CHAPTER 210
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CHAPTER 210
295 AC
POV THIRD PERSON
Within the expansive training grounds of Moat Cailin, Smalljon Umber and Aermir Drasil found themselves standing in direct opposition. Their calloused hands firmly gripped the blunt training swords. Drawing a crowd of onlookers eager to witness the impending clash between the robust Umber and the formidable Sword of Winter. Aermir, no stranger to height with a stature of a solid 2 meters, appeared almost dwarfed when juxtaposed against the colossal figure of the Umber, towering at an imposing 2.2 meters.
Smalljon's strength was undeniable, a true powerhouse of the North. With his 18.5 strength, he swung his training sword with incredible force, sending vibrations through the air as it met Aermir's shield. The initial exchange favored Smalljon, his brute strength pushing Aermir back, but the his 19 speed allowed him to gracefully evade the heavier strikes.
As the duel raged on, Aermir began to feel the relentless onslaught of Smalljon's blows. Each swing of the massive Umber carried the weight of his determination. Aermir was a bit surprised by the heights young Umber had reached. With this much strength, he was equal to The Mountain, but it was Aermir's unmatched speed that allowed him to parry, sidestep, and counter with precision. Smalljon's strength, though superior, couldn't make up for the agility and finesse that Aermir displayed.
With each lightning-quick strike, Aermir attempted to outmaneuver Smalljon, hoping to force him into yielding. However, the Umber's unwavering resolve matched his impressive stature. Despite the relentless assault, Smalljon refused to yield, even as his body bore the painful marks of Aermir's training sword. Smalljon knew that if those blows had been delivered with a sharpened blade, he would have met his end.
In the midst of the fierce contest, Smalljon gained a newfound respect for the Sword of Winter. He was aware that if Aermir had wielded Red Rain, the outcome would have been vastly different. Yet, true to his Umber heritage, he refused to yield, determined to remain on his feet until his very limits were tested.
Smalljon Umber, running on fumes and battered from head to toe, teetered on the brink of collapse. But in that critical moment, a surge of fury and unparalleled determination coursed through his veins. He hadn't endured years of rigorous training only to be beaten to a pulp. A comfortable feeling washed over him, with renewed strength and a burning fire in his eyes. He planted his feet firmly on the ground, ready to face whatever Aermir Drasil could throw at him.
The tide of the battle began to shift. Smalljon's strength seemed to surge, his strikes growing even mightier. Aermir initially attributed it to the rush of adrenaline and the primal instincts of a warrior pushed to his limits. But as Smalljon continued to fight, Aermir noticed something extraordinary—a faint, ethereal aura surrounded Smalljon.
With a thunderous roar, Smalljon Umber surged forward, unleashing a powerful horizontal slash aimed directly at Aermir. Aermir, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected surge of strength from Smalljon, attempted to block the strike with his shield. However, he had underestimated the sheer power behind Smalljon's blow, as his attention had been focused on the newfound energy he sensed from his opponent.
To Aermir's astonishment, it became evident that Smalljon had awakened something extraordinary within him—mana. Aermir's momentary lapse in concentration proved costly as Smalljon's strike shattered his defense, sending him hurtling backward through the air, a distance of around four meters. Aermir rolled on the ground and got his bearing back; his right arm throbbed with pain, signaling the possibility of hairline fractures from the devastating blow.
Aermir watched in awe as Smalljon's stats, particularly his strength, steadily increased. His blows became more formidable, and his strikes landed with greater impact. It was as though some hidden well of power had been tapped into, granting him the physical strength to match Aermir's agility.
Aermir, recognizing the gravity of the situation, knew that he could no longer afford to underestimate Smalljon's newfound strength. With a renewed sense of urgency, he brought his combat skills to the forefront. No longer relying solely on his speed to evade, Aermir expertly employed his swordsmanship and cunning feints to take control of the battle.
