In just a few days, the woods of the Riverlands were once again thrown into chaos.
Shouts of killing, the clash of blades, and wails of pain came from all directions. The camp was completely turned upside down.
At the center of the chaos, the battle between Stole and Halson was particularly intense.
Both were renowned fighters from Karhold. Their sword strikes were swift and fierce. A soldier attempting to approach was instantly cut down, scaring the others into keeping their distance.
Fighting while moving, blinded by rage, they unknowingly drifted away from the main battlefield to a relatively sparse clearing.
"Stop!" Halson parried a heavy slash, trying to explain:
"Listen to me!"
"Shut up!"
Stole wouldn't listen at all. His attacks became even more ferocious, his longsword whistling towards Halson's vital points time and again, cursing incessantly: "Damn traitor, I should have seen through you earlier!"
Seeing him so unreasonable, Halson also grew angry. He no longer held back, his offensive speed instantly increasing by more than a notch!
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Several consecutive heavy blows numbed Stole's arm, forcing him to stagger backward.
Spotting an opening, Halson delivered a fierce side kick right to Stole's abdomen!
"Argh!"
Stole cried out in pain, falling backward to the ground. His longsword flew from his hand. He looked at Halson in disbelief.
Damn it, this guy is actually this strong!
Just as he was about to pick up his sword to fight again, a cold sword tip instantly pressed against his throat.
With his chest heaving, Stole stared furiously at Halson: "Do it!"
"Kill me, you traitor!"
"I curse you; your soul will never return to the North, never receive the Heart Tree's protection. You will wander in the cold wind forever!"
Hearing this, a flash of anger crossed Halson's eyes.
He stared dead at Stole for a few seconds. Then, as Stole closed his eyes awaiting death, the sword stabbed down fiercely.
But it grazed his cheek and plunged deep into the mud!
Stole opened his eyes in confusion.
Under the moonlight, Halson's face was as resolute as a rock.
"I am not like you, Stole."
"I act with a clear conscience. Under the Heart Tree, there will always be a place for me."
With that, he didn't spare another glance at Stole on the ground, turning and striding towards where Arya had been.
After panting for a good while, Stole stood up, bewildered.
Touching the bloody scratch on his cheek from the sword, he looked in the direction Halson disappeared, his expression complex.
He finally spat a mouthful of bloody saliva, picked up his sword, and turned to rush towards the fiercest fighting.
No matter what, as captain, he had to stabilize the situation first.
However, just as he took a step, he abruptly realized a figure in a dark cloak blocking his path, pacing towards him unhurriedly.
While walking, a longsword was faintly visible under the cloak.
"Fuck..."
Stole stopped, spat again, and mocked himself: "I should have known that damn doctor was no good."
However, the cloaked figure remained silent, continuing to approach slowly.
"Pretentious bastard!"
Seeing this, Stole roared and charged with his sword unceremoniously!
Clang clang clang!!!!
The two engaged instantly, blades striking a rapid series of sparks.
During the fight, Stole quickly realized something was wrong.
The opponent was using his left hand, but the swordsmanship appeared very awkward and uncoordinated, the strength also weak, as if fighting a woman.
Normally, Stole could defeat such an opponent in two rounds.
But having just experienced a fierce battle with Halson, his stamina was greatly depleted, and his arm was still numb. For a moment, he was evenly matched with this weak opponent.
But such swordsmanship was enough to make Stole suspicious.
"Who the hell are you!"
He leaped back to open the distance, then shouted sternly, trying to delay for time to recover some strength.
Fortunately, the cloaked figure didn't continue attacking but cooperated by standing still and slowly lifting the hood.
Stole's pupils contracted.
Under the cold moonlight, brilliant golden hair was revealed.
Looking at Stole's momentarily stunned expression, Jaime's mouth curled into a mocking arc: "Didn't you have fun cursing me during the day?"
"What, can't recognize me face to face?"
Saying this, he raised the blade with his left hand and shouted: "Say my name, bastard!"
Roared at like this, excitement instantly appeared in Stole's eyes. His breathing became heavier, and even his shoulders began to shake.
"Kingslayer... Hahaha, Kingslayer!"
"That is not my name, bastard!"
This insulting title instantly enraged Jaime.
His eyes cracked with rage, roaring as he pounced forward madly. His left-handed sword hacked frantically at Stole, his mouth chanting like a curse: "Say my name... Say my name!"
However, the left hand was ultimately not his dominant hand.
This reckless offensive exposed larger openings. After a full-force clash, he couldn't hold onto the hilt. The longsword flew out of his hand, landing a few steps away!
Warrior's instinct made Stole seize the opportunity immediately, delivering a fierce headbutt straight to Jaime's face!
Thud!
With a muffled sound, Jaime's nose bled profusely as he fell onto his back.
Stole strode forward, laughing wildly: "Your name?"
"Jaime Lannister! Jaime Lannister!"
"Remember, you will die at the hands of Earl Rickard Karstark's guard... Harrag Stole!"
"Die!!!"
The sword tip stabbed down fiercely!
However, another blade pierced Stole's back heart with greater speed, penetrating his chest and emerging from the front!
Squelch!
Stole's movement froze in mid-air. He looked down in disbelief, opened his mouth, but couldn't make any sound.
His body swayed and fell heavily forward, landing right beside Jaime. His eyes stared straight at him, as if unable to accept this fact.
Clearly, revenge was imminent...
Jaime looked up with lingering fear, meeting Corleone's harmless face.
Covering his bleeding nose, struggling to sit up, he looked at Stole's corpse beside him, then up at Corleone.
Corleone ignored him, squatting down first to rummage through Stole's body. With a look of joy, he fished out the pouch containing one hundred Gold Dragons and stuffed it into his own tunic.
"What are you looking at?"
Noticing Jaime's complex gaze, Corleone rolled his eyes and teased: "I know you Lannisters always pay your debts, but this guy still owed me money."
"Can't let you steal the spotlight every time."
"Also."
Saying this, he pointed at Stole's corpse, then at Jaime's wretched state: "Next time before throwing your life away, give a signal first. If not for my minor achievement in swordsmanship, we'd have to drag your corpse back to King's Landing."
"Ser Jaime Lannister!"