Chapter 292: The Dagger is Revealed (Part 3)
Cotter Pyke lunged at the Kingslayer, raising his right arm high—hewing downward with immense force. The strike was accompanied by a low, irrepressible growl of exertion, like a tiger bursting from its mountain lair.
It was a move without flourish, but in its wielder's long career in the Night's Watch, at least three novice wildling raiders had been so paralyzed by the momentum of this axe that they died with split skulls before ever seeing a second swing. If one had to describe its character, it was heavy, fast, fierce, and terrifying.
The argument had taken time, but the combat began with sudden violence. However, this was not the longest foreplay Jaime had ever experienced. Remaining ever vigilant, he was not caught off guard. He pivoted with fluid grace, raising his sword to lightly deflect the battle-axe, causing Cotter's first strike to whistle past his body, missing by a mere few centimeters. By the time the momentum of that axe was spent, Val's first scream had only just subsided.
Only the dullest of opponents would be finished by such a blow; Cotter had never expected the world-renowned Kingslayer to be as dim-witted as the worst of the wildlings. But he was dual-wielding. His right-hand attack had been parried, but he still had his left!
The muscles of his left chest, back, shoulder, arm, and hand tightened in an instant, unleashing a highly dangerous second axe blow. But simultaneously, Jaime's counterattack arrived.
The cold gleam of the steel sword thrust toward Cotter's eyes. As he turned, he tilted his head back to dodge, while pulling back his failed right-hand strike—raising the axe to his chest to parry any follow-up from Jaime's blade.
(Excellent!)
Cotter roared internally. This way, he could complete his defense with his right hand while the left continued the planned strike. Unless Jaime retreated far out of the axe's reach, he would surely suffer under this combination! And as soon as the Kingslayer retreated, a storm of pursuit would await him.
But the combination faltered in the next heartbeat. Jaime's sword did not pursue recklessly as Cotter expected. Instead, he feinted and pulled the blade back, snapping it upright at his side in a nauseatingly effective position. A sword is far longer than a short axe; had Cotter stubbornly followed through with the left-hand swing, his arm would have met Jaime's edge before the axe could reach its target. He would have effectively severed his own limb.
(Damn it! Was that a lucky guess, or did he find the perfect counter in an instant?)
Cotter cursed silently. Lacking the time to ponder, he was forced to abort the momentum of his second axe mid-swing.
In combat, sudden retraction of force is a cardinal sin. The mechanical frustration of a broken rhythm was one thing, but the force already exerted doesn't vanish—it requires new energy to counteract the body's inertia before another move can be made. The veteran warrior fell into a brief dead zone where old strength was spent and new strength had yet to form.
Such a tiny flaw would be negligible against a wildling, but to a master technician like Jaime Lannister, it was as glaring as an open gate.
The Kingslayer's sword shifted from blocking to offense with dizzying speed. A quick flourish of the blade preceded a downward chop identical to the one Cotter had first attempted, falling toward the Commander's face! The steel sword, slender and light compared to the battle-axe, nonetheless carried an equivalent sense of raw power.
(Hell's bells!)
The contest of skill was undecided, but in terms of strength, this pampered Lannister was no inferior!
Cotter's hair stood on end. Before the backlash of his aborted strike could fully dissipate, he exerted his maximum effort to cross his axes. With a sharp clang, he caught Jaime's sword. His palms stung; this Kingslayer truly had some bite!
Typically, when a round of combat ends with weapons locked and neither side wounded, the next move is either a desperate push of weight and strength or a mutual, cautious retreat to find a new opening. Their gazes met. Jaime gave a slight smile and stepped forward with his left leg.
(You want to test strength? I might be old, but I've never feared anyone!)
Cotter's eyes widened, his back tensed, and he pushed forward like a bull.
But in the next instant, Jaime did something inconceivable: he raised his right leg and delivered a savage kick to Cotter's gut. To the onlookers, it appeared as though Cotter, lunging forward, had practically delivered his stomach to the bottom of Jaime's boot.
Thud—
"Ugh!"
The blow to the abdomen instantly dissolved the strength Cotter had gathered for the struggle. The old veteran stumbled back with a muffled groan, his axes nearly slipping from his hands.
"Ooooh!" The watching brothers let out a synchronized mix of excitement and mockery. Behind Cotter, the Eastwatch men instinctively stepped forward, ready to support their commander.
However, Jaime did not pursue. Cotter regained his footing after several steps. The veteran clutched his stomach, staring at Jaime as if he were a ghost.
(How the hell did he do that?)
In the eyes of the ordinary soldiers, Cotter had simply parried a move and been caught by a lucky kick during the separation. But for the participant, it was a shock to the system. Jaime had managed to kick him while simultaneously engaging with a sword?
