Chapter 178: Everyone Here Is Trash
What is the best way to destroy someone's prestige?
Simple.
Defeat them publicly, in front of everyone, in the field where they are strongest.
It was one of the fundamental laws of power—a truth Tywin Lannister had spent sixty years proving.
A man could possess armies.
Castles.
Mountains of gold.
But all it took was one public defeat.
Just one.
One loss to someone beneath him.
And his reputation would begin to melt away like snow under the spring sun.
Those who once admired him would begin to question.
Those who once followed him would begin to hesitate.
Those who once feared him would begin to test boundaries.
And all of it could begin with a single public humiliation.
That was why Tywin had chosen today.
The grand opening of the Ring of Order.
The moment when all eyes in King's Landing were focused on Odin.
As Tywin watched the man standing at the center of attention, the faint curve of his lips deepened ever so slightly.
Over the past weeks, he had ordered every available source to investigate Odin's fighting ability.
The riots within the Brave Companions.
His training at Harrenhal.
His duel against the Mountain outside the Hall of Order.
The astonishing battle in the Small Council chamber.
Every public record.
Every witness account.
Every scrap of information.
The conclusion was clear.
Odin was undoubtedly a formidable swordsman.
And his talent was extraordinary.
But he was not invincible.
Against the Mountain, he had dodged.
He had retreated.
He had searched for weaknesses.
Which meant he could be beaten.
Perhaps Odin possessed some unusual method of avoiding harm.
But if someone sufficiently skilled faced him openly...
And defeated him before an audience...
Then the man could be dragged down from his pedestal.
And the swordsman Tywin had chosen...
Tywin watched him carefully, already calculating the possible outcomes.
If Odin refused the challenge, his prestige would suffer.
What kind of great champion was afraid to fight?
And if he accepted?
Even better.
Before twenty-five hundred witnesses, the peasant-knight who had clawed his way out of the mud would be thrown straight back into it.
Broken.
Humiliated.
Destroyed.
Tywin had spent a long time finding the right man.
On the grand platform, Odin gazed at the figure who had risen from the crowd.
His expression remained unchanged.
An expected disruption.
Today was the opening of the Ring of Order.
He had known from the beginning that certain people would try to sabotage the event.
That was normal.
What mattered was how they were dealt with.
Odin simply looked at the man and asked calmly,
"What did you just say?"
The man stepped forward from his row and moved into the aisle.
"I said, stop making grand speeches, Odin!"
His voice rang across the arena.
"You talk about opportunities."
"You talk about challenging anyone."
"You talk about this place belonging to everyone."
He sneered.
"It's all bullshit."
Whispers immediately spread through the crowd.
Some frowned.
Others clenched their fists.
Many stared at him with open hostility.
To openly insult Ser Odin in Flea Bottom was practically unthinkable.
Yet Odin remained motionless.
And because he remained calm, everyone else restrained themselves.
That silence only made the challenger bolder.
He took another step forward and pointed toward the arena.
"Look at this place!"
"The stone walls."
"The seats."
"The sand."
"The banners."
"What do any of those things change?"
"Do they change what you are?"
His voice grew louder and sharper.
"You keep saying this place belongs to everyone."
"But it doesn't."
"It belongs to you!"
"To Odin!"
"You make the rules!"
"The opportunities you talk about are only for people willing to kneel down and lick your boots!"
"The fairness you preach is nothing more than a disguise to make yourself look noble!"
His sneer widened.
"And what dreams are you selling these peasants?"
"That one day they can stand beside you as equals?"
"That one day they can walk onto that sand and defeat men a hundred times nobler than they are?"
He swept his gaze across the commoners.
Then he shouted:
"Wake up, idiots!"
"You think he actually cares about you?"
"He's using you!"
"Using your poverty."
"Using your desperation."
"Using your stupidity."
"He fixes your sewers."
"He treats your illnesses."
"He gives you jobs."
"Why?"
"Because he needs you!"
"He needs you to clap for him!"
"Cheer for him!"
"And die for him!"
The crowd began to stir.
Faces darkened.
Fists tightened.
Some looked ready to tear the man apart with their bare hands.
Yet most remained silent.
Waiting.
Watching.
Looking toward Odin.
The challenger noticed it too.
He frowned and turned back toward the man at the center of the arena.
"Do you hear them, Odin?"
