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Jesus fucking Christ! This is addicting!
Wylis dominated the battlefield from the get-go and it was an otherworldly feeling. The experiences he had purchased felt like his own since birth. He was no superhuman, but years of honing his body and maintaining high protein and mineral intakes had him at his peak. Every move was explosive and utterly trained.
"Hah!"
He backstepped, avoiding a deliberate strike towards his neck, and sent a two-handed strike of his blunt greatsword straight at the Westerlands' knight.
CLASH!
Wylis' attack was overpowering. While he didn't hurt the man, he did throw him to the ground. He could see why Robert loved his hammer. Using his large body and strength to bash others was thrilling. Seeing the enemies get thrown and stumble boosted his confidence.
But at that moment, he was no different from Robert. His blunt greatsword was like a hammer.
As he'd expected. His team was singled out. Seven men took upon Robert, seven against him, and seven against Brandon Stark. It was a dirty play, but not against the rules.
"Catch!"
Right then, Wylis threw his greatsword at the other knight, and along with that, he smashed his elbow into the helmet. It was thrilling to feel how responsive each part of his body was. The adrenaline, the raging heartbeat. It was delightful! All of it!
Thud!
The visor caved in and the enemy knight fell. With that, Wylis paved himself a way out of the team that had him surrounded. From then on, he took them down with his greatsword. His already long arm with the five-foot blade, granted him impressive reach.
"Ha!" He used everything. The blade of his sword. The hilt of his sword. His fist, his elbow, his knees, and his foot. He never fell down, and it never came to a dirty brawl, thankfully. That was too risky.
The crowd is… so loud.
He felt his blood pumping from all the cheers from the stands. This was it, his dream come true. This was the true experience that no re-enactment of his past life could achieve. Real men with real intent to hurt each other. A real world that was stuck in the Middle Ages. Real Kings, real Lord—this was everything he ever wanted. And yet there was so much more to win.
I will… cherish this life… like my last… and live like a fucking fat lord!
"Haaaaaa!"
The team of seven that was against him eventually fell. After that, he went ahead and helped Brandon fight the seven men. After that, he and Brandon helped Eddard. Robert needed no help, so the tourney eventually came to the climax with only four men left standing—-Robert, Eddard, Brandon, and Wylis.
They were from the same team initially and avoided each other. But that was no longer the option.
"I'll take him!" Brandon declared and went for Robert without asking Wylis.
That left Wylis to fight Eddard. Now, Eddard wasn't as tall and burly as Robert. That made Wylis feel a little out of place. He expected to fight Robert, who was a mere few inches shorter than him.
I'll go a bit easy on him.
He didn't want to humiliate the future Lord of House Stark. The honorable and cold Ned.
"Been a while, Wylis." Eddard brandished his sword. "Don't hold back. Only gods are to judge this duel."
Wylis nodded and held the greatsword in front of himself.
Clash!
Eddard made the first move.
Wylis easily deflected, matching the speed that was surprising for a man of his size. They seemingly danced back and forth, matching each other's moves and countering at the same time.
It was a true dance of the swords. But to most naked eyes, it was visible that Wylis was holding back from striking so hard that Eddard would have lost the grip of his blade.
Clank!
Slowly, Eddard's expression changed to gritting grunts.
He probably can't feel his hands anymore.
Even with his strength held back, Wylis' strike sent shockwaves so heavy that it took Eddard's everything to hold the sword.
It feels like cheating. But I can't help it. This body lived fourteen years being a fat shit. I lived a whole life in the modern world. If not for Tyrant's Squire, I'd be nothing.
Thud!
Wylis rushed into the gap between them and slammed the hilt of his sword on Eddard's chest, sending the young man toppling down.
"DOWN!" Ser Arthur roared from the side.
With that, Eddard was out of the tourney. So, Wylis merely stood in place, gathered his breath, and watched Brandon and Robert duel. Robert was taller, but Brandon was a man over six feet too. Both were burly, but Robert held an edge. Brandon's blade couldn't hold on for too long against Robert's hammer.
