"Rise, Ser Lynn, a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms!"
Robert's roar exploded in everyone's ears.
Lynn stood up.
Under the sunlight, the pitch-black armor was a badge of glory.
The cloak embroidered with the direwolf fluttered in the wind, as if heralding the birth of a new legend.
The entire tourney ground erupted completely.
The smallfolk frantically shouted the name "Black Knight," as if wanting to carve the name into every brick and stone of King's Landing.
"Bwahahaha!"
Robert watched all this with satisfaction. He wrapped his arm heavily around Lynn's shoulders, the force nearly denting the steel plate.
"Tonight! A feast in the Red Keep!"
"To celebrate our new hero!"
---
The extravagance of the celebratory feast exceeded everyone's imagination.
The long banquet tables were laden with roast suckling pigs, honey-glazed hams, lamprey pies, and sweetcorn dripping with butter.
Vintage Arbor gold flowed like free river water.
Lynn was seated at the high table, right beside King Robert and Ned Stark.
After all, he was the star of the day.
This position was even more prominent than that of many renowned high lords.
Almost everyone came up with wine cups, lining up to toast him.
There were knights genuinely full of admiration, nobles looking to climb the social ladder, and royals forcing smiles to curry favor.
Lynn refused no one, but only took symbolic sips.
His gaze swept calmly over the entire banquet hall.
He saw Loras and Garlan Tyrell whispering at their table, their glances toward him filled with scrutiny and wariness.
Margaery Tyrell sipped her wine elegantly, her beautiful eyes shining with a light no one else could read.
He also saw Jaime Lannister in a corner, drinking alone with a dark expression.
He had changed into civilian clothes.
But his throbbing arm and the bandages on his chest silently spoke of his humiliation today.
And Petyr Baelish, who should have been one of the stars of the feast, was nowhere to be seen.
Just then, several Gold Cloaks led a group of plainly dressed merchants into the hall.
At their head was the fat merchant Lynn had saved.
Though his leg was healed, he still walked with a limp, clearly left with a permanent injury.
His face was filled with excitement and reverence.
Upon seeing Lynn, they all fell to their knees with a thud.
"My Lord!"
The fat merchant wept with excitement.
"I never thought I would see you again in King's Landing!"
This sudden scene silenced the noisy hall instantly.
King Robert watched them with interest, while Ned signaled the guards to help them up.
"My Lord, perhaps you have forgotten us."
The fat merchant struggled, refusing to rise.
"But we will never forget your kindness!"
"In the Wolfswood of the North, we were set upon by brutal bandits."
"It was you, Ser Lynn, who killed all the bandits and saved every one of us!"
The fat merchant's voice rang clearly through the hall.
"He asked for not a copper of reward, and even used the bandits' loot to compensate us for our losses!"
"My Lord said, in the North, under the banner of Stark, clearing bandits is his duty!"
These words shocked the entire room.
If the victory at the tourney had made Lynn an idol...
Then right now, the fat merchant's words had thoroughly pushed him onto the altar of legend!
The nobles present looked at each other, their eyes filled with disbelief.
In money-obsessed King's Landing, could such a noble, selfless knight really exist?
The atmosphere in the hall shifted from fanatical worship to a genuine, heartfelt reverence.
Ned Stark looked at Lynn, his grey eyes filled with complex emotions.
He knew Lynn wasn't just doing this for himself.
He was doing it for the entire North.
Winning prestige for House Stark.
"Good! 'Duty'! Well said!"
Robert slammed the table and shouted his approval.
"This is what a knight of the Seven Kingdoms should look like!"
He turned to Ned beside him, eyes full of praise.
"Ned, you brought a true hero to the Seven Kingdoms!"
---
The feast lasted late into the night.
The next day, all of King's Landing sang praises of the Black Knight's legend.
Not just his valor in the lists, but his righteous acts in the Wolfswood, taking nothing in return.
Lynn's reputation reached an unprecedented peak in a single day.
Meanwhile, another piece of news circulated quietly in the dark corners of the city.
The Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, was bankrupt.