"Your precious peasants are waiting for you to speak."
"Go on."
"Tell them the truth."
"Tell them you're lying."
"Tell them you've been exploiting their stupidity this whole time!"
The last word was practically screamed.
His voice echoed throughout the Ring of Order.
The ceramic sound channels carried it into every corner.
The arena fell silent once more.
Two thousand five hundred people.
All staring at Odin.
Most expected anger.
Others expected a rebuttal.
Some thought he would simply order his men to throw the troublemaker out.
Instead, Odin nodded.
Slightly.
"Some of what you said is true."
The entire arena erupted in shock.
People stared at him in disbelief.
Even the challenger was caught off guard.
For a moment he froze.
Then he laughed.
A triumphant laugh.
"Ha!"
"You admitted it!"
"You finally admitted it!"
He turned toward the crowd and spread his arms like a victorious general.
"Did you hear that?"
"He admitted it!"
"He admitted I was right!"
"He admitted he's been deceiving you!"
"I wasn't finished."
Odin's voice cut through the noise.
Not loud.
But absolute.
The man immediately fell silent.
Odin continued.
"I said some of what you said is true."
"For example..."
"This place is mine."
"I paid for it."
"I financed its construction."
"I hired the workers who built it."
"So yes."
"The Ring of Order belongs to me."
"And yes."
"The rules here are my rules."
He paused briefly.
Then his gaze swept across the audience.
"And you're right about something else."
"I do need them."
Odin's gaze swept across the standing section, lingering on the men and women in rough-spun clothes who had been cheering his name only moments ago.
"But I am not exploiting them."
"I repaired their sewers because those sewers are on my land, and the stench fouls my air."
"I treat them for free because I refuse to watch people die of sickness in my territory—die in the streets and rot in the gutters."
"I give them jobs because I need workers."
"I need patrolmen."
"I need cleaners."
"I need people to maintain this place."
"That isn't exploitation."
He spread his hands slightly.
"It's a fair exchange."
"I give them better lives."
"They help me maintain order."
"I give them opportunities."
"They give me their trust."
"That is the meaning of the Hall of Order."
"As for everything else you said..."
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Everyone knows that I, Odin, do not make empty boasts."
"When I say this place belongs to everyone, then it belongs to everyone."
"When I say anyone can challenge the person they wish to challenge, then they can."
"The only measure of success is whether you can win."
"But..."
Odin pointed toward a large wooden board near the edge of the arena. Several rules had been carved into its surface.
"The Ring of Order has rules."
"Anyone who wishes to challenge another fighter must first earn the right to do so."
"The right?"
"Yes."
"We call it... points."
Odin explained patiently, like a teacher instructing his students.
"The Ring of Order operates on a ranking system."
"Anyone who wants to fight here must begin in entry-level matches."
"Win, and you earn points."
"Accumulate enough points, and you may challenge stronger opponents."
"If you wish to challenge a famous knight, then you must first win enough matches to prove you deserve to stand before him."
"Otherwise, what would happen?"
"If every fool could challenge anyone at any time, this place would descend into chaos."
"If some nobody spent every day screaming that he wanted to challenge me, would I be expected to fight him every single day?"
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
The challenger's face immediately darkened.
It was painfully obvious who the "nobody" in that example was supposed to be.
"That's just an excuse!" he shouted.
"You simply don't dare fight me!"
"You're afraid I'll actually win and expose you for the fraud you are!"
Odin didn't look angry.
He simply regarded the man with the calm expression one might use on a child throwing a tantrum.
"You really want to fight?"
"Of course!"
"And you really want to win?"
"What kind of stupid question is that?!"
Odin smiled.
"Good."
"Then I'll give you a chance."
He raised a hand and pointed toward the circular arena.
"You may register as an Ring of Order fighter."
"You may step onto that sand."
"You may defeat every opponent placed before you."
"And I, Odin, guarantee that you can win everything you desire."
"Provided, of course, that you survive the qualifying rounds."
"Because the Ring of Order welcomes only elites."
"It absolutely does not accept..."
He paused.
"Trash."
The man's face twisted instantly.
"What did you say?!"
His voice cracked with fury.
"You... you bastard!"
"Did you just call me trash?!"
Before the eyes of twenty-five hundred spectators, Odin simply shook his head and grinned.
"No."
"I'm not singling you out."
His gaze slowly swept across the arena.
