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Hall of the Sword.
Lord Alan Dayne sat high upon the Sword Throne.
Arthur Whent and Gerold Dayne stood facing each other—one in gold, one in purple—creating an unmistakable atmosphere of confrontation.
High Hermitage was a cadet branch of Starfall, much like Gulltown Arryns to the main Arryns, or the Grey Starks of Wolf's Den, or the landed knights of House Whent in the past. Such branches were meant to support the main line, but they rarely stayed obedient forever.
Just as the distant Gulltown Arryns had once coveted the Eyrie, or the Grey Starks had sided with the Boltons and been destroyed.
"You're the recently famous Bat Knight, the Dark Knight Arthur Whent," Gerold Dayne said arrogantly, his pale purple cloak flowing. "They say in the green lands that you're the new light of knighthood?"
The term "green lands" was mostly used by ironborn to refer to all Westerosi territory outside the Iron Islands. In a narrower sense, it often excluded both Dorne and the North due to their distinct customs.
Darkstar truly had no talent for diplomacy. The words "I want to be the villain, I envy the Sword of the Morning, I resent the main line" were practically written across his face. No wonder the main branch disliked him.
If Gerold wanted to get along with the main family, he should have shown some humility.
But a Dayne was still a Dayne, and the High Hermitage Daynes were proud.
Gerold Dayne was widely considered the most handsome youth in Dorne, though he still carried a trace of boyish sharpness. He had a hooked nose, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. His face was cleanly shaven, and his thick silver hair fell to his collar like a silver glacier, split down the middle by a single streak of midnight black.
"A minor reputation," Arthur replied, meeting Gerold's gaze without flinching. "I took first place at the Dragonstone Squire's Tourney."
To become a legendary knight, one had to win everything.
Dornishmen had to be beaten into respect—especially Darkstar.
Gerold's eyes appeared black at first glance, but up close they were a deep, almost midnight purple.
A pair of dark eyes burning with barely contained rage.
Gerold was also studying Arthur—handsome, masculine features, black hair, and those rare deep blue-violet eyes.
"Purple eyes on a Whent. Strange," Gerold thought.
Darkstar reined in his arrogance. He was a dangerous man himself, one of Dorne's most famous young swordsmen.
In age, Arthur was thirteen and Gerold fifteen. But Arthur was nearly as tall, and he had already defeated older opponents to win a major tourney. His talent and explosive power were clearly extraordinary.
In terms of raw muscle and build, Darkstar wasn't certain he held the advantage.
But risk also meant great opportunity.
If he could defeat one of the Seven Kingdoms' most celebrated rising stars, the glory would be his.
The air grew thick with tension.
Lord Alan Dayne watched the two young men.
One was his honored guest, the other the head of a cadet branch. If they actually came to blows, it would be awkward to handle.
"I challenge you," Darkstar said, taking a deep breath. "Or are you afraid of me, Arthur Whent?"
"Gladly," Arthur answered, looking at him. It seemed the boy needed a beating.
Compared to Dragonstone, Arthur was stronger now—thanks to the lingering Greenhand power he had absorbed in Highgarden.
"Mounted lance or sword and shield on foot?" Arthur asked.
"My horse and I have been together a long time. Blades will do best," Darkstar said with a savage grin.
"You two…" Lord Alan sighed.
Very well. They were young men.
"For fairness, I will ask my cousin Ser Samwell to act as arbiter," Lord Alan announced.
Both were hot-blooded. To prevent things from getting out of hand, Lord Alan decided to bring in the old knight.
Even without Ser Samwell, Arthur's retinue was more than enough to control the situation.
"Then let us move to the training yard," Lord Alan ordered.
Where there were people, there would always be conflict. It could not be avoided.
Compared to the Red Viper killing Lord Yronwood in a duel, these two youths were already showing restraint.
The group left the Hall of the Sword and headed for the training yard.
Under the eyes of the entire castle—lord, young lady, Sword Tower guardians, master-at-arms, and Arthur's retainers—the bout began.
Darkstar used a standard blunted longsword, while Arthur's was broader and heavier.
Darkstar felt his muscles coiling like gears, his eyes bright with excitement.
He already had a reputation in Dorne and was a regular at tourneys.
Now, Darkstar hungered for greater fame.
"I've killed men before, Arthur. I'm not one of those soft Reach knights," Gerold said, launching forward with a vicious overhead strike.
He wasn't bluffing. He had real combat experience and expected the blow to make Arthur flinch.
Clang!
Arthur's blade appeared from nowhere, perfectly meeting the strike.
Gerold's eyes widened as he felt the jarring impact travel up his arm.
How?
Shock flashed through him.
He had trained relentlessly since childhood to surpass the Sword of the Morning. Among Dorne's young generation, he considered himself unmatched.
He hadn't expected this Riverlands boy to possess such terrifying strength.
Gerold glanced at Arthur again, and the shock only fueled his fighting spirit.
He saw those deep blue-violet eyes and felt nothing but mockery in them.
"You dare call yourself Arthur?" Gerold snarled, his blade surging like the rapids of the Torrentine.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The training yard rang with the sound of steel on steel.
Arthur's blade moved unhurriedly, calmly blocking every attack.
"You are Darkstar," Arthur laughed, "but I am the Dark Knight."
Darkstar was indeed extremely strong, but Arthur was a Greenhand—a superhuman warrior.
"Go Arthur!" Allyria cheered.
"This sword style was inspired by the rushing Torrentine," Gerold panted, his muscles beginning to burn. "I didn't expect you to push me this far."
The longer the fight went, the more Gerold's attacks slowed.
Arthur's giant blade rose like a mountain-splitting axe, each strike carrying overwhelming power.
"Is that heavy sword Valyrian steel too?!" Gerold roared in despair.
It wasn't the sword—it was the man's stamina.
"The Torrentine rages fiercely, but in the end it still flows into the sea. Have you ever seen the ocean, little frog?" Arthur's blade came down like thunder.
"You dare mock me?" Gerold screamed in fury. "I am Darkstar, not some frog!"
Crack!
Clang! Clang!
Gerold watched in horror as Arthur's sword technique crashed down like a violent flood.
Though he fought desperately, his strength was finally failing.
The sword fell from his hand.
He staggered back.
Dust rose. The outcome was clear.
The crowd was silent for a heartbeat—then erupted in thunderous cheers.