Raising a leg and kicking—what's so hard about that? But it wasn't that simple. Anyone trained in combat knows how vital a stable base is. A standing human has only two points of contact with the ground, while a metal weapon is often heavier than one's arm. With the center of gravity shifted upward, the body must constantly move and absorb the stress of offense and defense. To suddenly remove one of those two supports to perform another action usually results in one thing: loss of balance.
You either fall or use another body part—like an arm—to compensate and maintain equilibrium.
There is no rule against using feet in armed combat, but while one might attack an opponent's legs, it is rare to use one's legs to attack an opponent's upper body. The reason is simple: it is too difficult to execute, and the risk usually outweighs the reward.
Cotter imagined himself trying to kick while swinging twin axes and realized with frustration: he couldn't do it.
That kick demonstrated Jaime's total mastery of his own body, his balance, and his timing. In a word—the man's genius for combat was unfathomable. It was now clear that Jaime's instinctive parry earlier had been no accident.
The pain in his abdomen began to fade. Through layers of thick winter clothing and hardened leather, the kick hadn't incapacitated him. This exchange, which took long to describe, had occurred in a heartbeat—a matter of seconds. But the sheer volume of information revealed in those seconds was enough for a discerning eye to chew on.
The Chief Ranger was one of those who understood. Jaime's kick was so unexpected and stylish that it left him dazed... causing him to miss the best window to stop the farce.
"Lady Val, could you do me a favor?" Jaime didn't press his advantage; he even turned to speak to the woman behind him.
"Ah, what?"
"First, step back a bit. You're affecting my form. Second, please stop screaming. It's quite noisy."
Jaime was being quite serious, but the timing was disastrous. Flirting with a girl while in a duel? In the eyes of the onlookers, it was a blatant display of contempt for the Night's Watch vows and his opponent. Amidst the jeering of the soldiers, while the officers were still stunned, a furious Cotter Pyke caught his breath and charged again.
"RAAUGH!"
He spun his body, using centrifugal force to swing his axes—one high, one low, both from the same direction toward Jaime's shoulder and waist. Such an attack left his flank and back exposed, but the trade-off was a strike more powerful and unstoppable than before. Even if the opponent found an opening, they wouldn't be able to dodge the whistling blades. Even if they parried one, they would never have time to handle the second.
A trade of blood for blood. The Lannisters always considered themselves superior—would he dare trade his life for that of an old man?
The whirlwind attack worked. Jaime was forced to step back, the wind of the two axes hissing past him. But Cotter didn't stop—he completed the rotation, using the momentum to keep swinging, continuing to press forward!
And so, Cotter Pyke drove forward with a frantic dance of steel, forcing Jaime back two steps with every rotation. Jaime's earlier request was rendered moot; Val had stepped back, but she was still screaming in terror.
The soldiers roared with excitement. To the untrained eye, Cotter's ferocious assault was magnificent. They cheered, waiting for Jaime's response.
Jaime did not keep them waiting long. While the whirlwind of blades was threatening, it was incredibly taxing on stamina. More importantly—spinning like that makes you dizzy!
Jaime took one step back, then another, then a third. On the fourth step, his foot caught the earth. The skills honed over years and the battle instincts in his blood woke up. In the blink of an eye, he transitioned from a retreat to a forward lunge—taking three quick steps in the gap between Cotter's swings.
Fast! Stable! Precise! As if he had practiced it a thousand times, his boots left a white mark on the frozen ground. One moment he was two meters away; the next, he was inside Cotter's guard.
BAM!
With a collision of bodies, he halted the Commander's momentum. Simultaneously, he raised his arm, using the broad flat of his sword near the hilt to lock down any possible path for the short axes. Finally, face-to-face at zero range, before the veteran could react, Jaime raised his hand and slapped him across the face.
The onlookers erupted in hoots and boos, while the Westermen cheered loudly for their leader's performance.
The slap wasn't as miraculous as the kick. In swordsmanship, one-handed fighters are taught to use their off-hand for auxiliary combat, including striking an opponent's face when an opening appears. Everyone knew the theory, but to witness a sudden reversal of offense and defense under such a whirlwind assault while demonstrating high-level technique was a first for the Watchmen. For the Wall, where the primary enemy was the wildling, such techniques were far too sophisticated to be practical, and thus no one bothered to learn them.
Jaime wasn't wearing a gauntlet, nor was he using brass knuckles. For that, Cotter could be thankful. But when a warrior as strong as the Kingslayer delivers a full-force slap to an unprotected face, how does it feel?
The Commander of Eastwatch found out. He saw stars, his brain feeling like it had been turned to mush. Acting only on instinct, he shoved the opponent away and swung his axes blindly to prevent pursuit, stumbling back toward his own men. The ferocity he had shown just moments ago was gone.