The nobles.
The knights.
The merchants.
The spectators.
Everyone.
Then he spoke in the same calm tone.
"What I mean is..."
"As far as swordsmanship is concerned..."
"Everyone here..."
"Is trash."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Two thousand five hundred people seemed to stop breathing.
Mouths hung open.
Eyes widened.
Many looked as though they had just seen a ghost.
Because the statement was simply too outrageous.
Today's audience contained hundreds of nobles.
Many were renowned knights.
Many had distinguished themselves in tournaments.
Many had earned glory on recent battlefields.
And yet Odin had just declared, to their faces, that every single one of them was trash.
It was unbelievable.
On the main platform, however, Odin remained perfectly calm.
This was exactly the effect he wanted.
For too long, he had maintained a low profile.
But he had realized something.
In Westeros, excessive humility could be a weakness.
Some people mistook restraint for vulnerability.
They saw kindness and assumed they could provoke you again and again without consequence.
So today, he intended to make something crystal clear.
No more pretending.
As far as swordsmanship was concerned—
He was the ceiling.
The standard.
The peak.
With Basic Swordsmanship Level 4, Insight Level 4, Surgery Level 4, and Presence Level 4 reinforcing one another, Odin knew exactly how terrifying his abilities had become.
Defeat him?
Perhaps if someone dug up the corpse of Arthur Dayne and handed him Dawn again.
Or perhaps if Barristan Selmy were thirty years younger and armed with Valyrian steel.
Maybe then there would be a contest.
Beyond those two legends, Odin genuinely couldn't think of anyone capable of facing him on equal footing.
So yes.
He had every confidence in saying:
Everyone here is trash.
The challenger trembled with rage.
"You..."
"You dare insult me?"
"Fine..."
"Fine!"
He ground the words through clenched teeth.
"You say we're all trash..."
Without warning, he drew his sword.
SHING!
The blade left its scabbard with a sharp metallic scream.
Sunlight struck the steel.
A dark sheen flashed across its surface.
The metal possessed an unusual coloration, the kind produced only through countless cycles of forging and refinement.
More striking still were the patterns running along the blade.
They were not engraved.
They had formed naturally during the forging process.
Rippling circles.
Like water.
Like waves spreading across a pond.
The moment Odin saw the sword, his eyes lit up.
Sunlight flowed across the dark blade, making the rippling patterns appear alive.
"You've become far too arrogant, Odin!"
The man's voice rang with confidence.
His sword pointed directly at Odin.
"I challenge you!"
"Do you dare accept?!"
A smile began to form on Odin's lips.
He was just about to answer—
When another voice cut through the arena.
"Do you know absolutely nothing about the rules, you idiot?"
Everyone turned.
The speaker stood atop the announcer's platform.
Noseless Rorge.
Holding a crude tin megaphone.
His face radiated contempt.
"You think this is some backwater village, country boy?"
The challenger nearly exploded.
"What did you call me?"
Rorge sneered.
"I said you don't know the rules."
"Ser Odin already explained them."
"Anyone who wishes to challenge the champion must possess sufficient points."
"Do you even know what points are?"
"Who do you think you are?"
"Some nameless nobody carrying an ancestral sword and suddenly deciding to challenge Ser Odin?"
"Are you qualified, fool?"
The man's face turned black with fury.
His eyes locked onto Rorge with murderous intent.
At that moment, Odin spoke again.
"He's right."
"According to the rules, even if you register as a fighter, someone at your level cannot challenge me directly."
"You would need to fight your way up through the rankings."
"You would need enough victories and enough points before earning the right to stand before me."
"But..."
"I can make an exception."
"Sir, this fool doesn't deserve—"
Rorge immediately tried to object.
One glance from Odin silenced him.
Then Odin looked back at the challenger and smiled.
"The Ring of Order has another rule."
"If you are already a renowned knight..."
"If you possess achievements recognized by everyone..."
"Then I may grant you a ranking directly."
He folded his arms.
"So..."
"Tell me your name, ser."
The man froze briefly.
Then his eyes drifted toward the Hand of the King seated nearby.
A grin spread across his face.
It was a grin filled with pride.
And absolute confidence.
"My name?"
He raised his chin.
His voice thundered across the arena.
"Listen well!"
He took a deep breath.
"I am the finest swordsman in the Vale!"
"Ser Lyn Corbray!"