The Usurper and the Kingslayer, two Targaryen slayers, now stood face to face.

Myrcella was still crying and struggling, trying to stop her “father” and “uncle” from fighting. Two Kingsguard loyal to the king followed Robert’s orders—one pulled the prince away, the other restrained the princess, both with hands on their sword hilts, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice. As a sworn protector of the king, Jaime now found himself facing the sword and hammer of the very man he had vowed to defend. His mouth was bitter, and the steel sword in his hand felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

Cersei crouched behind the table, hissing like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “Hurry, Jaime! He’s stalling for time until the garrison arrives!”

“I’m stalling for time?” Robert let out an angry laugh. He knew Cersei was trying to provoke him, but what of it if he let her succeed? “Bitch, I’ll turn your precious brother into a smear on the floor, and then I’ll deal with you!”

With that, he swung his warhammer and charged at Jaime like a falling star.

(For a fat man, he moves quite fast. No wonder he’s so confident.)

Jaime had barely registered the thought before hammer and sword clashed once more, producing a sharp and violent clang. From the sound and the impact in his hands, Jaime quickly concluded two things: first, his sword had been damaged by the hammer. Second, although Robert was as broad as a barrel, he was still monstrously strong thanks to years of hunting and battle. Jaime could not match him head-on.

Robert’s strength and speed exceeded his expectations, though not enough to crush him. Jaime judged his chances of victory at over eighty percent, yet he took a step back, mind in turmoil, unable to launch a counterattack.

Somewhere deep inside, a voice questioned him: Do you really want to kill another king, and become an oathbreaker in the eyes of the realm a second time?

—

Had the fight broken out the moment Robert swung at Cersei, both might already be dead, Robert stabbed by a mad Jaime, and Jaime killed by the two furious Kingsguard behind him. But Cersei had dodged the blow, and Myrcella’s scream had interrupted them again. After a few seconds of standoff, Robert had fully entered the rhythm of battle, while Jaime’s anger had subsided enough for reason to reassert itself.

Trial by combat—if he won, would it prove his innocence with Cersei? It sounded good, but Jaime knew it was just a pretext. Robert was filled with rage, hell-bent on punishing the queen’s lover. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of losing.

Robert was a man of his word. If he lost, he’d be dead. But if Jaime killed him? The other Kingsguard would never honor Robert’s promise. The stain of kingslaying would follow him forever. Even if he escaped the other Kingsguard, the city garrison was on its way. It would still be nearly impossible to get Cersei out of the Red Keep alive. And even if they did escape the Red Keep, they’d still need to flee King’s Landing, cross the Crownlands, and pass through the Riverlands or the Reach to return to the Westerlands!

His inner conflict deepened. The Kingslayer hesitated, while his opponent was focused and unburdened. Robert truly believed he couldn’t lose. The last dragon prince who dared touch his woman had been more handsome and more skilled than Jaime, but there was now a tree growing over his grave, offering shade.

“A cousin… of a… Lannister!”

Robert bellowed, pausing between each word. Before he finished the sentence, his warhammer whistled through the air again. The wind from the swing made Jaime’s face sting. He no longer dared block directly and had to parry and redirect… Gods, Robert was even stronger than he thought. Was that belly of his made of muscle instead of fat?

Amid the screech of metal on metal, the hammer veered slightly off course but still scraped Jaime’s breastplate, leaving a dent. The head of the hammer hooked onto his pauldron and tore the polished silver shoulder guard from its rivets. It now dangled loosely on Jaime’s arm.

…

Jaime was inwardly shaken. His instincts told him not to be distracted, but his subconscious couldn’t help recalling a conversation he’d had with Ser Barristan about the Battle of the Trident. According to the captain of the Kingsguard, Rhaegar Targaryen and the royal army should have won that day. The beloved dragon prince far outmatched Robert in skill. Calm and uninjured, he had even given orders and tried to persuade his foe to surrender during breaks in the fighting. Robert, by contrast, had been pierced by multiple blades and bled profusely, looking like he’d crawled out of a dye vat.

The outcome had seemed clear, at least to Barristan. So how had Robert won? Jaime remembered Barristan explaining that Rhaegar’s horse had lost its footing in the river, throwing its rider into the path of Robert’s hammer.

The young dragon, who had dominated the entire fight, was struck down in the confusion. The ruby from his breastplate shattered and scattered along the riverbank. He fell into the water with his horse and died on the spot, without even uttering a final word. His last words had been a promise to the enemy—if Robert surrendered and ended the rebellion, he could keep his lands and title.

According to the soldiers who recovered the body, Robert had caved in Rhaegar’s breastplate with a blow the size of a man’s face, crushing all his ribs. Jon Arryn had ordered a cremation in accordance with Targaryen tradition, so no autopsy was performed. It remained unclear whether Rhaegar had died of massive internal trauma or drowned.

