Check out advanced chapters on : patreon.com/Veni_V
---------------
Clang! The blades met, sending sparks flying.
"It's remarkable that you survived in that place," Garland said, his voice low and strained through gritted teeth.
Cole didn't respond. He simply swung his twin swords, one to the left, the other to the right, his movements sharp and relentless.
Garland sidestepped, gripping his swords with both hands as he pressed forward, aiming directly for Cole's jaw.
Cole blocked with a horizontal parry, but Garland suddenly twisted and slashed toward his thigh.
He barely leaped back in time. The wind whistled past his ear as a sword sliced dangerously close to his cheek.
"Good dodge," Garland acknowledged, his blade already coming for the vulnerable gap between Cole's ribs.
Garland's swordplay was precise, refined—each strike probing for weaknesses. His movements carried a fluid grace, almost reminiscent of the Water Dance.
Despite the onslaught, Cole held his ground. With the Eye of Time, dodging ordinary attacks came easily, though battling three opponents back-to-back had taken its toll.
Fortunately, Garland didn't maintain the Water Dance style for long. His technique shifted—his swings became broader, his stance more forceful. He still sought weaknesses, but his attacks grew less intricate.
Defense wasn't in Cole's nature. After blocking a few strikes, he saw an opening and launched into a fierce offensive. His style was sheer aggression—overwhelming, relentless.
Blades clashed as they dodged and countered each other's attacks. Garland, quick and adaptive, weaved left and right, retreating after every exchange.
Then he struck, both hands gripping his sword as he slashed from the left. Cole deflected the blow with his twin blades.
Garland lunged, aiming a direct thrust, but Cole parried. Seizing the moment, Cole swung his other sword—but missed, throwing himself slightly off balance.
Garland capitalized instantly, leaping into the air and bringing his sword down in a powerful arc.
Cole twisted his wrist, flipping his sword in reverse so that the flat of the blade pressed against his elbow, meeting the strike head-on.
Clang!
A sharp crack rang out. His sword snapped in two. He recoiled, stepping back swiftly.
Now wielding only a single sword, Cole discarded the broken blade. He tightened his grip on the remaining weapon, the steel hilt firm against his chain-gloved hand.
They clashed again, exchanging blow after blow. Ten strikes. Twenty. Neither willing to yield.
Stabs, parries, slashes—left, right, downward.
Their breathing grew heavy as they circled each other, eyes locked.
Cole feinted, but Garland deflected the strike. Using the momentum, Cole spun and swung with greater force, his blade whistling through the air. Garland retreated under the onslaught, deflecting strike after strike.
Then, the Green Knight struck from the side. Cole raised his sword to block, but misjudged his stance. In a flash, Garland shifted his attack, forcing Cole to retreat.
The fight had raged long, but the turning point came in an instant.
Garland misstepped—just slightly—but it was enough. Cole's blade found its mark, slicing into Garland's arm.
Garland grunted in pain and swung wildly to push him back.
Cole pressed forward, slashing again. Clang! The impact sent Garland's sword flying from his grasp.
The outcome was clear.
Garland clutched his wounded arm, stepping back. He didn't turn his head, but his eyes darted from side to side.
Cole bent down, picked up the fallen sword, and tossed it lightly into the air. The blade flipped end over end before landing at Garland's feet.
Garland retrieved the fine steel sword, twirled it once, and settled into a defensive stance, one arm resting against his side. He raised his blade in salute.
Cole exhaled softly, his iron-chain gloves scraping against the hilt as he tightened his grip.
The fight resumed, but with his wounded arm, Garland was no longer a match for Cole.
Step by step, he retreated, barely holding his ground. Cole could see him struggling, yet for the moment, he couldn't break through his defense.
Then came the pounding of heavy hooves—Garland's reinforcements had finally arrived. Four or five cavalrymen charged straight at Cole. Seeing them, he swiftly withdrew, making his way toward his own side. His own cavalrymen rode forward to meet him.
The battle raged on, knights clashing on horseback. Cole's eyes flicked toward Garland—he had been lifted onto a horse.
So that was his true goal. This was never about a duel.
At that moment, Cole realized he couldn't see Brienne or Loras.
Riderless horses surrounded him, their reins dangling. He rushed toward the nearest one, but a strange sensation prickled at his back. Instinct kicked in—he flung himself to the left, rolling across the ground just as a lance-wielding rider thundered past.
He scrambled to his feet and dashed forward, narrowly avoiding another charge. Reaching the horse, he gripped its saddle, hauled himself up, and swung into place. He seized the reins, adjusting to the warhorse's rhythm.
The battlefield remained chaotic, but most of the remaining cavalry were on his side now. Some enemies had fallen; others had fled.
Then, a knight rode toward him. His armor bore the engraving of a silver seahorse. At first, Cole let down his guard—until the knight suddenly raised his sword at the last moment.
A murderous gleam in his eyes.
Damn bastard. Velaryon was trying to kill him.
Cole twisted his body, dodging past the incoming strike. The Velaryon knight wheeled his horse around and struck again, but Cole blocked the blow with his gauntlet.
With a sharp flick of his longsword, Cole struck the knight's elbow. The blade bit deep—his entire hand severed clean.
The knight screamed, but before he could react, Cole's sword plunged into his chest.
Blood seeped down the grooves of the blade. Cole wrenched his weapon free, flicking it sharply to shake off the crimson droplets.
The battle was nearing its end. Still, Cole remained cautious, keeping his distance from the worst of the fighting.
This cavalry force had been placed under Stannis's command without warning—it was impossible to tell who among them could be trusted. Unless that Velaryon knight had acted out of personal hatred, it meant the Earl of the Tides himself wanted Cole dead.
If he died here, no one would hold Montford Velaryon accountable.
Clearly, the earl's grudge ran deeper than Cole had anticipated. He had never feared making enemies of Stannis's followers, knowing most of them would perish at the Blackwater.
But now, another fate loomed before him.
The Battle of the Blackwater—that would be the true test.
Would Stannis even be able to rally his scattered forces if things continued like this?
Overhead, the white dragon circled, but there was still no sign of Renly.
As the cavalry regrouped around him, Cole called forth several knights bearing the stag sigil of House Baratheon and the emblem of House Baelon Aemon.
The Royal Forest was in chaos—any attempt at strategy had collapsed into mindless slaughter.
Cole wasted no time. He split the cavalry, taking several dozen riders from the Baratheon and Baelon Aemon forces with him.
This was no ordinary retreat. Many had lost their minds in the carnage.
In the depths of the forest, Cole and his men were ambushed multiple times. Opportunists prowled the battlefield—looters draped in mismatched armor, some donning stolen helmets, others clad in plate stripped from the dead.
As darkness fell, the situation worsened. A violent mob descended upon them, overwhelming Cole's forces. They fought, but the chaos was too great. In the end, they were forced to retreat.
A scout rode ahead to survey the path. He soon returned, reporting that a large group lay ahead—likely bandits.
Cole didn't hesitate. He led his men forward.
With bandits, the battle was simple—cut off the head, and the body crumbles. As long as their leader fell, the rest would surrender quickly.
Along the way, he had gathered numerous stray soldiers, though he left them behind in temporary camps, assigning a cavalry officer to hold them until the main army arrived.
Up ahead, the flickering glow of fire danced in the darkness.
A shadowed figure crouched beside the flames, hunched over, doing something.
Beside him stood a man wearing a helm adorned with a stag.
Cole narrowed his eyes.
Something was about to unfold.