Chapter 98: ‘ Overcome One's Limits ‘ Part II

Hi everyone, here's to the second part.

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I also posted two more chapters (cleaned up and revised) in Paladin Of Old Gods.

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POV: The Bridge Keeper;

Gateway to the second bridge, The Guest Keep, Fortress of Pyke.

Seconds after a young warrior broke through to Level [9]...

The time for the real fight loomed.

Officer Tallhart Peter, and his team had just returned from fulfilling their duty. They had encountered less resistance than expected. It was an easy job to do.

The crown of the south wall of Great Keep was devoid of archers and lookouts, now it was time to defend the south gate.

Forty-eight warriors arranged in four compact rows, with Jaime at the front in the centre. In that short time, a couple of dozens of ironborn deserters on the run tried to get through the gates. They were quickly dealt with in the only way possible... Surrender and holding prisoners was not feasible, not there, not in those critical moments. They would need every arm and weapon in that impending fight.

Jaime tossed that pesky half ironborn helmet into the distance, finally letting the golden hair breathe. He would have preferred to fight with his head uncovered in this fight. Many followed the commander's example. Useless decorative hardware and Greyjoy blazons were tossed into corners. Ser Lyle tied a small tapestry with the banner of House Crakehall to his chest. There was no need to hide anymore...

Screams and armoured footsteps came from the hallway. "Retreat! Retreat to Sea Tower! Quick!" a small grin formed on Jaime's face.

'Balon had ordered that garrison to watch over the bridge and prevent anyone from passing... Well, after all, we are following the will of the 'King'. Ahah! we could pass for ironmen in the service of the King of Salt and Rock.' The time for jokes ended.

The smile faded and the grip on the hilt of his sword became firmer.

Jaime turned to address his companions. He raised his long sword upwards and roared, "We are the Guardians of this Way... and the Way is shut!" swords, long daggers, shields, crossbows, pikes, and axes were raised upwards accompanied by a shout of encouragement.

The enemy came, and it was that ironborn encountered a few minutes earlier with the scarred face who led them, Dagner 'Split Jaw'. At least three hundred ironborn enemies were in tow estimating the length of the queue of people in that corridor some forty feet wide...

"Stand aside and open the doors, you!" Dagmer seemed not yet to have noticed the identity of the group in front of him.

"On what authority do you give us orders?" Jaime.

"On that of my axe shoved up your cute little ass, blondie!!! Who do you think you're talking to, little girl? By order of your commander-in-chief, Dagmer Pyke!" Spat Dagmer.

"I'm sorry, Commander... We answer only to the authority of King Robert Baratheon. And by order of the King, you will not advance one step." Jaime replied, pointing his sword at the enemy.

"Captain, that's Jaime Lannister! Yes, I'm sure it is!" Shouted a man at Dagmer's side. "Captain, the enemy forces have broken through the hall door!!!" Urgently warned another.

"You are surrounded, milord... The battle is lost. Throwdown your weapons and you will be spared, you have my word." Jaime offered a chance to surrender, hoping that the confrontation could be avoided. If the enemy surrendered, they could freely come to Bloody Snow's aid.

Dagmer laughed in delight showing his rotten yellow teeth, then spat at the Knight's feet.

"Ah! The word of the 'Kingslayer'!!! I'd much rather rip that out of you along with your lion's scalp! Fuck it! We'll clear the road ourselves by paying the Price of Iron!" Dagmer snickered, inciting his men to the fight.

The Guardian welcomed the challenge. His sword quivered and the Lion of Casterly Rock's hunger grew...

"Then you will hear no more words, only My Roar!" Jaime charged first, Ser Lyle, Peter, Jory Cassel, Ser Quellon, and Ser Arlan followed an instant later.

"Attack!" ordered Dagmer a second later.

The two factions less than thirty feet apart collided. A veritable blizzard of steel, leather, wood, and blood.

Jaime pushed an enemy away by kicking him on his shield, then swung his sword, slashing the throat of another at his side. He wanted to get to Dagmer before the others. The most dangerous leader and warrior among that scum of marauders.

He had to get through a line of flesh shields first to do so. It looked like the allied forces had begun to attack the rear.

Jaime parried and deflected an axe blow aimed at the uncovered head, swung his sword in the same move he saw Ser Barristan make nine years earlier at King's Wood and succeeded... the ironborn slumped to the ground desperately trying to collect its innards. The third opponent managed to exchange four moves before finding himself with a severed limb.

