Karl thought to himself that if Jon's face were just a little redder and his hair a shade closer to silver-white, perhaps he could really pass for Bai Ling's brother. And as long as Jon managed not to let those watery eyes spill over with tears, maybe there was still hope for him to keep a shred of dignity left.
That thought made Karl chuckle. He stood up, took two deliberate steps forward, and stopped right in front of Jon Snow—close enough that Jon had to tilt his head back just to maintain eye contact.
Startled by Karl's sudden movement, Jon instinctively stepped backward. He didn't realize that Bai Ling had silently trotted behind him, brushing against his leg. His heel caught on the soft fur, and he stumbled. Fortunately, Karl reacted quickly and grabbed Jon by the arm, steadying him before he hit the ground.
But Karl did not pay the slightest attention to Jon's embarrassment. Instead, he lifted a finger and pointed straight at the wooden longsword hanging at Jon Snow's waist.
"What's that you have there?" he asked with exaggerated curiosity. "A tiny dagger?"
"This is a sword…" Jon muttered, his voice shrinking. For reasons he couldn't quite understand, Karl's tone made him feel exposed—stripped bare in front of everyone.
Before Jon could say anything else, Karl reached out with lightning speed and drew the "sword" from Jon's belt without giving him a chance to react.
Jon blinked in shock. His face was no longer red just from near-tears—now it burned with humiliation. His hand hovered uselessly in the air where his practice sword had been just moments ago.
Karl ignored his mortification. He weighed the wooden blade in his hand, twirling it experimentally.
The shape was correct—long enough, shaped correctly, and balanced like a proper training sword. But it was unmistakably a child's tool, blunted and thick, carved from wood with care but no edge at all.
Karl let out two amused chuckles.
"Oh… so it's a stick."
"When I was little, I also liked these straight pieces of wood. I called them 'swords' too!" Karl said with a grin. "But back then, I made them myself. So tell me—did your father peel this one for you?"
The corners of Karl's mouth curled with amusement as he flipped the wooden blade in his hand.
Jon's face went crimson.
Yet despite the laughter around him, he swallowed hard and refused to cry. He didn't back away. He didn't run. He simply stood there, fists clenched, glaring at Karl with all the stubborn pride of a wolf pup refusing to bow.
"These are our training weapons," Jon finally retorted, raising his voice. "I—I can use real swords. But Ser Rodrik Cassel doesn't let us in the courtyard yet!"
"And my swordsmanship is good!" he added loudly, as if trying to reclaim some lost dignity.
Jon spoke with the confidence of someone who needed others to believe him—if only so he could believe it himself. Among all Lord Eddard Stark's children, only Robb could best him with a spear. With a sword, Jon was more than Robb's equal.
Karl looked entirely unconvinced.
"Oh, really?"
He suddenly unbuckled his belt and pulled off the longsword at his waist. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the leather-sheathed blade straight at Jon.
Jon barely caught it in time. The sudden weight nearly dragged him forward.
"Draw it," Karl said coldly. "Then stab me."
Even Hall, who usually delighted in watching Karl tease others, stiffened in surprise.
Jon stared at Karl in disbelief, clutching the sword awkwardly in both hands.
Karl stepped back several paces, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He raised the wooden practice sword he had taken earlier, gripping it as though it were cold steel.
His expression had changed entirely—no longer mocking, but serious. Dangerous.
Hall's eyes widened. Then he let out a delighted whistle.
"Wow! Finally some entertainment! The show's about to start!" he shouted gleefully.
His cry drew the attention of the nearby workers and residents of Winterfell. People turned toward the disturbance, noticing the tall foreign knight facing off against young Jon Snow. Within moments, a small crowd formed around them, murmuring in confusion and concern.
Mikken, the blacksmith, elbowed his way to the front. He had come originally to catch a glimpse of the visiting king, but now found something far more interesting.
"Jon! What's happening?" he shouted, frowning deeply.
"Aye, speak freely! The city lord is right here!" someone else called.
Their familiarity with Jon made their support come easily. Soon more voices joined, emboldened by Mikken's presence.
These were people who had watched Jon Snow grow up. They saw him as one of their own. And now, seeing a stranger brandishing a weapon at him, they bristled with anger.
They glared at Karl as if he were bullying a child in broad daylight.
But even with all the shouting, Jon remained frozen in place, clutching the longsword Karl had thrown him. His face was pale. His lips trembled, but he didn't know how to begin explaining.
He had simply followed Bai Ling out of curiosity, and suddenly everything had spiraled into chaos.
And then—more people arrived.
Members of the Blackrock Mercenary Group pushed through the crowd. They didn't draw weapons, but they positioned themselves around Karl, silent and imposing.
They directed hard stares at the Winterfell folk, making their stance unmistakably clear.
Within a minute, over thirty people had gathered. The noise was enough to draw the attention of Winterfell's guards. One guard whispered something urgently to the squad leader, who immediately sent a man running toward the heart of the castle—likely to report that trouble had broken out.
The remaining guards stepped in, forming a small barrier as they tried to assess the situation.
"What's going on?!" the squad leader barked at his men, though his voice carried more concern than anger.
He stepped forward, shielding his people behind him, eyes fixed on the wooden sword in Karl's hand.
"This knight is challenging Jon Snow to a duel!" someone shouted.
The locals, emboldened by the presence of Winterfell's guards, became even louder.
But Jon couldn't let this escalate.
"No! It's not a duel!" he burst out, panic rising. "Ser Karl Stone didn't bully me!"
Jon took several steps forward, trying to defend Karl, trying to defend himself, trying to stop a fight that he hadn't intended to start in the first place. Even as he spoke, he clutched Karl's longsword awkwardly to his chest, unsure whether to sheathe it or drop it.
He tried to explain everything, but the words tangled together in his throat.
Karl, however, had no intention of letting things calm down.
He raised the wooden sword again, pointing it straight at Jon.
"No," he declared. "This is a duel."
His eyes locked onto Jon's with unyielding intensity.
"Boy, I told you—draw your sword."
"And stab me."
The world seemed to still.
The Winterfell folk fell silent, watching with baited breath.
The mercenaries stood like statues, waiting for Karl's next move.
Jon Snow, pale and trembling, stood with the weight of a real knight's sword in his hands for perhaps the first time in his life.
He swallowed hard.
His heart hammered.
He didn't want this duel.
But he also didn't want to run.
And he definitely didn't want to look weak in front of everyone.
Bai Ling circled around his feet and sat down, looking up at him as if waiting for his decision.
Karl took another step back, lowering his stance.
"Come," he said quietly. "Let me see your so-called excellent swordsmanship."
Jon's fingers twitched on the hilt.
The crowd leaned forward.
The air grew tense enough to snap.
And the duel—though neither wanted it to truly become one—was about to begin.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)