Apparently, the people of Westeros had never heard of a certain unknown master of martial arts—someone who knew a little of everything.
When Leon spoke these audacious words calmly, it was as if a spell had frozen everyone nearby. For a moment, all movement ceased.
Even Alliser Thorne, usually brimming with malice, could not contain his shock. He gaped.
"What did that kid just say?"
"I—I didn't catch that clearly… but it sounded… impressive."
"He said he wants to beat ten…"
"Huh… beat ten?"
After a long pause, everyone finally snapped out of their stupor. They double-checked, repeatedly, to make sure they hadn't misheard Leon's words.
Then, spontaneously, the crowd erupted into the warmest applause and laughter any of them could remember.
The noise spread like wildfire across Black Iron Castle, reaching the parade ground and drawing the curiosity of anyone nearby, whether they were busy with work or merely passing through.
"Strange… isn't today the selection for the Night's Watch? Why haven't I heard anything about a circus?" a passerby muttered as he made his way to the parade ground.
Jon, seated on a haystack, felt no pride at Leon's shocking words. Instead, he was deeply embarrassed. He secretly wished he were a groundhog, able to dig a hole and hide.
Jon and Leon had always been close, so his reaction made sense.
The first to arrive at the parade ground, as usual, was the little devil. Born with a disability and walking on short legs, he somehow always beat everyone to the scene when gossip was involved—a talent that seemed innate.
By the time he heard a half-understood retelling of Leon's bold proclamation, nearly half of Black Iron Castle's residents knew about it.
Even Lord Commander Ser Jeor Mormont, typically buried in his own affairs and rarely appearing publicly, and Grand Maester Aemon, seldom seen outside his chambers, were drawn to the scene.
As soon as they appeared, the previously noisy training ground quieted. After learning the details, Grand Maester Aemon's gentle face grew serious. He looked down at Leon standing in the middle of the field and asked solemnly, "Leon, if I remember correctly, your Victor family is not known for bravery or boldness."
Hearing this, the audience couldn't help but stifle laughter, even under Jeor Mormont's imposing presence.
"Reporting to Grand Maester Aemon: the emblem of my Victor family is thorns and swords, and our motto is 'Burning Blood Road.'"
"Oh? So you do remember. Were you confused by the fever, or is your brain not working properly?" Grand Maester Aemon continued, questioning him seriously. Their back-and-forth drew waves of laughter from the audience.
Ser Jeor Mormont, usually stern and temperamental, showed a rare gentleness.
"Young man, your courage in standing up for your companions is commendable. But you must not endanger yourself. Are you certain you want to challenge ten opponents? I hope you answer honestly."
"Reporting to the commander-in-chief: with my skills, it is not an exaggeration to say I can defeat ten of them. If it weren't for the hierarchy, I would have challenged the coach today," Leon replied. His voice was neither timid nor arrogant—just inspiring.
From an outsider's perspective, Leon sounded heroic. To some, he was insane.
Jeor Mormont no longer cared about arrogance or recklessness. To him, the questions were merely a formality, acknowledging the bond between Leon and Jon. Having offered Leon a way out, Jeor stepped aside and left. Many experienced Night Watch leaders followed, convinced today's incident was nothing but a farce.
Over the years, the Night's Watch had declined. The once-proud castle had become a mixed crowd of the incompetent and arrogant. To them, Leon was just the boldest fool in the lot.
Yet Grand Maester Aemon stayed. He whispered to an apprentice, who quickly returned with a medicine box, revealing the Maester's kindness and compassion.
Alliser Thorne, uneasy about his plans, feared the Lord Commander would intervene and ensure fairness—or worse, stop the event. To his relief, Jeor did nothing. The competition would proceed as planned.
"How long will you losers keep the audience waiting? Do I need to call each of you out by name to face our 'Fight Ten Adults'?" Alliser Thorne sneered from the podium, cruel excitement written across his face. He surveyed the crowd like a gladiator master selecting the strongest ten.
"Master Head Coach, we don't need ten—just me!" Hod, surrounded by curious onlookers, shouted confidently, eager to impress and defeat his old rival Jon.
His words had the opposite effect. While some appreciated Hod's bravado, most wanted to see Leon truly fight ten.
"What are you babbling about, you blockhead? Ten! Any less would disrespect Ladybug!" Alliser Thorne fumed, nearly twitching with rage. Even if he intervened personally, ten fully armored Night Watch recruits would overwhelm Leon, who, like Jon, could not wear armor. The conditions were a death trap.
Alliser signaled the recruits to prepare, ready to end Hod's empty boasting.
"Ready to leave any last words, Mr. Ladybug?" Hod strutted forward, imitating famous execution scenes, expecting Leon to answer before his doom.
Leon tilted his head and replied calmly, "Are you planning to die first?"
The words struck like cold water on hot oil, sending shockwaves through the crowd. A few even laughed so hard they fainted.
But Hod, hearing this, felt humiliated. He looked ridiculous in Leon's clear gaze. Furious, he charged at Leon, followed closely by more than ten Night Watch recruits, converging like a flock of ravenous crows.
The crowd held its breath, eager to witness Leon's potential demise. No one offered sympathy—the compassionate few had left with Jeor Mormont. Only the thrill-seekers remained, ready to watch the spectacle unfold.
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Jon Snow: "There's more to read… twenty chapters ahead. Three are free. The rest wait at patreon.com/Captain_Lag. If you wish it." ❄️
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