Aermir's blade danced through the air with grace and precision as he skillfully deflected Smalljon's thunderous blows. With each parry, Aermir swiftly countered, his blade finding openings in Smalljon's defenses. Aermir's strikes were deliberate and calculated, exploiting Smalljon's moments of vulnerability.
Despite Smalljon's immense strength, it was clear that Aermir had the upper hand in terms of technique and strategy. He moved with a fluidity that belied his speed, every movement designed to outmaneuver his opponent. Smalljon struggled to keep pace, his wild swings becoming increasingly desperate.
Aermir saw an opening and, with a swift maneuver, disarmed Smalljon, sending his training sword clattering to the ground. With a calm and composed demeanor, Aermir pointed his blade at Smalljon, who was now on his knees, breathing heavily.
"Yield," Aermir said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
Smalljon, acknowledging the defeat, raised his hands in surrender. His broad shoulders sagged as he conceded, "I yield. You've bested me."
The spectators in the training yard erupted into applause, impressed by the skill and finesse displayed by Aermir. Smalljon, while admitting defeat, wore a begrudging smile, showing great respect for Aermir. Even the Greatjon Umber was applauding with great enthusiasm. He didn't care his son lost. All he cared about was that his son displayed such a magnificent battle.
Smalljon stood motionless, akin to a statue. Then, to the astonishment of those witnessing the duel, he knelt before Aermir. The sudden change in demeanor sent ripples of confusion through the onlookers, who were left speculating about the reasons behind Smalljon's unexpected submission. Smalljon Umber, his face flushed with determination. In a voice that rang out clear and unwavering, he declared,
"I, Smalljon Umber, give up my right to be the heir of Last Hearth and wish to become a paladin in Lord Commander's army!"
The declaration reverberated through the sparring yard, silencing all other sounds. Aermir, The Lord Commander of the Paladin and Templars, watched Smalljon with a mixture of surprise and respect, comprehending the weight of the young Umber's decision. By renouncing his claim to his family's seat, Smalljon was not only embracing a life of duty but also pledging his unwavering loyalty to the Lord Commander.
The Greatjon Umber, Smalljon's father, seethed with anger. His rage reverberated through the hall as he unleashed a powerful blow, obliterating a nearby table with a single punch. The room quivered with the intensity of his emotions, a swirling tempest of fury and grief that hung heavily in the air. He had just lost an heir, a promising one at that, and his anger was a visceral expression of his profound anguish. Greatjon's piercing gaze remained locked on Aermir, his eyes burning with a mixture of sorrow and anticipation. Everything now rested in the hands of Aermir; if he accepted Smalljon's service, his son would be duty-bound as a paladin.
Aermir turned to face Greatjon Umber, his eyes silently inquiring whether he should accept Smalljon into their ranks. He could have asked Aermir to refuse him, but it would have greatly insulted his son's conviction and honor. Though Greatjon's heart was burdened by grief, he remained steadfast; he was a man of unwavering resolve and staunch principles. His son had sworn an oath before all those witnesses, and his pride and honor forbade him from allowing his son to renege on that pledge like a craven. Even though it hurt him to do so, with a firm nod of his head, he conveyed his approval.
Aermir, standing tall and imposing before the kneeling Smalljon, seemed to grow in stature as he spoke. His voice resonated like thunder as he addressed the young Umber.
"Smalljon Umber, son of Greatjon Umber," he declared, his words carrying the weight of ancient authority since he was infusing it with a little bit of mana, "the Old Gods extend their embrace to welcome you into their hallowed ranks. We, as paladins, extend our brotherhood to you, and the realm opens its arms to receive you as her protector. Now, rise as a paladin of the Old Gods."
The air seemed to crackle with a mystical energy as the moment hung in the balance. Smalljon, his eyes filled with a blend of reverence and determination, slowly rose from his kneeling position, knowing that he had taken a solemn oath that would shape the course of his life and the destiny of House Umber.