SWDnovel Chapter 17: The Judgment of the Seven Gods
Chapter 17: The Judgment of the Seven Gods
The western part of Fair City is the dirtiest yet most vibrant part of the middle and lower reaches of the entire river region.
The scorching summer sun baked the bluestone pavement until it was burning hot, and the air was filled year-round with the smells of livestock manure, cheap beer, and the pungent smell of sulfur and coke from the blacksmith's shop.
There are no silks and spices like in the Upper Town, only naked trade for survival.
In a secluded corner next to the blacksmith's workshop, the clerk Pollifer was squatting on the muddy ground covered in coal dust.
Today he wore a worn-out linen robe with a frayed collar and mud-splattered hem, his back slightly hunched, looking like a market steward driven to desperation by the debts of his territory, forced to sell junk behind his master's back.
Before him lay a dirty oilcloth. On the oilcloth lay nothing but a badly damaged set of chainmail and a steel throat guard with severely curled edges.
On the chest area of this armor set, there was a horrifying, four-sided tear that went through the armor plates. A layer of blackened bloodstains, which could not be washed off with water, was firmly embedded in the gaps between the armor plates.
However, it is difficult to spot the tiny black raven pattern, belonging to a branch of the Blackwood family, embossed on the leather padding inside the throat protector unless you look closely.
"Two silver deer, that's the lowest I can go, old friend."
Pollifer pushed up the heavy glasses that had slipped off his nose, his tone revealing an almost pleading anxiety.
"This is top-quality wrought iron. If you throw it into the furnace, melt it down, and reforge it, you can make at least five sturdy lumberjack axes."
The bald blacksmith across from them was fiddling with the throat guard using fire tongs, and he curled his lip in disgust.
"The steel is good steel, but the smell of blood on it is too strong. Look at this hole, it was pierced by a heavy spear, wasn't it? How much resentment must the people who died in this armor have? One silver deer plus ten bronze stars, I won't take a single penny more."
"Two silver deer! We have over two hundred mouths to feed in our territory! Lord Jason did distribute some wheat for the winter, but it's simply not enough..."
Just as Pollifer continued his "desperate situation" act for a few coins, a jet-black steel whip, like a venomous snake, slashed down and struck the throat guard hard, sending up a shower of fine rust fragments.
"Where did you get this?"
A chilling voice rang out above Pollifer's head.
Pollifer shuddered and slowly raised his head.
Three rangers, clad in black robes and bearing the emblem of a black raven on their chests, had somehow managed to partially encircle the stall.
The young man leading the group was in his early twenties, with a hooked nose and deep-set eyes. He was Lucas Blackwood, a distant nephew of the Earl of Tettos.
For the past few days, he had been secretly searching Fair City for the border patrol team that had disappeared two weeks prior. Just now, his rigorously trained eyes caught sight of the dark raven pattern on the inside of the throat guard.
Those were his cousin Serry Blackwood's body armor.
"Sir...sir..."
Pollifer slumped to the ground, behaving like a thief caught red-handed stealing military property, his face pale and stammering.
"This...this is what we found in our territory..."
"Found it?"
Lucas lunged forward, grabbed Pollifer by the collar, and half-lifted the frail clerk like a chicken. His eyes practically blazed with murderous intent as he roared through gritted teeth:
"Do you think I'm blind?! This is my cousin Seri's armor! He disappeared after leading a patrol of the border half a month ago, and now you, a rat from the Hohenzollern family, are selling his armor here as scrap metal! It was you lowly scoundrels from the mud who plotted against a noble Blackwood Knight! Wasn't that right?!"
The roar instantly drew the attention of half the street. Mercenaries, merchants, and several wandering scholars all gathered around.
Despite being strangled to the point of near suffocation, a glint of cunning flashed in Polliver's eyes.
The prey itself stuck its head into the noose.
"My lord! You've mistaken me for someone else! This is definitely not the armor of a noble knight!"
While coughing, Pollifer used an extremely loud and clear voice to "explain" himself, making sure that every ear around him could hear him.