Jaime was not only fighting, but he was also using the opportunity of a real fight to try to put into practice the insights on the way of the sword learned the night before.

The way of the sword was the only way left, the way he had chosen, the way he had been born...

There was no more intrigue, lies, politics, secrets, orders, and duties to pad his head, only the sword. He hadn't forgotten about that dream... that dream that tormented him and spurred him day and night to get better and better.

[The greatest swordsman in Westeros... Better even than Ser Arthur Dayne].

He didn't have to give up-he could still do it. The possibility existed, and he had recently received proof of it from an eleven-year-old boy from the North.

With a single slash, Jaime managed to chop off a head and deflect a slash, then turned on himself and made a clean, precise slash at the throat of the opponent who had dared to attack him.

The enemies began to back away, frightened by the red storm of slashes that swirled around the Young Lion.

The Guardian even forgot that he was in command, forgetting to keep an eye on the progress of the battle, but fortunately for him, each of his companions had clear and simple instructions to follow prevent the enemy from passing at any cost.

His sword and arm became one fluid and precise limb, a single brush that coloured the room red. Jaime's eyes and ears were addicted to the sounds of clangour from the sparks of steel against steel. His sword was searching ravenously for a worthy opponent who could stand up to him and finally test him... and he found him.

One... two... three minutes of bloody struggle passed.

Finally, Jaime arrived in front of Dagmer, a Level [8; King Class], but in the fury and frenzy of the moment, the Knight didn't realize he had fallen into a small ambush. He had gone too far forward and was now surrounded by enemies. Jaime's allied swords were fifteen to twenty feet away from him, Ser Lyle's giant figure was trying as hard as he could to come to his lord's aid, but half a dozen obstacles separated the two.

"Your golden lion hair, it belongs to me now," an eerie smile accompanied Dagmer's words.

"Then come and claim it if you are able." Jaime was not intimidated; this was not the first time he had faced enemies from all sides.

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An axe charged and the Lannister swordsman parried the first attack instantly returning the offence that heavily gashed his exposed calf. Two others joined the fray, but Jaime swung his sword around, knocking one away and grazing the second. Dagner had no qualms about attacking the knight's blindside.

Footwork and a high guard saved Jaime from a possible critical blow to the neck. All of Jaime's senses skyrocketed and his heart pumped blood with the flow on par with a downed dam.

The danger, the fear of death, the pressure of combat, the thought that one wrong step was enough to be out of the game... all these factors threw oil on the fire burning in Jaime's heart, pushing him to give his best. Something inside the Lion shattered like a shattered bottle and the substance it held spread to the predator's fangs and jaws making them longer and sharper than ever.

Jaime took advantage of that moment of new vigour and inspiration to roar clangors of death and despair into the enemy's moral.

A cloud of deadly steel-there was no other way to describe that figure. Four more of Dagmer's men were mercilessly shot down in only a few exchanges, other poor candidates replacing the fallen trying their luck in the storm.

Dagmer ranted in frustration with every slash and parry he unleashed. He couldn't seem to get over how it was possible that six good warriors from the Isles could only barely make a dent in their opponent's armour. After another series of blows, an opportunity presented itself.

'Fuck!", misstep finally came, Jaime's boot slipped on a slippery, blood-soaked foothold forcing the Young Lion to rest one knee on the ground.

"Uaarggh!" the shout warned Jaime that a blow from behind was on the way. The swordsman pulled his sword back as far as he could praying to the Warrior that that desperate move would be enough to prevent his neck or head from being severed... but the impact never came.

"The left side!!!" shouted an ironman in alarm, signalling to the captain that more reinforcements had joined the enemy forces.

Jaime turned his head to see who had come to his aid. The man had his back to him so he could protect his own... but he recognized him. He was a figure very familiar to Jaime, one with whom he had had the honour of fighting in his service nine years against the Brotherhood of King's Wood.

The man did not deign to turn his gaze to him. His eyes were well-aimed at the enemies within a few paces of the duo, but he granted them at least a few words...

"On your feet, Knight."

End POV.

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POV: Duncan;

Main Gate, Sea Tower, Fortress of Pyke.

About five minutes before a Lion touched the Level [10] podium...

It was not difficult to convince the guards to open the doors for us.

The phrase 'Urgent report from Commander Warryn for the King!' was very effective. Even the crossbowmen stationed on the lacework of the walls didn't get suspicious. A few dozen dishonourable, silent backstabs, and we were all in. Unfortunately, a few cries of alarm managed to escape and soon the tower guards would descend upon us, but it was expected. I chose to take only twenty-two men with me because I had studied our battleground well.

