King Robert's promise, like a supreme edict, quickly spread throughout the Red Keep.
A Night's Watchman from the Wall not only received the King's special permission to participate in the upcoming Hand's Tourney,
but was even allowed free access to the Red Keep's armory and stables to choose the best equipment.
As soon as the news broke, the self-important knights and squires in the Red Keep all scoffed at it.
A crow, daring to covet a knight's glory?
It was an absolute joke.
Lynn paid no attention to these discussions.
The Red Keep's armory was located in the dungeons of Maegor's Holdfast.
The air here was filled with the mixed scent of grindstones and maintenance oil.
It housed the finest weaponry in the Seven Kingdoms since the Targaryen dynasty.
The one responsible for guarding it was a master blacksmith named Donal.
His face was full of wrinkles, and his arms were as thick as a normal person's thighs; it was said that he had forged armor for Prince Rhaegar in his youth.
"The King's command."
Lynn handed over the letter of permission personally signed by Ned Stark.
Donal didn't even bother to look, just grunted through his nose, his cloudy eyes scrutinizing Lynn up and down.
"You're that crow?"
He spat on the ground.
"The King's taste is getting stranger and stranger."
Lynn did not get angry, but calmly said:
"I need a full plate armor for jousting, and a set of light armor for close combat."
"The full plate armor must be sturdy, and the joints must be flexible. Especially the wrists and waist."
"I don't want to be hampered by a pile of iron shells during a charge."
"The light armor should be as light as possible: breastplate, pauldrons, vambraces, and greaves, with a chainmail lining, and nothing else."
"I want protection, not a burden."
Donal's contempt on his face receded somewhat, and a hint of surprise flashed in his cloudy eyes.
This crow was no amateur.
His demands were precise and strict, seeming to come entirely from someone who had truly seen battle, not from those fops who only knew how to show off flashy armor in the tourney grounds.
"Follow me."
Donal said no more, leading Lynn deep into the armory.
Rows of cold armor reflected a dim, cold light under the torchlight.
These were all one-in-a-hundred masterpieces, each having once belonged to a renowned knight.
Lynn's gaze swept over the armor carved with ornate crests, finally stopping on a set of entirely black plate armor.
The armor had no superfluous decorations; its lines were smooth and stark, as if born for slaughter.
"Good eye."
Donal's voice held approval for the first time.
"This was forged from the best steel in King's Landing, imitating the craftsmanship of valyrian steel, but unfortunately, no one knows the legendary fire magic, or how to forge with the dragonfire of the extinct dragons."
"Otherwise, this set of plate armor would have even better protection."
"But even so, it's a rare masterpiece."
Lynn stepped forward and lightly tapped the breastplate with his finger.
"Dong."
A muffled thud.
Heavy and solid.
"I'll take this one."
Just then, a sneaky little head peeked out from behind a row of weapon racks.
It was Arya.
She had just finished her "dance" lesson with Syrio and heard the news that Lynn was in the armory, so she slipped away, not even bothering with her needlework class.
Her eyes were wide.
Lynn had long sensed her presence but didn't expose her.
He turned around, took a practice wooden sword from the weapon rack, and casually twirled it.
"Clang."
With a crisp sound, the tip of the wooden sword precisely struck the vambrace of a nearby set of armor.
The force wasn't great, but it made the entire metal arm guard tremble.
Arya's mouth was slightly agape.
Syrio had also taught her this move.
It emphasized wrist strength and precise control.
But Syrio used a light rapier, while Lynn held a relatively heavier wooden sword.
Making the heavy seem light.
"Had enough watching, little rascal?"
Lynn's voice carried a hint of a smile.
Arya then stuck out her tongue and ran out from behind the weapon rack, her grey eyes sparkling.
"Lynn! Are you really going to participate in the tourney?"
"Yes."
"Is it jousting?"
"Yes."
"Will you win?"
"Will you defeat the Knight of Flowers? And the Kingslayer!"
Arya's tone was full of excitement, as if she herself were the one about to compete.
Lynn smiled, not answering directly.
He walked over to Arya, knelt down, and met her gaze.
"What has your dance teacher taught you?"
Arya was startled, instinctively straightening her back, imitating Syrio's tone.
"See, you must see with your eyes. Still as water, swift as a deer."
"He didn't teach you the most important line."
"What?"
Lynn extended his finger, tapped his own temple, then Arya's.
"Here, this is your strongest weapon."
He stood up, unfastened a small leather sheath from his waist, and handed it to Arya.
It was a small dragonglass dagger, shorter and thinner than "Needle," entirely black, gleaming coldly.
This valyrian steel dagger had always been with him.
"For you."
Arya's breath hitched.
She carefully took the dagger.
She drew the dagger, its blade cutting a sharp line of light under the torchlight.
"I..."
She looked up, wanting to say something, but didn't know what to say.
"Remember," Lynn ruffled her hair.
"If something unexpected happens to me, you need to return to the North immediately; King's Landing is not safe."
With that, Lynn no longer paid attention to Arya, who stood frozen in place, and turned to follow Donal to another area where light armor was stored.
Arya stood there, clutching the cold dagger, feeling her palm grow warm... After selecting his armor, Lynn went to the Royal Stables.
The stable master had already received orders and had brought out the best warhorses in the stable, lined up.
There were Arabian horses with snow-white coats and graceful builds.
There were Andalusian horses with bulging muscles and astonishing endurance.
And there were sand steeds from Dorne, known for their speed.
Each one was a priceless steed.
However, Lynn's gaze remained fixed on the corner of the stable.
There was a huge black horse, confined alone in a paddock.
It was a pure black Shire horse.
Its size was a full head larger than an ordinary warhorse, with thick legs and bulging muscles, like a black bull.
It was impatiently pawing the ground, hot breath snorting from its nostrils.
Its black eyes were full of wildness and defiance.
"My Lord, 'Storm' is too spirited; he has already injured several knights who tried to tame him."
The stable master kindly warned him.
Lynn walked directly towards it.
The black horse named "Storm" sensed the stranger's approach and immediately let out a furious neigh.
Its front hooves reared high, poised to strike down.
The surrounding squires backed away in fright.
Lynn didn't even blink.
He just stood there quietly, meeting the wild horse's gaze with his black eyes.
Soon, Storm's raised front hooves froze in mid-air.
The ferocity and defiance in its eyes faded at a visible rate.
In their place came confusion, which finally turned into submission.
It slowly lowered its front hooves and humbly nuzzled Lynn's palm with its muzzle.
This was the confidence brought by Riding, which made Lynn very familiar with Riding pets.
In the stable, there was a deathly silence.
Everyone stared at the scene, dumbfounded, as if watching an incredible silent play.
"This one it is."
Lynn swung onto the horse, his movements fluid and natural.
Black steed, black armor, black longsword.
Man and horse seemed to merge into one.
Lynn rode "Storm" slowly out of the stable.
He came face to face with Jaime Lannister and Loras Tyrell.
The Kingslayer and the Knight of Flowers, the two most dazzling knights of the Seven Kingdoms, were walking side by side, discussing something.
When they saw Lynn, the smiles on their faces faded slightly.
A hint of curiosity and scrutiny flashed in Loras's eyes, while Jaime's gaze was more of a complex inquiry.
Clearly, Jaime still remembered Lynn.
They had had a brief private meeting in Winterfell before.
He hadn't expected Lynn to be qualified to compete with him in such a short time.
Lynn ignored them, simply Riding past them.
In the instant their paths crossed, he could clearly feel how sharp the two gazes cast upon him were.
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