"Two weeks ago, a band of unmarked, masked bandits crossed the border in the dead of night, attempting to rob our silver mines! They were wiped out on the spot by us and Earl Jason's men! This tattered armor is a trophy stripped from the corpses of those deserving robbers!"
"Bandits?!"
Lucas laughed in fury, thinking the manager before him had completely lost his mind. He pointed to the mark inside the throat brace and roared:
"Are you blind?! This bears the coat of arms of the Blackwood family! You dare call the knights of Blackwood bandits?!"
"S-Sir!"
Polyver feigned terror, waving his hands wildly and shouting:
"This was personally determined by Lord Jason Mellist of Seafront City!"
Lucas's voice stopped abruptly, as if an invisible hand had suddenly grabbed his neck.
Pollifer swallowed hard, continuing to plunge the venomous thorn of legal reasoning deep into his opponent's Achilles' heel:
"If you have any objections, you are welcome to visit the main stables of Seafront City. Those three 'bandit warhorses' marked with the Black Crow emblem are currently being fed personally by Lord Jason's instructors!"
"If you insist on claiming this garment, I'm sure the Earl would be more than happy to discuss with you—why would the Blackwood family's proper warhorses, armor, and weapons end up on the backs of bandits robbing silver mines in the dead of night?"
Dead silence.
The once bustling ironware street fell into a suffocating silence in an instant.
The onlookers, including the foreman and mercenaries, gasped. Those words were incredibly venomous, like a resounding slap across the face of the Blackwood family in public.
Lucas stood frozen in place, his hand holding Pollyver trembling slightly.
He wasn't a mindless idiot. After a brief outburst of rage, he instantly saw the bottomless trap beneath his feet.
If he continues to insist that the armor belongs to Seri, it would be tantamount to publicly admitting that the Blackwood family has broken the King's peace treaty and sent regular troops disguised as bandits to plunder their neighbor's silver. This would not only be a declaration of war against Seafront, but also an act of treason that would be severely punished under the laws of the Iron Throne.
But if he doesn't claim it, his cousin and the ten elite rangers will only bear the eternal infamy of being "bandits," die like wild dogs in the mud, and even their belongings will be sold off as scrap metal.
He was completely put on the hot seat. Faced with this legal and despicable political persecution, in order to protect his family from being labeled as robbers, his only way out was to throw the dirty water back at that high-ranking judge.
"This is a frame-up! This is a complete political murder!"
Lucas slammed Pollive to the ground, drew his longsword from his waist, pointed it in the direction of Sea Frontier City, and roared hoarsely with grief, anger, and utter desperation:
"Jason Mellist, that lying, greedy old vulture! To seize the silver on the border, he actually bribed you beggar knights who returned from Braavos to be his henchmen, maliciously massacring my regular patrols in Blackwood, and fabricating this despicable 'bandit' lie! Under his purple banner with a silver eagle, all he does is shamelessly extort and frame others!"
Upon hearing these outrageous and treasonous words, the surrounding crowd retreated several feet as if avoiding a plague.
"Lord Lucas, those words are enough to make you pay the price."
A cold, hoarse voice, yet with a metallic, grating quality, came from the back of the crowd.
Otto Hohenzollern walked slowly into the field.
He wasn't wearing armor, only a faded, coarse linen uniform. The deep soft tissue tear in his left shoulder, inflicted by a warhorse's impact two weeks prior, hadn't fully healed, causing his left arm to hang naturally, giving him a weak and unsteady appearance.
But there was not a trace of anger in his gray-blue eyes, only glacial rationality.
"You're that butcher named Otto?"
Lucas's sword tip instantly locked onto Otto.
Otto ignored him, and calmly walked up to Pollive, placing the small bag of salted beans he had just bought on the flatbed cart.
"I am a land knight lawfully appointed by the city of Haijiang."
Otto turned around, looked directly at Lucas, and spoke at a steady pace, making sure that every word was clearly recorded.
