Bear School Astartes

Lord Stark seemed to have spent too much time in King's Landing without a clue, so when someone finally explained the situation to him and offered advice, he was quite receptive.

He didn't take Jorri to the blacksmith shop on Steel Street to find Tob Moote, nor did he send Jorri to talk to Shuofu.

Guard Captain Jorri Kaiso toasted Lann at dinner because of this.

"Even though if Lord Stark asked me, I would definitely go. But I'm also more than happy to make two fewer trips in this unbearably hot place."

That's exactly what the Guard Captain said.

Whether for the Northmen or the Ice Wolves, King's Landing is a place with higher temperatures.

And Edd Stark, handling the kingdom's affairs at the Imperial Council, also clearly felt a difference today compared to the past.

The bureaucratic matters that usually got nowhere were inexplicably smooth at today's meeting.

If it was before he met Lann, he might have thought, 'This kingdom is finally seeing some smooth affairs.'

But now he understood that the smoothness in handling affairs was because he didn't follow the intelligence to find Shuofu, nor did he visit the blacksmith shop, not doing anything beyond his duties as Hand.

His 'inaction' seemed to make some think he had calmed down, and they gave him some 'reward' at the table.

...Did they think they were training a dog?!

Although the handling of affairs was incredibly smooth, Edd's anger was more intense than at any other Imperial Council meeting since he took office!

This meeting ended quickly, and Edd's stern face made it hard to tell any difference from previous days.

Petyr Baelish, however, approached as the people were dispersing, with the same gentle and elegant smile on his face.

"Lord, it seems you didn't catch those two leads yesterday."

Maintaining his smile, Baelish's eyes darted around, as if observing his surroundings had become a second nature during conversations.

Edd felt genuine irritation, but still executed Lann's words accurately.

"Busy with affairs, Lord Baelish. The death of Lord Jon Arryn is a personal matter for me, and I certainly can't set aside my official duties as Hand for personal matters, can I?"

"You are truly noble." Baelish's smile seemed flawless to Edd. "I just hope you can find the time soon, otherwise the intel we have might be swept clean by someone. Farewell."

As Baelish walked away, the ceremonial smile faded from Edd's face as well.

If it were in the past, the straightforward Lord Stark probably wouldn't have detected Baelish's mindset and thoughts, but now...

Lann was right... he's getting anxious.

-----------------

The jousting tournament was a carnival for the common folk who lacked entertainment.

By the time it began, the Hand had already led his family to a high platform at the venue.

This platform was specially prepared for dignitaries and nobles.

The King was at the top, followed by the Prince, the Hand, and the members of the Imperial Council...

From their vantage point, they could easily see the entire jousting track.

The most captivating part of the tournament was this first joust, and the most thrilling was the group melee at the end.

At the jousting venue, a straight, wide track was divided by a vertical wooden rail.

The two competing knights would line up on either side of the rail, launching their lance charges.

The lances used for the charge were specially made for the tournament; the brittle shafts would splinter upon impact with the knights' fully armored bodies before the warhorse's force could penetrate the armor.

At most, it might break a couple of the knight's ribs, but wouldn't be life-threatening.

Of course, being a tournament, accidents happen, and striking a weak point in the armor could be fatal. Such moments usually incited cheers and excitement among the crowd.

"Lann, keep an eye on Nymelia for me!"

Alia excitedly ran up the platform, waving back at Lann.

Though Sansa didn't shout recklessly like a lady, she nodded to Lann with a blush, entrusting her 'ladyship' to Lann below the platform.

The Demon Hunter paid no mind to the overly lively little girl, just gave Sansa a smile.

Sansa ran off blushing, while Alia, puffing in indignation, was pulled away with her.

Lann looked down at the two 'furry toys' beside him.

Nymelia, just like her owner, was excitedly bouncing around with so many people at the tournament.

The Lady, on the other hand, sat obediently.

"Bang," Lann flicked a finger against Nymelia's big wolf forehead.

The bouncing Ice Wolf instantly started howling like a husky but became much more subdued in its behavior.

The knights on the field spurred their horses, deciding the winner in a flash.

Even someone like Lann, who wasn't proficient in mounted combat, could clearly feel the skill and effort involved in that fleeting moment of passing.

A qualified warhorse needs to master at least four gaits.

Regular running, forced march, charging, swift turn, and in the split second of a lance clash, an excellent warhorse must adjust its steps to achieve the strongest impact and most stable center of gravity.

Such a horse is a qualified warhorse.

And a qualified warhorse needs a qualified knight to control it.

The knight must judge distance and speed, assess the horse's stamina, and evaluate the terrain. Meanwhile, the knight also has to consider the angle of their shield, the accuracy of their lance, their endurance...

All these nuances come together, and in that moment of clash, the difference in skill becomes apparent.

Who is deeper in the field of skills, whose daily training is more effective, you can tell by who gets unhorsed.

In the realm of ground combat, most of these knights wouldn't last five seconds before Lann.

But once the battlefield moves to horseback, Lann can only ensure his riding skills keep his horse from running slower than theirs.

Winning a charge is too difficult.

A good knight can gauge the state of both warhorses, and during the charge, use his inferior horse to brutally charge down the superior horse of the opponent!

Of course, for the spectator crowds unfamiliar with combat, as long as it's lively, that's enough.

After a few rounds of jousting, a knight Lann knew rode onto the field. It was Shuofu.

He reined in his horse before the platform where the King was seated, waiting to show respect to the King along with his opponent.

Then his opponent arrived.

It was a figure towering like a dark iron tower!

Lann estimated that this person was at least two and a half meters tall! Broad shoulders, with arms as thick as small tree trunks.

The black armor looked so heavy that an average person probably couldn't even lift it. Under the armor, he wore chainmail and cured leather armor. He wore a flat-topped great helm, with only holes for breathing for the mouth and nose, and a slit for observing beside the eyes, with a stone fist decoration on top pointing skyward.

The "Demon Mountain," Gregor Clegane.

The brother of Sando Clegane, rumored to be the strongest man in Westeros, the hound of the Lannister family.

From Lann's experience of sparring with Sando, he guessed that this guy's sheer strength attribute might already match his own.

The people present, of course, knew more about his prowess than Lann, an 'outsider.'

At least as an opponent, our Sir Shuofu was already pale.