Dreadfort Castle
POV of Doric Bolton
The sword arched in the air and brushed past his hair as his eyes widened, and he moved his head back to avoid the blade, which might as well have looked like it moved at half the normal speed due to his high senses.
But even with his great reflexes, he could not defend himself against sothing faster than him.
And Varko, with his twin blades, was far faster than him, primarily because of the heavyweights he had wrapped around his hands and legs.
He knew that despite his more excellent physique and technique, he was still not as good as he could be due to insufficient training or experience as a swordsman.
And to gain the necessary experience, he needed fights that pushed his limits. Otherwise, with his superhuman physique, it would be easy to defeat whoever his opponent was, and it would not add anything to him in terms of experience.
Doric knew that although he had reached a level technically and physically that many people could not achieve in their lifeti, he still had a lot more potential. And if reaching his absolute potential ant adding handicaps and pushing himself to his limits, he would do that.
The other reason he was training was that ever since his victory over Varko, he had started to like the warrior’s way.
His adrenaline rush when he finally defeated Varko was far better than any he got by defeating his foes with magic. Defeating soone with a piece of tal woke up sothing primal in him, and he wanted more.
So here he was, getting his ass whooped by Varko so that the next ti he finds and defeats a bunch of bandits, he won’t feel like he was only able to do so because of the enhancents but because he had so actual skills and experience.
Varko didn’t give him the ti to get a better footing and continued sending a flurry of swift sword strikes, even for his enhanced mind.
He did not even last a second before he was on his ass once again.
For all that Varko hid his emotions, Varko didn’t like him taking that one cheap victory in front of everyone and was acting out of pettiness and taking a perverse joy in kicking his ass.
"You’re defending too much," Varko told . "It’s good if you’re doing it every now and then. But a person who keeps defending and doesn’t attack will lose sooner or later. You need to take more risks. Be more proactive."
He nodded and got up once again.
And the sparring between Doric and Varko has resud. Diversions, defense-destroying power blows, off-balance attacks from difficult angles, rhythm-disrupting fast sword strikes, techniques that would make even the best swordsn envious, footwork that changed the course of the fight in an instant, and even unexpected punches and kicks from ti to ti.
The simple training between these two could easily have challenged the finals of the greatest tournant in Westeros. At the sa ti, if the lords and swordsn of the seven kingdoms saw this sparring between Doric and Varko, these two would quickly be declared the best swordsn and fighters in Westeros.
Especially given Doric’s age, if his swordsmanship skills were known to others, they would inevitably give him an outlandish title.
After a long and intense battle, Doric and Varko put so distance between them. They were both breathing heavily, and sweat was pouring down their foreheads.
Usually, Doric would not tire quickly after a body enhancent ritual. Still, the weight bags he was wearing were far beyond the capacity of a normal human being. Because of that, Doric also began to expend energy much faster under the influence of weight bags.
Doric looked at Varko with a grin on his face. This ti, their battle had ended in a draw.
The most outstanding of Doric’s abilities was undoubtedly his speed of learning and applying things. Eidetic mory and Occluncy allowed him to surpass everyone else in many areas.
After catching their breath, they prepared themselves again...
But before they could go on for another round of sparring, Doric heard footsteps behind him and turned to find Tyrion coming his way.
He looked at Varko, who silently nodded and stepped out of hearing range.
"Tyrion." He said without any emotion in his voice.
Tyrion reeked of wine and sweat. His hair was all over the place. His clothes were filled with wine stains and so vomit, and the man looked like he had not had a proper sleep in weeks. There was a half-empty wine bottle in his left hand.
"Bolton," Tyrion murmured, stumbling a little before he corrected his footing.
He remained silent, so Tyrion continued. "I’m going to King’s Landing."
A frown took place on his forehead, but before he could say anything, Tyrion continued. "I will talk with my brother and find out if he truly betrayed and whether Tysha is really innocent. Deep down in my heart, I always knew that she was. I knew, but... believing that she was a whore dulled my pain, so that’s what I chose to believe."
Tyrion frowned and took a swig from the bottle. "I... I want to hear it from Jamie. I want to hear him say it. How that sister fucker allowed my wife to get gang-raped in front of ." Tyrion’s voice broke, and tears ford in his eyes. He wiped them away quickly and continued. "Once I’m done with him. With all of them... I’ll co back... for Tysha. She might not forgive . She might never forgive . And that would be alright. This ti... I’ll act like the husband I should have had long ago."
At that point, Tyrion broke down and started sobbing in front of him. He ignored the sll coming from Tyrion and pulled him in a hug. He patted Tyrion’s back and secretly put a calming charm on him.
"Very well then. I’ll send the Titanic to escort you to King’s Landing."
"Titanic?" Tyrion asked, looking confused.
"My flagship." He said with a proud smile. "You’ll definitely like her."
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Ch.135: A Masterpiece
Ch.136: Hoverboards
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