Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 142: Frost Along the Riverbank
The Trial by Combat began.
There was no formal judge from the Faith of the Seven presiding over it. The custom itself was older than most written laws. Once both sides acknowledged the duel, the matter was settled.
They drew steel, and that was enough.
People who knew Sandor Clegane usually described him the same way.
Cruel. Violent. Ruthless. Loyal like a chained beast.
His swordsmanship matched the man.
The massive dark longsword hacked through the air with a mournful howl, and the towering figure wrapped in black armor came charging forward like a living iron battering ram.
Lannor could tell immediately that Sandor relied heavily on overwhelming opponents through sheer physical superiority.
Which, frankly, was the correct choice for a warrior.
“Clang!”
Steel crashed against steel hard enough to throw sparks in every direction.
This was the second Clash of Steel between them tonight.
Again, Lannor’s eyes widened slightly at Sandor Clegane’s monstrous strength.
His sword arm stiffened just enough to let the impact carry him backward rather than meeting it head-on. He slid a single step to the rear.
To the crowd, it looked like disadvantage.
The queen had already begun applauding gracefully from the sidelines, while Joffrey waved his wolf-bitten hand and shouted in triumph.
But to veterans like Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon, the meaning of that retreat was completely different.
Borrowing force and dispersing impact through movement required far more skill than simply smashing forward with brute strength.
Arya, meanwhile, had not considered the possibility of Lannor losing even once.
She had already crouched beside Nymeria and started playing with the direwolf.
Only Sandor himself understood how strange this felt.
Normally his fights all followed the same pattern. He crushed forward with strength beyond ordinary men, the opponent struggled beneath the pressure, and eventually the blade broke through.
That was how it was supposed to go.
But this time...
The strike had clearly connected. He had felt the impact. The vibration had even numbed his own muscles slightly.
Yet the silver-haired bastard opposite him had not even shaken.
Not once.
Was it because of that single backward step?
Impossible.
This was a duel, not some choreographed street performance.
The sheer wrongness of the feeling disrupted even Sandor’s battle-hardened instincts.
And in Lannor’s vision, Mentos had already completed its calculations.
Hostile Analysis Module Status: Completed
Physiological Assessment: Respiration: Not Detected Behavior Pattern: Burst-Type Engagement
Capability Evaluation: Strength Output: ~80% of Host Agility: Significantly Inferior Reaction Speed: Significantly Inferior
Tactical Recommendation:...
Override: User Discretion Advised
The Clegane bloodline was freakishly gifted. Men of their house could grow beyond eight feet tall, with strength enough to overpower nearly any ordinary human, even most witchers.
But in the end, they were still only exceptional humans.
Compared to what a Gene Seed could shape into a Space Marine, the difference in foundations was absolute.
Lannor was still growing taller and broader himself. Even if he someday reached Sandor’s monstrous height, his body proportions would remain perfect.
Strength. Agility. Reflexes.
A Space Marine surpassed humanity in every direction at once.
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