Barristan turned back around and looked Leo straight in the eye.
"You're serious?"
"I swear it on the Seven. I will never tarnish your honor."
Barristan studied Leo's sincere gaze and felt himself waver.
Truth was, from the first moment he saw the young foreigner's tall, powerful build, he had thought this was prime warrior material. He'd even felt a pang of regret that someone with a body like this had wasted it. A knight that tall and strong could dominate any battlefield.
Just now he had felt exactly how much raw power was in those arms.
"It's not impossible to continue…" Barristan said after a moment. "But if I catch even a hint of laziness in your training, or if I decide you're not the right material after all, or if any dishonorable rumors start circulating, I can end this at any time. And until I personally approve, you will not tell anyone that you trained under me."
Leo raised three fingers excitedly. "I swear by the Seven—Neo Presto, second son of Duke Ni Shiming Presto, swears on the honor of my house: I will train diligently and uphold the knightly code. Until Ser Barristan Selmy gives his approval, I will never claim to anyone that I learned swordsmanship from him."
Barristan nodded. "Good. Then we start from the beginning. Though… why three fingers? Some custom from your homeland?"
Leo blinked, then realized his mistake. People in Westeros didn't swear with three fingers—they followed the Seven or the old gods.
"Heh, yeah, it's a custom from back home. Never mind that. Shall we begin?"
"Fine. We'll start with how to grip the sword…"
…
Barristan Selmy truly lived up to his legend. Not only was his skill unmatched, the man was patient, kind, and took his duty seriously.
Once he agreed to teach, he held nothing back. He explained every technique in detail, even sharing the small tricks and hard-won battlefield insights he had learned over decades.
Leo knew this training was one of the foundations he needed to survive in Westeros. In a world where strength ruled, real martial skill meant the difference between having power and having none.
In a trial by combat, for example, he would rather trust his own sword than leave his life in someone else's hands.
Of course, Leo had zero intention of ever ending up in a trial by combat.
Laws and customs meant nothing when absolute power wanted you dead.
Still, more skill was never a bad thing. And it beat sitting around all day drinking and whoring like some spoiled lord.
Besides, what guy hadn't dreamed of mastering weapons like the heroes in stories?
This wasn't a wuxia tale with flying swords and impossible feats, but learning real combat arts still felt damn good.
With that mindset, Leo threw himself into every lesson.
Barristan noticed the focus and gave him a silent nod of approval. He just wondered how long the foreign noble would keep it up.
He was also pleasantly surprised to discover that Leo's strength was far above average and that the young man already possessed excellent horsemanship. That eased some of his doubts.
The foreigner wasn't completely hopeless after all.
The most important event in any tourney was the joust—two fully armored knights charging at each other on warhorses, lances aimed to knock the opponent from the saddle.
Leo was tall, unusually strong, and already a skilled rider. He had a natural edge in the lists.
Maybe in two months this boy really would surprise everyone.
That was what Barristan started to think.
…
When you're completely focused, time flies.
Before they knew it the sun was setting. Leo had trained hard and was soaked in sweat.
Barristan was pleased that the young lord wasn't as soft as he had feared. Still, he kept his face stern as he left.
"Tomorrow, if I don't see you here the moment the sun rises, don't bother coming back. Ever."
Leo thumped his chest. "You have my word. I'll be here before sunrise."
Barristan said nothing more and walked away.
In his mind, Leo was raw material with real potential. A shame he had wasted so many years, but if he kept at it, he could still become something special.
Leo's game-body looked about seventeen or eighteen, not the almost-thirty he had been back on Earth.
He was more than happy with the new physique—tall, powerfully built without being bulky, and the kind of face that turned heads. Clothes on, he looked like any handsome young lord. He sometimes wondered what kind of star he could have been back home with this body.
Back at the Sapphire Inn he took a quick bath, ate dinner, strolled the courtyard for a bit, then turned in early.
If he wanted Barristan's respect, he had to live by the agreement: early to bed, early to rise, and show up fresh and ready.
That same night Barristan found Robert, still nursing his hangover, and gave him a full report on Leo's situation.
Robert rubbed his temples and laughed. "That little bastard can drink like a fish and he's actually good warrior material?"
"Barristan, I order you to train him hard. I want him to shine at Joffrey's nameday tourney and shove it right in Lord Gyles's face. Let the old fool see that the king knows talent when he sees it!"
"As you command, Your Grace. If Ser Neo keeps up this attitude, with his talent and quick mind he may not set the world on fire, but he should have no trouble handling the average knight."
"Good! I look forward to your good news. Ha ha ha! Hell, I might even spar with him myself when the time comes!"
The night passed quietly.
When the sun rose the next morning, Barristan arrived at the training yard and found Leo already there, swinging a sword with steady focus.
Not only that—Leo had woken before dawn, jogged to the Red Keep in light clothes, run for half an hour, then started his drills.
When the guards told Barristan, the old knight's eyes softened with real approval.
The boy really was promising material.
If he could keep this up…