The betting pool he opened for the tourney had lost everything due to Lynn's shocking reversal.
He had tried to play clever, predicting a final between Loras and the Mountain, relying on that mare to easily harvest wealth.
He never expected Lynn to charge in halfway.
Lynn had kept showing weakness to maintain high odds, only baring his fangs when the bets were locked for the final!
It had utterly destroyed him!
A massive gambling debt of nearly two hundred thousand gold dragons crushed the once-omnipotent Lord Baelish of King's Landing.
His reserves weren't enough; he couldn't pay the full winnings...
Morning sunlight streamed through the window into the hall that once symbolized the Master of Coin's power.
But now, the former glory was gone.
Petyr Baelish sat in his chair, lost in despair.
He wore yesterday's wine-soaked fine robes, unshaven, eyes bloodshot, looking as if he had aged ten years overnight.
On the table before him lay scattered piles of deeds and ledgers.
His brothels, his shipping business at the docks, his estates outside the city...
Everything he had painstakingly built over a decade was about to change hands.
The door was pushed open.
Lynn walked in, followed by two Northern guards sent by Ned.
He wasn't wearing his heavy armor, just simple black attire, the black direwolf cloak draped casually over his shoulders.
He looked calmly at the man before him, who resembled a beaten dog, with no pity in his eyes.
"Lord Baelish, I've come to collect."
Littlefinger's body trembled violently.
He looked up with difficulty. The eyes that once sparkled with shrewd calculation now held only endless fear.
"You... who are you, really?"
Lynn didn't answer.
He walked to the table, picked up a ledger, and flipped through it casually.
"I don't have that many gold dragons."
Littlefinger stared at Lynn, speaking as if using the last of his strength.
"These are all my assets. Take them."
"I have only one question."
"How did you know?"
"How did you know there was a problem with Loras's horse? How could you defeat Jaime? You..."
He stared dead at Lynn's eyes.
These questions had tormented him all night.
He couldn't figure out where it went wrong.
Lynn's feigned incompetence made everyone lose faith in him, only to astonish everyone in the final.
It was ridiculous.
Every move Lynn made seemed to follow a script he had read beforehand, stepping precisely on every one of Littlefinger's calculations.
It defied logic.
It wasn't something a human could do!
He even suspected Lynn wasn't human, but a demon from the Seven Hells wearing human skin!
"You don't need to know."
Lynn closed the ledger and tossed it onto the table.
"I just need you to remember one thing."
Lynn leaned down, bringing his lips close to Littlefinger's ear, whispering in a voice only the two of them could hear.
"I know about the filthy things you've done."
"Brandon, Joffrey, Jon Arryn, and your co-conspirator Lady Lysa..."
"This will be my first and last warning to you."
"Stay away from the Starks."
"Otherwise, next time, I won't just take your money."
"Believe me, Lord Baelish, I have ten thousand ways to make you regret it."
"'Chaos is a ladder', isn't it, Lord Baelish?"
The voice was soft, but like the wind from the Land of Always Winter, it drilled into Littlefinger's marrow.
Looking into Lynn's bottomless black eyes, he felt his very soul laid bare.
He was terrified.
In front of this man, all his proud schemes and plots seemed as laughable as child's play.
Having delivered his threat, Lynn softened his tone slightly.
"Rest assured, Lord Baelish."
"As long as you don't plot against the Starks again, I don't care what you do, nor do I want to know."
"I won't tell anyone about the things you've done."
Lynn ignored Petyr after that, turning and leaving with the guards, taking the deeds and ledgers with him.
Now, only Petyr Baelish remained.
After a long time, the once-arrogant Lord Baelish let out a low growl like a wounded beast.
He swept everything off the table violently.
He lost. He lost completely.
He dared not scheme against House Stark or that devilish man again.
But he would not give up.
Petyr Baelish staggered to his feet. He walked to the window, looking out at the bustling King's Landing.
A sick, mad smile slowly appeared on his face.
"Chaos is a ladder..."
He muttered to himself.
Since the Stark path is blocked...
Then let the King and the Lion fight to the death!
He would make all of Westeros pay for his failure today!
---