"Lucas Blackwood, you just now, in the sacred market of Fair City, openly accused my lord Jason of framing his colleagues and insulting the Eagle Banner of Seafront City to cover up lies. At the same time, you also falsely accused me of murdering a regular patrol."
Otto extended his right hand and slowly removed the hard leather glove from his hand.
"As Lord Jason's vassal, I cannot tolerate your wanton desecration of my lord's honor. As a propertied knight, I cannot accept your slander of my character."
"Since you believe I'm lying, and I believe you're protecting bandits—"
Otto yanked his leather glove up and slammed it down hard on Lucas's breastplate with a whoosh.
"Snapped!"
A muffled thud.
"Under the watchful eyes of the Seven Gods, I—Otto Hohenzollern—offer you a trial by combat!"
Otto's voice was like the clash of metal and stone.
"If I lose, my life will pay for your accusations; if I win, the Seven Gods will prove your charges false, and those who died on the border were undoubtedly bandits!"
"Do you dare to accept?"
Lucas looked at the young man in front of him, who appeared to be still recovering from his injuries, thin, and arrogant.
He knew this was an opportunity. If he could kill Otto in a duel, he could rightfully wash away the shame.
"I'll chop off your worthless head and shove it into Jason Mellist's mouth!"
Lucas ripped off his gloves, his eyes filled with malice.
"I accept!"
An abandoned quarry on the west side of Fair City.
The once barren gravel beach was now completely surrounded by hundreds of mercenaries, merchants, and spies from various lords.
A grey-robed monk from the Church of the Seven Gods, who resides in Fair City year-round, holding the Seven Star Bible, was temporarily invited to serve as a notary for this sacred trial.
In the center of the arena, Lucas Blackwood, clad in fine black iron composite plate armor, gripped a heavy, broadsword with a cross-shaped blade. He stood there like an unshakeable black iron wall.
Opposite him, Otto Hohenzollern carried only a round oak shield covered with old leather, and in his right hand gripped a short broadsword, the kind commonly found on the opposite shore of the Narrow Sea. The injury to his left shoulder caused the muscles in his arm to tense unnaturally when he held the shield.
"May the Father grant justice, and may the warriors grant strength. The duel begins!"
As the monk rang the copper bell, Lucas let out a beast-like roar.
He did not underestimate his opponent in the slightest. With the solid foundation of a traditional knight, he saw through the weakness in Otto's left shoulder at a glance. Lucas strode closer, his greatsword swinging in the air in a terrifying semi-circle, sweeping directly towards Otto's left side with the force of a thunderbolt.
Otto did not take the hit head-on.
During the bloody years of the Second Sons Regiment, the first lesson his father taught him was: never try to measure the weight of steel with your own flesh.
Just as the greatsword was about to strike, Otto's body displayed a strange rhythm completely different from that of the Westeros heavy knights. His leather boots scraped against the rough gravel with a "hiss," and he slid precisely half a foot to the right and back, just like a "water dancer" from Braavos, skimming the edge of the greatsword.
"call--"
The strong wind generated by the greatsword made Otto's armored suit flutter loudly.
"Dodge? Let's see how many swords you can dodge!"
Lucas sneered, immediately twisting his waist and gathering his strength. Using the momentum of the spin, he swung the greatsword upwards toward Otto's face.
Otto was forced to raise his shield.
"Bang!"
The dull thud caused a near-tearing scream from the soft tissue deep within Otto's left shoulder. A sharp, electric pain shot through his spine. His jaw clenched tightly, even drawing blood, but his icy facial muscles forcefully suppressed the convulsions beneath his skin, revealing not a single flaw in his expression.
On the contrary, the intense pain stimulated a surge of adrenaline in his body, making his senses acute at that moment.
Seeing Otto lose his balance slightly after being struck, Lucas's eyes flashed with a bloodthirsty fervor.
He raised his two-handed greatsword high, ready to use the overwhelming power of his strike to cleave his dying prey in two.
Right now.
