Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 129 One-on-One Combat - Intensive Training

On this day, the air during training breaks was still filled with the smell of dust and sweat.

Ser Arthur Dayne stood on the sidelines, a soft cloth slowly wiping the gilded hilt of the Dawn greatsword in his hand. Sunlight streamed in from the high window, falling on his deep profile and illuminating the undulating patterns on the sword.

He suddenly raised his head, his gaze piercing through the panting and clanging of metal on the training field like a hawk's, and looked directly at Euron, who was adjusting his hand guards.

"What event did you register for at the Harrenhal Tournament?" His deep voice was unusually clear amidst the noise.

Euron loosened the straps of his breastplate, took a deep breath, and answered crisply, almost like a slash: "A duel with spears!"

Long spear duel—

The Battle of the Knights, the most captivating core of the tournament, is the battlefield that almost every knight chooses. Yet, an Ironborn, who has almost never truly wielded a knight's lance before, is now throwing himself into arduous training. His intentions are self-evident: either for the hefty prize money or for the desire to achieve fame in a single battle.

Arthur paused almost imperceptibly as he wiped the hilt of his sword. He didn't seem too surprised, but a hint of scrutiny flickered in his eyes. "Is that all?" he pressed, his voice carrying a barely perceptible probing.

"The Iron Islands have submitted a seven-group tournament," Euron added, his tone calm, as if recounting the ebb and flow of the tide. He was referring to the family, the whole, not himself.

Arthur's brow twitched slightly, like a sword tassel fluttering in the wind. He took a half-step forward, his voice lowered, barely audible to the two of them: "You yourself—didn't sign up for the individual duel?" In his eyes, given Euron's almost savage and precise swordsmanship, giving up the individual arena was a complete waste.

"No." Euron's answer remained concise and without the slightest hesitation, as if the question had already been swept away by the tide and was not worth revisiting.

Why?

"He's too young, not strong enough, and his body isn't fully developed yet. The mortality rate is high, and Father won't allow it." Each reason was thrown out calmly, like a pebble, smooth yet hard.

Arthur stared at him, his gaze sharp enough to cleave a shield. "Your strength is by no means inferior. Even we—" He paused, as if weighing our words, "—would not dare say we could easily defeat you. Especially your dodging movements, as if you could predict where my next strike would land, which already puts you in an invincible position. And your fire magic, which you've never used in training, even if it's just a bluff attached to your sword, is enough to terrify any opponent. Moreover, I can feel that the temperature of your flames is extremely high; once you're touched, you'll be severely injured, if not killed."

He took another step forward, his voice as firm as a rock: "Your only weakness is strength. But in a one-on-one duel, strength isn't everything. In foot combat, heavy armor is a burden; light leather armor is the mainstream—with your sword speed and precision, you could win in one strike."

Euron finally looked up, his dark eyes reflecting the sunlight and Arthur's determined face. "You think I can win?"

"In the spear duel, I, Rhaegar, and Barristan will all participate. In addition, Velas Tyrell..."

"Oberyn Martell, the Wolf of the North, Brynden Tully the Blackfish—they're all formidable warriors." Arthur shook his head slightly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You want to win the championship there? It'll be difficult."

"I didn't even want to win," Euron's voice revealed a hint of emotion for the first time, like an undercurrent beneath the surface of the sea, "I just wanted to weigh the gap and show the world the might of the Iron Islands."

“We can have a one-on-one duel,” Arthur continued. “None of us will participate, and your chances of winning are very high.”

A brief silence fell, broken only by the intermittent clang of weapons clashing in the distance. Euron's gaze fell on the legendary greatsword in Arthur's hand, then returned to his face.

"You want me to participate in a one-on-one duel?"

"Yes," Arthur replied without the slightest hesitation.

Euron hesitated for a moment, as if weighing the direction of the tide against his father's prohibition. Finally, he raised his head, a sharp glint in his eyes. "Alright, then, I'll give it a try."

Arthur Dane's lips curled into an almost imperceptible smile. "Very well." He deftly sheathed "Dawn," his voice as firm as ever. "From today onward, dedicate half of your spear training time to practicing one-on-one foot combat."

The news spread like wildfire across every corner of the training ground—Euron would not only participate in the spear duel, but would also step onto the arena for one-on-one close combat.

The first to react were Sir Oswell Heaney and Sir Jero Hightower.

These two seasoned knights, who had previously sparred with Euron, always held back some of their swordplay and power, as if intending to mentor the younger generation. Now, all such gentle conventions have been completely shattered.

When the next sparring session began, Euron immediately sensed the difference.

Sir Oswell's two-handed greatsword was no longer a composed demonstration, but transformed into a roaring storm. Each slash carried the force to tear silk, causing Euron's hands to go numb and forcing him to retreat step by step, the sand beneath his feet flying up with each heavy stomp.

Ser Geralt's thrusts became like a venomous snake emerging from its hole, with tricky angles and lightning speed, forcing Euron to use his anticipation and dodging skills to the extreme, leaving him no chance to catch his breath.

They fell silent, the only sounds being their heavy breathing, the clanging of armor against armor, and the sharp whistling of swords cutting through the air. Each parry was a real impact, and by the end of each training day, Euron felt as if his arms were made of lead, and his body was covered in bruises that would turn deep purple the next day.

This sudden, all-out pressure was like a cold whetstone, relentlessly sharpening Euron's edge.

