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Chapter 196: The God-Gifted Lance
🕑 Added 2025-03-09 13:08:33 +0000 UTCThe tournament arena was located southwest of the Town of Redemption. Construction had begun a year ago and was only completed a few months prior. It was originally intended to host a tournament once the Miracle Fleet had secured full control over the Sea of Dorne.
However, the tournament had been repeatedly delayed due to a series of unforeseen events. First came the sea dragon attacks on ships, followed by Lynd’s disappearance during his campaign against the creatures. These incidents had disrupted the entire territory's stability, forcing the postponement of the tournament.
Unlike many other castles where arenas were left unused, Lynd ensured that this one remained active. He had a stable built beside it, where all the retired horses in the territory were gathered and cared for. The facility was also open to the public—any citizen who applied for a permit from the town hall could ride horses there free of charge. Additionally, injured, retired soldiers were stationed at the stable to teach swordsmanship and riding skills, further strengthening the military foundation of the territory.
The arena itself was also open to the public, regularly hosting smaller tournaments. A few months prior, when a large number of hedge knights, mercenaries, and freeriders had gathered in the Town of Redemption, the arena had become the busiest place in town. These warriors participated in the town’s official tournaments, seeking to impress the leadership of Summerhall and perhaps become the next Lothor or Balin.
Though these battle-hardened hedge knights, mercenaries, and freeriders had since been sent to army barracks with strict orders not to leave without permission—leading to a relative quiet in the arena—this lull was only by comparison. Many locals still gathered daily, as a number of men-at-arms from noble houses across the realm remained in town, often seeking opportunities to spar in the arena.
Today was one such occasion. Knights from Runestone in the Vale and Golden Tooth in the Westerlands had arranged for a jousting match, stirring excitement throughout the Town of Redemption. Word of the event had spread widely, and a betting pool had even been set up, with a total wager of two hundred gold dragons.
However, before the two knights could officially begin their bout, the match was abruptly called off. The reason? The arena had been claimed by none other than Lynd Tarran, the Lord of Summerhall.
But the knights weren’t left without an opponent—Lynd himself had challenged them. And more astonishingly, his challenge wasn’t for a standard sword duel, but for a joust.
Everyone across Westeros knew that Lynd was the greatest swordmaster in the Seven Kingdoms, his skill akin to that of a god. But when it came to jousting, his abilities remained an enigma. Over the years, he had never once demonstrated his skills with a lance—not to his enemies, nor even to those closest to him.
So when he boldly declared his challenge to every knight in the Town of Redemption, the entire town was drawn to the spectacle. Even the town officials flocked to the arena, eager to witness the event. In light of this, Nymeria granted all officials the day off and personally took her seat in the stands, visibly intrigued.
Lynd’s challenge wasn’t born from arrogance, but from confidence. When he had obtained the character template memory of the Nameless King, he hadn’t just acquired the memories of the Sun’s Firstborn—two additional character templates had fused with his own. In other words, he had inherited the memories and skills of three individuals.
Unlike the abilities of the Nameless King, which required immense divine power to wield, the skills from the other two templates were immediately usable. One, in particular, granted him mastery over a weapon he had never excelled at before—the lance. It was this newfound expertise that gave him the confidence to challenge the entire town’s knights.
Once the stands and the grassy areas around the arena were packed with spectators, Lynd emerged at the far end of the tournament grounds. He wore the standard armor of the town garrison rather than his usual distinctive gear. Instead of mounting his own steed, Ebon, he rode an ordinary warhorse and took up the lance and shield handed to him by his attendant.
On the opposite side of the arena stood Lothor Brune, a figure feared by all. Since becoming the commander of the Blood Armored Men, Lothor had instilled terror not just among the common folk, but even within Summerhall’s ruling class. The Blood Armored Men were a unit specifically tasked with hunting down spies and informants. To be targeted by them was to be in grave trouble.
For that reason, as Lothor took the field, the crowd collectively hoped to see him unseated.