Sea Tower's main corridor was the narrowest of all Pyke towers. Fifteen feet at its widest and no other access passages but two spiral staircase entrances seventy feet away from the door. In that narrow corridor, fifteen feet wide at most, their numerical superiority would count for nothing. Our only weakness was our backs. The access to the bridge widened into a reception hall forty feet in diameter before the corridor.

But we had confidence in Ser Jaime, Ser Barristan, and all our comrades-in-arms guarding the other end of the bridge.

Ser Jaime may be a bit over the top, reckless, and somewhat arrogant, but he was also a very skilled swordsman and man of honour.

I held back a couple of laughs when I saw his shocked look that screamed [Are you out of your mind, boy? I'm a Lannister! And my father and sister want you out of the picture!!!]

I picked up an enemy longsword, looking good it would be a suitable companion for the Dual Wielding style, then positioned myself at the head of the group.

"Move those benches over here, Ser Wex, Ser Balon, they will serve to give you a high ground and a good shot at the enemy. I want the first line of pikes and shields and the second line of crossbowmen. The third line will take care of reloading the crossbows." I ordered and immediately a dozen arms dragged heavy benches to the base of the hallway. Ser Ron, Blade [24] and Ser Edward Price chose to position themselves at the front of the line.

"You ten, shields, buckets, and water from those barrels. Your only job will be to put out any fires the enemy tries to start on the bridge. Save the fine sand on oil only!" I pointed to the group consisting mainly of Frost Blades and Tallhart regular army soldiers. Each member selected for this assault (including myself) carried with him approximately two pounds of fine sand to be used on any whale oil thrown by the enemy to start a fire.

"Yes, General." My father's men replied in unison.

"Front line, always maintain a safe distance of at least fifteen feet from yours truly and don't piss yourselves at what you see. Keep your nerves in check and face only those who will make it through." Ser Ron and a couple of other knights-errant from the Riverlands didn't understand what I meant by 'Don't piss yourselves ', but they would soon understand. I had to admit that even I was repulsed by some of the manoeuvres in the [Closing Gates] technique the first few times I saw Zick apply them...

I positioned myself and stretched both ends of my arms parallel to the ground. The tips of the two long swords I wielded did not touch the two ends of the wall by a few inches. It was a good position.

Sounds of footsteps coming from the stairs reached our ears.

"In position! Shooters, take down anything that moves." The men sprang into action lining up and stringing bows and crossbows.

"Hey, you! We heard shouting... Who the heck... Urgh" The first kill in this first round fell to Ser Balon Swann.

"They're attacking us! Sound the alarm!" Other figures moved, positioning themselves to take cover from the arrows.

I began to inhale deeply, gathering air in my lungs in precise times and quantities. Now I no longer needed to concentrate on applying the breathing technique that Zick helped me perfect.

The pulse decelerated, the blood flow slowed down along with it, I imagined gathering vital energy in the heart muscle, more and more, charging it as if it were a spring under tension, and then... I let it go off as if I had activated an explosive device. The pulse accelerated, again and again, pumping the blood at a speed at the limit of being human. The movements around me slowed down, time decelerated at least four times more than normal. Opponents armed with axes and long swords were slowly approaching me.

At that distance, I could already smell the fishy stench emanating from the breath of each of them. The time had come to give my all. I wasn't just going to take down every enemy in the range...I was going to destroy them.

I was to break their morale by contaminating their every thought with pure terror. I wanted the legs of every one of my opponents to shake like twigs in a blizzard... and to do that, I would have to release every ounce of pure Will I possessed. A Will focused on only two intentions: [Death & Suffering]. Only a couple of people were still standing in the known world who experienced a portion of it firsthand. Lady Barbrey was one of them.

This time I was going to have no brakes...

I shot out everything I could muster, released my murderous aura to all the creatures around me and made them aware that this was my hunting ground and anything that crossed that border was nothing more than prey.

The four closest men in the first squadron of thirty Ironborn on the attack reared up like panicked horses in the face of an obstacle. I even heard a couple of teeth chattering from behind me...

I activated the buff spell on myself and the poor frightened allied souls closest to me.

Now was the time to bring out all that I had acquired in those years... no... I should have also taken the opportunity to improve, overcome certain limits and grow.

I thought this might be the ideal training ground to put the twelfth gate into practice...

There was a famous Latin expression for this situation, mentioned several times in one of my favourite old-world anime... and it was:

"Plus Ultra."

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