Meanwhile, Prince Rhaegar's worries had almost materialized. He often stood silently by the side, his famous violet eyes, always brimming with a certain melody and melancholy, now shrouded in a deep shadow. His gaze often followed Euron's figure closely, especially when Euron had taken a heavy blow or retreated, the sorrow in his eyes almost overwhelming.

Euron collapsed to the ground, utterly exhausted, and looked up to meet Rhaegar's gaze. The heaviness and concern in that look were so raw that they sent a chill down the spine of this fearless Ironborn, as if touched by some ominous premonition.

However, Rega did not stop at his worries. The next day, he personally donned the armor.

"Rise, Euron," his voice remained gentle, yet carried an undeniable firmness, "Your footwork could be more agile, your swordsmanship more swift."

His Highness personally joined the sparring. His swordsmanship was entirely different from that of the two knights who excelled in strength; it was an elegant yet deadly art. His rapier was like flowing moonlight, smooth and sharp, penetrating everywhere, weaving a dense and dangerous net. He forced Euron to move beyond mere anticipation and brute force, and instead learn to find rhythm in the rapid transitions between offense and defense, using every bit of power in a more delicate and economical way.

Euron's main trainer was naturally his future brother-in-law, Lord Arthur Dayne, the "Sword of the Dawn".

The dust of yesterday's training grounds had barely settled when a new trial began. Ser Arthur Dayne—"The Sword of the Dawn"—stood directly opposite Euron. He wasn't wearing full armor today, but the greatsword "Dawn" he gripped tightly, even in its unsharpened training state, still exuded a chilling aura. Sunlight shone on the pale, reddish blade, as if countless glimmers of dawn's cold light had been condensed within it.

"One-handed swordsmanship excels in unpredictability and speed, but on the real battlefield, or against heavily armored opponents, a two-handed greatsword is the decisive force." Arthur's voice was calm, as if stating an age-old truth. "It can parry, it can suppress, and it can end a battle with a single blow. Today, feel it."

Without further ado, training begins.

Arthur began with a seemingly simple mid-range stance, but Euron immediately felt an invisible pressure bearing down on him. "Dawn" felt light as a feather in Arthur's hands, yet as heavy as a mountain. In their first exchange, Euron attempted to evade the attack with his usual agile sidestep, looking for an opening to counterattack. But Arthur's sword tip followed like a shadow; with a slight flick of his wrist, the blade traced a smooth arc—not a straight slash, but a skillful diagonal sweep, precisely striking Euron's attempt to parry.

"clang!"

With a dull thud, Euron felt a tremendous force surge from the hilt of his sword, making his forearm go numb and nearly causing it to slip from his grasp. He involuntarily staggered backward. Arthur's attacks, however, continued like a relentless tide, his steps steady as he pressed forward. His second sword strike followed closely—an upward slash aimed directly at Euron's exposed lower body, forcing him to jump back and dodge in a disheveled manner.

"Your anticipation can see through their intentions, but once you see them, can your body and your sword keep up and make the most effective response?" Arthur's voice rang out amidst his movements, calm as if analyzing a chess game. "A two-handed sword has a wider range and more variations. Don't just use your eyes to see; use your whole body to feel the flow of the sword's energy!"

What followed was like a dance in a storm for Euron, with Arthur Dayne and the greatsword known as "Dawn" at its center. Arthur didn't use any fancy moves; he used the most basic and powerful techniques of the two-handed greatsword—slashing, chopping, sweeping, parrying, thrusting, blocking, and pressing—to their fullest extent.

He would suddenly unleash a powerful downward slash, forcing Euron to parry with all his might, but in the instant the swords clashed, he would cleverly use the rebound force to transform the slash into a horizontal strike, the tip of his sword aimed at Euron's ribs. He would then use the middle of his sword to powerfully block, deflecting Euron's attack, and immediately counterattack with a fierce counter-strike using the centrifugal force of the rotation. His footwork and swordsmanship were perfectly synchronized; each movement built up power for the next swing, the entire offensive resembling a rhythmic yet destructive symphony.

Euron was drenched in sweat, his breathing rapid. His prized predictive abilities were completely outmatched by Ser Arthur's flawless...

He faced an immense test in the face of such highly efficient swordsmanship. He could see the trajectory of the sword, but his body's reaction was always a beat too slow, or his balance would be disrupted by the heavy force after he parried.

After a violent collision, Euron's sword was finally completely deflected, leaving his defenses wide open. The unsharpened tip of "Dawn" rested an inch in front of his breastplate, as steady as a rock.

Arthur sheathed his sword, looking at Euron, who was almost exhausted, with no trace of pride in his eyes, only his usual calm and focus.

"Remember this feeling," he said, "power, timing, distance, and never-ending thinking."

A duel with two swords is never about who is faster, but about who uses the correct technique. To be continued tomorrow.

Euron leaned on his sword, panting heavily, each breath carrying the metallic smell of steel.

The skills granted by the One Piece system allowed Euron to grow at a speed beyond that of ordinary people, but it was the training from the three Kingsguard and Prince Rhaegar that truly allowed Euron to absorb and transform what the system gave him into his own.

Under Arthur's devoted and unreserved instruction, Prince Rhaegar's artistic swordsmanship, and the relentless tempering by the two knights, Euron Greyjoy, this stubborn iron from the Iron Islands, is being forged into steel.

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