The joust began. Both knights took their positions at opposite ends of the barrier, and as soon as the tournament marshal gave the signal, they spurred their horses into a charge.
Lothor Brune did not hold back. He aimed his lance straight for Lynd’s chest. Yet before his lance could land, Lynd’s own weapon had already slipped past Lothor’s shield with astonishing precision, striking squarely against the breastplate.
Lothor felt as though he had been hit by a wooden beam. The force sent him flying off his horse, landing hard on the ground.
While Lothor himself had no understanding of how Lynd’s strike had bested him, the spectators could see it clearly. The knights watching from the stands recognized the technique he had used—though understanding it was one thing, replicating it was another entirely.
Lothor had been outfitted in reinforced plate armor beforehand, and Lynd’s lance was made of corkwood, so despite being thrown from his horse, Lothor suffered only minor injuries.
Lynd did not stop there. After swapping for a new lance, he issued his next challenge—to Balin.
Unlike Lothor, who had remained relatively unknown in tournaments, Balin was a renowned jousting champion, having emerged victorious in the King’s Landing Tournament. Though he had spent the past years following Lynd on various campaigns and had not competed in any recent tournaments, his reputation for exceptional jousting skill remained intact. Many believed this match would not be an easy victory for Lynd.
However, to the surprise of many, the outcome was exactly the same. Using the same precise thrusting technique, Lynd sent Balin crashing to the ground. Not only was the method identical, but the point of impact on both knights was the same.
No one doubted that Balin had given his all. His timing and control over his horse were impeccable—befitting his title as a jousting champion. But Lynd’s performance was even more astonishing. Precision, speed, and stability—these were the only words the watching knights could find to describe his technique.
While these descriptions might seem simple, just as Lynd’s attacks appeared straightforward, the reality was anything but. To achieve such mastery over a single move meant that his jousting skills had reached an unparalleled level—and Lynd had just proven that.
With both Lothor and Balin defeated, other knights watching the event stepped forward to challenge him.
Though they had seen firsthand that Lynd’s jousting ability was extraordinary, far beyond their own, they still hoped for a miracle. If he made even a single mistake, the knight who bested him would gain eternal fame as the one who defeated the First Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. It was an opportunity too great to pass up.
And so, the duels continued without pause. Lynd faced every challenger who stepped forward, changing horses twelve times throughout the day, yet never stopping to rest. From morning until late afternoon, he accepted a staggering total of 476 challenges from knights across the Seven Kingdoms and even from beyond the Narrow Sea—hedge knights, mercenaries, freeriders, and more.
From beginning to end, he used only a single thrusting technique—simple yet devastatingly effective. One by one, his opponents were unseated. Throughout the entire challenge, he was never struck—not by a single lance, nor even once upon his shield.
By the time the challenge finally concluded, all doubts about Lynd’s jousting prowess had been erased. Even the most devout among the spectators began to believe that, like his swordsmanship and his mysterious powers, his jousting ability was a divine gift from the Seven Gods. The lances he had used were no longer seen as mere weapons—they had become sacred relics.
This belief spread not only among common worshippers but also among knights. As a result, the shattered lances that had been discarded on the field were eagerly collected by both knights and townsfolk, treasured as holy artifacts.
The sheer scale of the event ensured that it would be spoken of for years to come, not just in the Town of Redemption but throughout the entire Seven Kingdoms. Yet for Lynd, this grand challenge had been nothing more than a demonstration—a way to show his wife and his attendants that he was more than capable of teaching jousting.
The very next day, he was seen in the lord’s stables, personally instructing Brienne in jousting techniques. The knights under his command who had no pressing duties were also gathered to serve as her sparring partners, allowing her to quickly gain practical experience in jousting duels.
...
“My lord, do you need something from me?”
After finishing a lesson with Brienne, Lynd returned to the castle, where Tobho Mott, the current overseer of the forge, was already waiting in the study. Seeing Lynd enter, the master smith stood up and asked respectfully.
