The morning mist had not yet been fully scattered by the sea wind. While the Hand of the King, Lord Owen rryweather, was still deep in the tender dream woven by the two Lysene won, Ser Arthur Dayne had already risen. Attracted by a burst of crisp and rhythmic clashing of tal from outside the castle, he walked leisurely toward the source of the sound.
On the cold grey beach below Pyke, he saw Euron Greyjoy practicing swordplay.
The boy was shirtless, muscle lines clearly visible in the morning light and sea mist, full of cheetah-like flexibility and explosive power. He was entangled with a Braavosi Water Dancer. Dual swords danced like wild silver snakes, footwork agile to the point of eeriness, leaving almost indistinguishable shallow marks on the sand.
Arthur Dayne stood quietly watching, a trace of imperceptible appreciation passing through his deep violet eyes. A mont later, Euron noticed the renowned spectator. The iron practice sword in his hand perford a neat flourish before he stood still, sweat sliding down his young yet chiseled cheeks. He wasn't panting; instead, he looked at the legendary Kingsguard with burning eyes and issued an invitation:
"Ser Arthur Dayne," his voice carried the clarity after morning exercise. "I have long heard the fa of the 'Sword of the Morning' resounding through the Seven Kingdoms. May I have the honor of asking you to join for a spar and offer so guidance?"
Arthur Dayne—this knight with House Targaryen's iconic pale blond hair (Note: Daynes have violet eyes and sotis pale hair similar to Valyrians, though they aren't Valyrian) and violet eyes—stood tall as a moving white tower. His silver armor and snow-white cloak seed to emit a faint glow in the dim morning light.
Carried on his back was the legendary greatsword "Dawn." Forged from a fallen star, its blade presented a unique milky white glass-like texture. Even in its sheath, it seed to flow with faint light as if alive. It was said the light it blood in battle was like the dawn breaking, hence its wielder was hailed as the "Sword of the Morning."
The true knight revealed a gentle yet majestic smile. He nodded readily. "The honor is mine." His voice was deep and magnetic. He unslung "Dawn," placing it carefully aside, then took two practice longswords from the weapon rack and stepped into the field. He was never stingy about guiding respectful juniors.
In the ti that followed, the cold beach below Pyke beca the best drill ground.
The sword wind beca increasingly fierce, sparks of precision and power bursting from every clash.
Ser Arthur Dayne was obviously not using his full strength. His movents were light as a feather yet immovable as a rock. His blocks were not head-on collisions; he always pushed Euron's sword tip aside at the last mont with minimal movent, creating crisp, rhythmic clashing sounds. His dodges were like foreseeing the future, always letting the most threatening attacks pass by milliters. His snow-white cloak danced in the wind but was stained by not a speck of sand. And his seemingly casual counterattacks always pointed to the defenseless gaps created the mont Euron exerted force, forcing him to change moves hastily.
This legendary Kingsguard was like a master imrsed in artistic creation, calmly imparting his skills amidst the flash of blades.
At the mont of a sword clash, blocking Arthur Dayne's heavy yet seemingly light downward slash, imnse pressure transmitted through the blade, almost numbing Euron's arm. In this instant of stalemate, Euron's mind moved slightly, silently activating the ability from the Pirate King System—[Doriki Test - Lv.1].
Instantly, the scene before him seed to undergo subtle changes. Beside Ser Arthur Dayne's majestic and focused figure, several lines of translucent data visible only to him quietly erged, coldly and precisely outlining the power of this legendary knight:
[Arthur Dayne — Sword of the Morning]
Strength: 32 (Terrifying arm strength far exceeding normal humans, sufficient to wield the legendary greatsword)
Agility: 38 (Astonishing speed and coordination completely inconsistent with his burly figure, like a cheetah)
Stamina: 36 (Possessing nearly infinite endurance, able to support long-duration high-intensity combat)
Spirit: 19 (Firm will, undistracted mind, considerable resistance to magic and ntal influence)
Command: 29 (Natural leader, can easily win soldiers' trust and following)
Charm: 25 (His charisma and knightly deanor are captivating; the highest Euron has seen so far)
A line of fine warning text flashed like blood threads below the data: [Warning: Beware of magic on his greatsword.]
Euron was shaken internally, using the chance of blocking and retreating to digest this information rapidly. Such high personal attributes! And extrely balanced developnt. Strength, Agility, and Stamina—the three core combat attributes—all broke the mortal limit of 30 points, with almost no obvious shortcomings. What caught his attention more was the Charm attribute reaching 25. This didn't just refer to appearance, but an aura deep-rooted in the soul that involuntarily generated awe and conviction. Arthur Dayne was worthy of the na "Sword of the Morning"; his existence itself, like the divine sword "Dawn" he carried, was an insurmountable peak.
Arthur Dayne's steady tone penetrated the whistling of weapons: "Speed is good." He turned sideways to let a swift straight thrust pass, wrist flipping lightly. The sword blade slapped precisely on Euron's forearm—not heavy, but enough to interrupt the offense. "But your eyes and the micro-movents of your shoulders betrayed your intent. Anticipation is too obvious; experts will exploit this."
Euron panted, retreating a step to adjust quickly.
"Focus on force exertion," Ser Arthur continued. He didn't pursue but demonstrated a forward thrust. The movent was incredibly smooth, the whole body's power seemingly condensed at the sword tip, exploding with amazing penetration yet stopping abruptly at the end, controlled to perfection. "Power condensed at one point to explode, not dispersed throughout the movent. Like waves hitting a reef, not tide washing over sand."
He then parried a heavy cross-slash from Euron's dual blades. The massive power collision was cleverly deflected and unloaded by him. "See, your power was dispersed by yourself. If I hadn't retreated just now but advanced here," his sword tip instantly pointed to Euron's ribs slightly exposed due to exertion, "you would have already lost."
Euron's pupils contracted slightly, deeply realizing the gap.
"Also, watch your flanks!" Ser Arthur's voice raised slightly. His footwork changed suddenly, figure sliding like a ghost into Euron's left blind spot, sword tip tapping his lower back again. "Real combat has no rules. Enemies won't be rciful enough to attack only from your front. Your dual swords are an advantage, but they can also make you too focused on the front, ignoring the surroundings."
His guidance was by no ans harsh criticism. Every sentence hit the mark, containing wisdom accumulated from countless battles and enlightennt between life and death. On this dawning beach, accompanied by the rhythm of waves and the clear cry of blades, a sword art inheritance transcending age and status was taking place in the most direct and profound way.
Euron concentrated fully, eyes bright as stars, greedily absorbing every proverb and every movent of one of the strongest swordsn of the age.
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