Brandon fell multiple times but stood up stronger each time. But the Wild Wolf's enemy wasn't the lack of strength, but rather his depleting stamina. Even Robert looked out of breath. Compared to them, Wylis was perfectly calm on the side, having removed his helmet already.
His breath was steady, and he combed his sweat-drenched hair back while eying the crowd. It was on purpose as he wanted to show his face to the realm. He was as proud of his chiseled jawline and his handsome face, as much as the body he'd carved over the years.
There she is. He eyed Lyanna in the stands, looking as beautiful as yesterday. But her robes were less extravagant now.
And the ogling bastard. He then noticed Rhaegar sitting beside his Dornish wife. But instead of focusing on the dusky beauty, the fucker was eying Lyanna the whole time.
He looked for any face he should memorize. There was Ashara Dayne as well, and their eyes almost locked on to each other despite the distance. But he kept looking around and soon noticed a strikingly beautiful, curly golden-blonde-haired girl, younger than him, staring at him. Her silken robes looked expensive, gold and red being the general theme on her entire body. She was surrounded by guards dressed in red.
Lannisters? Cersei? Is that her? Wylis wondered, finding her actually stunning, her green eyes seemingly excited. Possibly among the most beautiful women he'd seen yet in his limited travels.
Wylis also noticed some nodding gazes, as if approving of him. He reckoned they saw his current actions as noble and chivalrous. He could have joined the fight and defeated Robert with Brandon, to whom he was a squire. But he stayed out of it.
Mission successful, I guess. He thought. Women liked his strength and looks, and men liked his actions and prowess.
But there was one gaze he didn't like—The King's.
The Mad Cunt is looking at me.
So, he put his helmet back on his head and waited patiently for Robert to finish. He stabbed his greatsword's tip into the ground before him and rested his two hands on the protruding, wide rain-guard.
"DOWN!"
At last, Brandon Stark couldn't keep up with Robert. But saving the Stark pride, Brandon didn't fall, only lost the grip on his sword.
Panting, Brandon grabbed his sword and walked over to Wylis, his expression only containing a deep frown. "Wylis, beat his ass. Humble him."
"Aye, I was about to do it anyway," Wylis muttered, yanking his sword from the earth. "But if you're offering, I'll not say no to a cask of Arbor Gold. Heroism's thirsty work."
"Hah! What an expensive squire." Brandon smashed his big squire's shoulder. "Knock him on his arse, and it's on me."
Damn, he agreed. Wylis nodded and moved towards Robert with a desire to taste the famous wine at last. He'd heard about it for years now but never got his hands on it.
But he didn't lunge at Robert right away. First, Robert was drenched in sweat and panting, tired clearly. Second, fighting Robert was going to be different as he was the only man in melee there who could probably match his strength.
But still, Wylis had a stamina and mobility advantage. Robert wasn't fat, but he wasn't lean either. He had muscles, but they were not defined. Clearly, Robert didn't live as harshly as Wylis. And Wylis considered himself superior to Robert in every way except for blood status.
"Need a break, Lord Baratheon?" Wylis asked with a taunting smirk.
Robert gulped a long breath and stood straight, chest proud. "I'll feast on your defeat tonight—wine in one hand, a wench in the other!"
"A bit too early to say that, no?" Wylis took a defensive stance, the greatsword held in front of him.
Robert did the same with his hammer. "I swear, Wylis, you're like a bloody boar that never tires. How do you have such stamina?"
Of course, Robert noticed the difference. Despite a larger body than him, Wylis didn't look that tired. He'd seen Wylis fight the seven men and then aid Brandon and Eddard. He admired Wylis' strength and mastery. He respected it more. It was the highest amount of honor he could show to anyone.
Wylis shrugged, ready to strike at any moment. "Unlike you, my Lord, groomed from birth with tutors and sparring partners, I had to earn every moment. My days were consumed with mucking stables and hauling loads—odd jobs that kept the castle running. Each day was a test of how much I could endure before nightfall. Training time wasn't scheduled; it was stolen. My stamina wasn't honed in the yard; it was forged out of necessity."
"Then let's test it!"
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