In less than a minute, Cotter Pyke had charged Jaime twice. Once he was kicked back, once he was slapped back. Now, even the most ignorant bystander could see the disparity: the Commander of Eastwatch, an elite warrior of the Watch, was no match for the Kingslayer. The gap in strength was so vast that luck or performance didn't even enter the equation. If they tried ten thousand more times, Cotter would never win.
The kind of epic, back-and-forth duel the crowd had hoped for was not going to happen today.
As the former Lord of Runestone, Yohn Royce was not without martial insight. In a fight to the death, Cotter Pyke would have already died twice. This cursed Kingslayer was actually this strong!
He signaled his men. Two Eastwatch brothers rushed out and dragged their dazed commander back into the crowd before he could attempt a third humiliating charge.
"It seems Lord Cotter's attempt to step over my corpse has failed." Jaime still did not pursue. He lowered his sword toward the ground, looking around the courtyard with composure. "Does anyone else care to try?"
There were few in Castle Black, along the Wall, or even in the entire North who were a match for this man. Royce looked at the bruised, vacant-eyed Cotter Pyke and realized he was on his own. He turned to the senior officers: "My lords, this is a mutiny! If you let him take the King-Beyond-the-Wall's family today, the discipline of the Night's Watch will be shattered forever!"
"It's only a mutiny if you say so!" Val argued shrilly. "Forcing us to stay so that ill-intentioned men can harm us, sparking a conflict between the settlers and the Watch, ruining the defense of the Wall, and giving the Others the chance to wipe out humanity... that would be the irreparable crime!"
Jaremy Rykker clenched his fists, staring at Jaime with fury and helplessness. He saw that the Kingslayer had no intention of obeying his orders as Chief Ranger today. But what could he do? Order the brothers to take this rebel down?
If Jaime weren't wearing the black, it would be simple. But the problem was, he was a brother of the Watch too!
With no Lord Commander, the department heads theoretically managed their own subordinates. This meant that, in theory, Rykker, the Lord Steward, and the Lord Builder together could command everyone in Castle Black except for the Logistics Department—which belonged to Egger West.
But that was only theory. Unlike Benjen Stark, Rykker's prestige was limited. If the Others attacked, the men would obey. But asking them to draw swords against fellow Watchmen—especially a group of forty-plus well-armed, highly trained Westermen? How many would answer the call, and how many casualties would it take to actually bring them down?
Even if they succeeded, what would the world think of the Watch if news of such infighting spread?
He was going to lose face today. Since the outcome couldn't be changed, he would choose the option with the least damaging consequences.
"Jaime, are you saying that no matter what, you are taking Mance Rayder's family to Queenscrown today?"
"My word is my bond."
"You will ensure they reach Queenscrown and are handed over to the Logistics Department. If anything happens to them or if they escape, I will hold you accountable. Furthermore, after you complete this task, you are to return to Castle Black to face disciplinary action and punishment for your insubordination!"
Jaime had a temper, but he wasn't stupid enough to pick a fight with everyone. Since the Chief Ranger had given him an out, he was willing to show some respect. "As you command, my lord."
As a superior, to yield to a subordinate was a great humiliation. But what else could be done? One could only blame the fact that the Night's Watch had been weak for too long. Even the rangers, their primary fighting force, couldn't handle fifty men the Lannisters had just tossed away.
The "old, weak, and sick" of Castle Black couldn't stop the Westermen, but the hundreds of Northern elites brought by Robb Stark were no pushovers. Jaremy Rykker made up his mind: as soon as this was over, he would send a rider to Nightfort to find Robb. He would tell him that his former enemy, the Kingslayer, had come to the Wall and was throwing his weight around.
If the Watch couldn't handle him, someone else would.
The Lord Steward and the Lord Builder were equally aware of their lack of strength. After a private discussion, they did not voice any opposition to the Chief Ranger's decision.
What? They were letting him go? As the conversation reached his ears, Yohn Royce was struck with shock and fury. If the Kingslayer and Mance's family escaped today, he would have no way to topple Egger and stop that shameless man—who had caused the death of his own son—from becoming Lord Commander!
"Never!" He drew his steel with a shing—not to duel Jaime, but to rally the men. "Compromise will destroy the Night's Watch! Brothers, take up your weapons! No one leaves Castle Black today!"
Dozens of his followers drew their weapons in response. The Westermen unhesitatingly matched them, the sharp, rhythmic sound of swords clearing scabbards echoing through the courtyard. The surrounding Watchmen instinctively retreated several steps, terrified of being caught in the crossfire.
The conflict was about to escalate, which was exactly Royce's final gambit. The officers of Castle Black didn't want a civil war, so he would force one upon them, forcing them to choose a side!
A single relevant follow-up question: Given Jaime's prowess and the escalating tension, do you think Egger's absence from Castle Black at this critical moment was a calculated move or a genuine oversight in his strategy?
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