Robert is stronger than I thought. My odds are no more than seventy percent!

Spotting an opening, Jaime lashed out with a quick thrust aimed at Robert’s large round belly from an awkward angle. But Robert didn’t bother to defend. He roared and launched a wild counterattack, forcing Jaime to retreat before the blade could strike home. Sparks flew as the sword scraped against the armor, a moment of regret and a missed opportunity.

In terms of skill, Jaime surpassed Robert, but if Robert landed even one blow with his hammer, it could end the fight. Jaime had to be cautious.

How could her fierce, unstoppable brother be on the losing end? Cersei panicked. She stood up using the table for support and shouted, “Jaime, circle around! He’s slower than you!”

How was he supposed to circle around in here? Distracted, Jaime nearly took a hit. He gave a bitter smile. “Dearest sister, I don’t need you to teach a Kingsguard how to fight!”

With swords flashing and hammers swinging, Joffrey and Tommen were frozen with fear. The two grown men moved so swiftly and violently, each blow loud and deadly. Yet after more than ten exchanges, neither had prevailed. One was their father, the other their beloved uncle. The children didn’t know whom to pray for.

“Father, Uncle, please stop! I beg you!” Myrcella tried desperately to break free and rush between them, but the white-cloaked knight holding her was too strong.

This wasn’t a tourney field, but a bedchamber. There were tables, chairs, cabinets, coat racks, and more—obstacles, but none sturdy enough to hide behind. Jaime dodged around a table and watched Robert smash it to splinters and kick it aside. The room quickly turned into chaos. The sound of furniture crashing, objects breaking, and things rolling filled the air, drowning out Myrcella’s weak cries.

“Ha! What’s wrong, out of strength already? Fight back! Weren’t you going to show me what a Kingslayer looks like?” Robert mocked. He paused for breath, then lunged again.

…

Jaime hadn’t eaten today, but that wasn’t the reason he wasn’t fighting at full strength. He wasn’t just thinking about how to win, but how to get Cersei back to Casterly Rock safely. Win or lose, the situation was already beyond saving. His only chance was to defeat Robert without killing him, force him to admit that he and Cersei were innocent, and then take him hostage to escape King’s Landing.

As a handsome, rich, and privileged man, Jaime rarely had to use his brain. This was the only plan he could come up with on short notice. But facing Robert, as wild as a charging bear… killing him was easy. Subduing and capturing him was the hard part.

Soon, he found his chance. Though Robert’s attacks were ferocious, they couldn’t last. After two or three swings, he had to pause for breath. Years of wine, women, and indulgence were taking their toll. If Jaime could outlast him, the opportunity to take him alive would come. With over a hundred Lannister guards outside, there was still a chance to help Cersei flee the city.

Steel clashed with steel as hammer and sword met again and again. Jaime moved constantly, retreating and sidestepping in a zigzag—left, right, left, right. He avoided direct clashes whenever possible, yet the sickening clang of metal echoed through the narrow chamber. This wasn’t an arena. The limited space favored raw strength. The floor was littered with debris, broken glass, and shattered furniture. In trying to avoid a head-on clash, Jaime couldn’t spare a glance behind him.

He stepped on something and, reacting quickly, kicked it aside. As he stumbled and flailed to regain his balance, Robert’s next hammer swing was already upon him. He had no choice… he couldn’t block a warhammer with his chest like Rhaegar had. A sword, bent or not, offered better odds.

With a deafening clang, Jaime felt as if he’d been rammed by a siege engine. The sword between the hammer and his armor only slowed the blow momentarily before the force drove it back into him. Jaime staggered, nearly dropping the weapon. He suppressed the pain in his chest and lifted the sword again—only to find it had bent.

“Ha! Kingslayer, looks like you need yourself a Valyrian steel sword.” Robert was drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, but his eyes gleamed with triumph. “Oh, I forgot… your idiot ancestor lost the Lannister family sword! Hahahaha!”

He let out a hearty laugh, then raised his hammer again. Jaime had no time to wonder if he’d broken ribs or damaged his organs. He lifted the bent blade to defend. But the altered balance threw off his stance. For an experienced knight, this wasn’t fatal. But in a duel at this level, your opponent wouldn’t give you time to adjust.

The hammer came crashing down again. Jaime parried as best he could, left and right. Robert quickly noticed the change in his movements and, ignoring his fatigue, pressed the attack. After several imperfect parries, the already-damaged blade cracked further. The fracture spread quickly from the original break, the steel unable to withstand the strain. With a final shatter, the blade snapped. The front half flew across the room and embedded itself in the wall several feet away.

(To be continued.)

***

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep