit nothing but air.
Before he could recover, Cole's sword flashed.
A sharp clang echoed as the blade struck his helmet, slicing through the visor and cutting his cheek.
Blood and sweat dripped from Loras's chin, pooling into his armor.
His vision blurred. His body twisted. His sword—where was his sword? It had flown from his grasp. Only his shield, strapped to his left arm, remained.
Then came the impact.
He hit the ground, rolling through the mud in a blur of green and yellow. The world spun.
By the time he stopped, his strength was all but gone. Even clinging to consciousness was a struggle.
Through the haze, he heard something—was that a woman's voice?
No... it wasn't an illusion.
A new knight had entered the fight. A tall woman, standing firm.
Brienne of Tarth, the Beauty of Tarth.
A member of Renly Baratheon's Rainbow Guard.
Cole was about to dismount, ready to repay the debt to House Tyrell—
But then—
Another knight came charging in, sword raised high, slashing at Cole without warning.
Startled, Cole ducked under his horse's neck, narrowly avoiding the attack. But the horse reared in panic.
To his surprise, the knight did not continue the attack. Instead, he pulled his reins sharply, dismounted, and sprinted toward Loras.
Standing tall, gripping his sword with both hands, he called out—
"Ser Tyrell, are you alright?"
The voice was unmistakably a woman's.
And she was even taller than Cole.
"Why are you here?" Loras Tyrell's voice was weak.
"His Majesty the King sent me to help you," she replied.
Cole clenched his teeth. Damn it, she took down my horse again.
"Can you still stand?" Brienne asked, looking down at Loras.
The fallen knight struggled to move, barely managing to lift himself before staggering and collapsing once more.
"Ha!" Brienne wasted no time. If Loras couldn't fight, then she would take down his opponent first.
Cole spun both swords in a tight arc, his movements deceptive, weaving a feint to confuse her.
Brienne of Tarth, heir to House Tarth of Evenfall Hall. Her family had a rather poetic title—their lords were traditionally called 'Evenstar.'The Earl of Evenstar… that certainly sounded more elegant than 'Knight of Two Swords.'
Brienne swung first.
Cole crossed his swords to block, shifting his stance to absorb the force. Twisting his body, he dodged to the side, countering with a whirling strike—but Brienne leapt away.
Another heavy slash came at him, strong and deliberate.
Cole turned his sword sideways to block.
The duel turned into a battle of sheer strength. His forearm muscles tensed like steel cords as he braced against the crushing force. The crossed swords held firm, but it felt as if a mountain was pressing down on him.
Brienne gritted her teeth, pushing with all her might. Veins bulged along her arms, her muscles trembling under the strain.
Then—snap!
One of Cole's swords shifted under the pressure, breaking the stalemate. Brienne stumbled backward.
She had lost—lost in strength.
And in that instant—
With a sharp whistle, Cole's sword cut through the air toward her.
Her eyes widened in shock. She barely managed to raise her blade in defense, but pain flared through her elbow.
Only then did she realize—she had been struck, right below the joint.
She let out a sharp breath, and her sword slipped from her grasp.
Brienne turned and ran, reaching for the shield lying beside Loras.
But Cole was already in front of her, his swords flashing.
Then—his footing gave way.
The half-conscious Loras Tyrell had grabbed onto his legs.
Cole looked down in surprise—just as something crashed into his chest like a charging bull.
Brienne had slammed into him.
Yet even with that force, Cole didn't fall. He only staggered back two steps—accidentally stepping on Loras in the process.
Brienne seized his arm, trying to wrestle him down.
But she didn't anticipate what came next.
Cole tightened his grip on his sword and drove the pommel straight into her forehead.
Brienne's head snapped back, but she instantly retaliated, slamming her skull into Cole's helmet.
Both fighters reeled from the impact, momentarily dazed.
Cole cursed under his breath. Damn, what is she, an iron-headed brute?!
Recovering first, he drove his elbow into Brienne's chin.
She crumpled to the ground.
With one hand, Cole shoved her aside.
Panting, he rested a sword against his waist, catching his breath.
Then—
A sharp whistling sound cut through the air.
Cole's instincts screamed at him. Danger! He snapped into focus, activating the Eye of Time.
But the arrow wasn't aimed at him.
It shot past, deliberately missing—almost as if it was meant as a warning.
A horse neighed.
Cole turned.
There, clad in gleaming green armor, sat a knight. Two golden roses were engraved on his breastplate.
The man smiled.
"Ser Julius, we meet again."
PS:Damn, such a good protagonist. How can you not call him Westeros' Lu Bu? 🐶