For a mere fraction of a second—when Lucas raised his greatsword overhead, his arms fully outstretched, and the armor connecting his chest and abdomen inevitably stretched—
Otto did not retreat; instead, he charged headlong into the sword's edge.
He discarded the heavy wooden shield. His left hand transformed into an eagle claw, and to Lucas's astonishment, it gripped the gap in the right arm guard, pressing down with his entire weight like a weight, forcibly disrupting Lucas's downward slash axis.
At the same time, Otto's short broadsword in his right hand, carrying the utterly devoid of beauty and the sinister intent of Essos mercenaries, moved upwards like a viper's tongue.
The short sword precisely avoided the hard breastplate and brutally pierced through the half-inch-wide gap between Lucas's jaw and throat guard.
"Pfft."
The dull thud of a sharp blade piercing leather, severing the trachea, and finally sinking deep into the brain could be clearly heard in the quiet quarry.
Lucas's massive body stiffened instantly, and his greatsword clattered to the ground. His hands futilely clawed at the blade at his neck, his eyes bulging with pain and disbelief.
Otto stared at him expressionlessly, without drawing his sword, but instead thrust his shoulder forward, completely shattering the man's brainstem.
Lucas collapsed to the ground.
The battle ended so quickly that the surrounding crowd didn't even have time to utter a cry of surprise.
The seven cultivators on the high platform took a deep breath, raised the seven-pointed star pendant on their chests high, and proclaimed loudly in a solemn and trembling tone:
"By the majesty of the Father and the justice of the warriors, the seven gods have laid down their judgment!"
"Otto Hohenzollern's defense of everything was righteous! Lucas Blackwood's words were all falsehoods, and he has now been defeated and brought to justice!"
This ceremonial legal declaration, like a giant lock, completely sealed off any possibility that the Blackwood family might attempt to overturn the verdict.
Otto was panting heavily, the muscles in his left shoulder still twitching uncontrollably. He drew his bloodstained broadsword and walked to Lucas's body.
"Now that the Seven Gods have proven you are robbers who committed despicable acts—"
Otto's voice was hoarse, with a metallic coldness. He raised his longsword, aiming it at Lucas's neck.
"Therefore, I am not prepared to retain any of the respect due to a nobleman for a criminal who has already been condemned by God."
The hand rises, the sword falls.
Amidst the horrified gazes of the onlookers, Otto severed Lucas Blackwood's head with a single sword stroke.
He carried the blood-soaked head to several pale-faced Blackwood retainers, like a god of death promulgating the law.
"Relay my words to Count Theodore verbatim."
"I will take this criminal's head back and plant it on a stake at the edge of my territory."
Otto sheathed his blood-stained broadsword, each word spoken with resounding force.
"From this day forward, if my trade routes are ever blocked again, or if my people bleed again—even if it's just a single road blockage, even if it's just one farmer who dies—I will consider it yet another full-scale invasion of my territory by the Blackwood family!"
"At that time, I will immediately report to my lord, Earl Jason, as well as to Duke Tully, the supreme ruler of the Riverlands, and even the King of the Iron Throne, requesting the highest judgment!"
"At the same time, for each invasion, I will hold a life-or-death duel trial against an adult male from your family."
"One life for one chance! One bet, one kill! Until I die, or until Blackwood behaves itself and stops provoking the border."
Otto casually tossed the head onto Pollive's flatbed truck, which was full of dried wheat.
"Polliver, send our men to every tavern in the Riverlands. Make sure every merchant hears of the Seven Gods' official certification and this oath."
Otto turned around, ignoring everyone, and walked out with steady but painful steps.
Behind him, the crowd at the quarry retreated to both sides in awe, like a tide.
Among the crowd, several astute caravan messengers and spies from various lords exchanged glances and silently retreated into the shadows. Soon, several fast horses, like startled birds, split up and galloped off towards Sea Frontier City, Crow Tree City, and Flowing River City.
From then on, the title of "madman," who specialized in beheading and stake-planting and used divine judgment as a weapon for cold-blooded gambling, began to spread across the Westeros territory.
The people of Hejian began to call him the Piercing Duke