Lynd gestured for him to sit before retrieving several scrolls from a drawer and placing them before him. “I need you to forge me a new set of armor and weapons. No need for Valyrian steel—just use the hundred-forged steel from the forge.”
Tobho took the scrolls and studied them carefully. He read each detail with utmost scrutiny, spending over an hour examining the specifications. Even after finishing, he continued to mentally review every intricate component he had just read.
During Tobho’s long career as a blacksmith, the Banished Knight’s armor had been the most complex suit of armor he had ever forged—until now. The design recorded in the scroll he now held surpassed that complexity several times over, with an even more bizarre appearance.
The entire armor was composed of hundreds of interlocking plates, each shaped in a menacing, almost grotesque fashion. These overlapping plates connected seamlessly, forming a complete suit that exuded a strange, almost eerie beauty. Yet, more than anything, it radiated an overwhelming sense of aggression. "Hideous" might have been the best word to describe it.
The helmet was just as unusual as the armor itself. The faceplate bore the shape of a lion, but its elongated, prismatic plates and spiked ridges extending backward, coupled with the red plume at the rear, gave it an appearance that was both extravagant and uncanny. Though clearly designed as a lion’s visage, when combined with the rest of the armor, the entire set resembled something more akin to a dragon’s head.
In contrast to the armor’s strange design, the weapon was far more conventional—just a cross-lance. The only unusual feature was that the lance’s tip resembled a longsword rather than a traditional spearhead.
“When will it be ready?” Lynd asked.
“About six months,” Tobho answered after careful thought. Then, worried Lynd might not fully grasp the complexity of the task, he elaborated, “Forging these armor plates to your specifications will be more difficult than crafting a high-quality longsword. Each piece must be shaped, polished, and tested extensively. So, six months is already…”
“No need to explain further. I understand this won’t be an easy task—take your time,” Lynd reassured him, acknowledging the difficulty of the project.
The primary reason for commissioning this armor and weapon was to give himself a new identity—a layer of protection—when he eventually traveled to Essos. His plans wouldn’t take him there for at least another year, so there was no rush.
As Tobho prepared to leave with the designs in hand, he suddenly turned back, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “My lord, what will this armor be called?”
“The Golden Lion Armor,” Lynd replied.
“Golden Lion?” Tobho frowned slightly, clearly misunderstanding. The first thing that came to his mind was House Lannister of the North.
Lynd chose not to clarify.
...
Perhaps by coincidence, just a few days after commissioning his new armor, news arrived from Varys. The Valyrian steel Banished Knight armor had finally been completed, and Illyrio was arranging for its transport from Qohor. If all went smoothly, it would reach Lynd’s hands in about two months.
The report caught Lynd by surprise. That armor had been in the making for so long that he had nearly forgotten about it entirely. In fact, his original plan had been to travel to Qohor himself after securing Tyrosh and establishing a foothold in Essos, just to check on its progress. Now, it seemed that would no longer be necessary.
Still, something about the situation felt off. He had a nagging suspicion that things would not go as smoothly as expected.
And sure enough, his instincts proved correct. A little over a month later, another report arrived from Varys.
While en route to Volantis via the Rhoyne, the ship carrying the armor had stopped at a settlement called Selhorys. There, it had come under attack by the Dothraki. Though the town itself had withstood the assault, the docks had been raided—and the armor had been stolen.
Lynd wasn’t particularly shocked, as he had already anticipated potential complications. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t irritated.
He instructed Varys to keep tracking the armor, to determine whether the Dothraki had taken it to Vaes Dothrak or sold it elsewhere. A suit of enchanted armor with such power would undoubtedly cause a stir wherever it surfaced, making it impossible to keep hidden for long. Information on its whereabouts would eventually come to light.
Sure enough, a month later, word reached him—rumors were spreading that the Sealord of Braavos had come into possession of a suit of magical armor.
