It had to be admitted that the speed and decisiveness with which the girl drew her sword truly startled Aegor. He almost did exactly what he had planned after observing the room layout earlier, step back toward the table and circle around using the furniture for cover to evade Arya’s attack.

Fortunately, the most dangerous scenario did not occur. Arya did not chase after him with her Needle. Instead, she stood by the bed, holding the small sword level, its tip pointed straight at him. Tears welled in her eyes, but she grit her teeth and forced out a sentence. “Now take your followers and leave Winterfell, not a single one remaining, and I will believe you are doing this to protect me. If you cannot do that, then shut up and get out of my room.”

Her tone was resolute, her stance firm. The small sword flashed with a metallic sheen that was quite intimidating. Yet Aegor, facing the Needle, knew that the most dangerous moment had already passed.

The moment Arya drew her Needle but did not press forward to stab him in one decisive move, she had already lost the resolve to kill him. The situation looked tense, but his earlier words had clearly had some effect. Now was the time to press on while the iron was hot and break through her final defenses.

“Arya, I know you will not hurt me, just as I will not hurt you.” Aegor straightened his expression slightly and spoke with strong suggestive intent as he took a deep breath and slowly walked toward the young swordswoman. “Weapons are meant for enemies. Put it down. There is nothing between you and me that we cannot talk through properly.”

The girl’s expression and movements showed clear hesitation. As long as he gathered the courage to step forward and relied on the True Dragon’s Might whose method of use he had already grasped, Aegor was fifty percent certain he could take the Needle from Arya’s hand without being injured.

As for the other fifty percent, there was no need to panic. His vital torso was protected by armor hidden beneath his greatcoat. With Arya’s strength, far inferior to that of a grown man, and with the Needle being made of ordinary steel, it could not pierce that protection. If she aimed for his head, neck, or lower body, he would dodge. If she struck his chest or abdomen, he would rely on the armor to take the blow and then seize the sword in a counter. Given that he was a full head taller than her, the latter outcome was far more likely. The young she wolf in this timeline had not undergone professional assassin training at the House of Black and White in Braavos. Neither her mental state nor her physical ability could be called that of a killer, and he was not her sworn enemy or mortal foe. There was no reason to be overly nervous.

Encouraging himself like this, Aegor walked forward slowly but without hesitation. As the distance closed, Arya, who had already lost most of her killing intent, felt an indescribable pressure bearing down on her from the man’s tall figure. Even though she held the weapon, she was forced to retreat again and again, and the hand gripping the sword began to tremble.

“I told you not to come any closer,” she cried, clutching the sword with both hands to stop the shaking. She tried to appear brave while fear churned inside her. “Do not think I do not dare to stab you.”

“Arya, put the sword down,” Aegor repeated in an undeniable declarative tone. He slowed his steps and spread his hands to show he meant no harm. Finally, he forced her back against the wall. He carefully pinched the trembling tip of the Needle between two fingers of his right hand. Following the motion, he tightened his grip and took full control of the situation.

…

The wall and windowsill behind her were solid and unyielding. She could not retreat any further. As Aegor slowly applied force to the Needle, preparing to take it away, Arya unwillingly admitted that this hateful man had once again completely outplayed her. For a brief moment, she truly wanted to give up resisting and let him disarm her. Yet at the final instant before the Needle slipped into his grasp, the resentment in her heart turned into an utterly irrational thought.

Even if I do not kill you, I will at least make you suffer and make this scoundrel understand that attacking Winterfell has a price.

Seeing that the Needle would be taken within another half second, she turned her head away and squeezed her eyes shut. Using all her strength, she wrenched the sword back with both hands and stabbed blindly toward what felt like his arm or perhaps his shoulder.

“Ow.” Aegor let out a low cry of pain and chopped down, knocking the small sword out of her grasp.

He had already been guarding against a sudden strike, so he deliberately guided the blade toward his breastplate. This final stab was indeed blocked by the sturdy iron armor beneath his coat. However, because Arya changed direction at the last instant, the blade first pierced his hand.

A sharp pain shot through his palm. This was the third time Aegor had been genuinely injured since coming into this world, after fighting the White Walkers for his life and being targeted by thugs sent by Janos Slynt. This time, he had been wounded by a little girl.

After snatching the Needle away, he gripped the blade with his left hand to prevent Arya from reclaiming it. Only then did he look at the injury on his right hand. The tip of the Needle, only slightly blunter than a real sewing needle, had pierced the edge of his palm between the bases of his ring finger and little finger. It passed through flesh and scraped heavily against the fifth metacarpal bone, exiting from the outer side of his palm before being stopped by the iron armor. The pain from the scraped bone membrane was intense, and the blood seeping from the two small wounds made half his hand look mangled.

“You. I told you not to come any closer.” Arya opened her eyes and stared at the result of her sword’s first taste of blood. She felt a little afraid of his reaction, but her words remained defiant. “You deserved it.”

It was certainly unpleasant for Aegor to be injured while trying to placate a girl he had once shared a bed with, but it was not entirely unexpected. In fact, to some extent, the outcome was even beneficial to his plan of repairing relations with Arya and House Stark. Look, your daughter stabbed me and I did not retaliate. That was sincerity enough.

The Needle was not poisoned, but as Aegor wiped the blood from his greatcoat and prepared to continue soothing her, a strange change suddenly occurred within him.

The scale of R’hllor on his chest, which had already sunk into his skin and was gradually merging with his breastbone, suddenly made its presence known. Without warning, it grew uncomfortably hot and seemed to force out two streams of heat, one flowing downward toward the injury on his palm through his right arm, and the other surging upward into his head.

The wound stopped bleeding and the pain faded into a warm sensation. However, the heat flooding his head made him feel as if he had swallowed a mouthful of mustard. An inexplicable fury and bloodlust filled his mind, nearly overwhelming his reason.

What was happening. Did the scale possess magic that protected its bearer and healed injuries. Or did it have a will of its own, growing angry when its host was hurt and urging him to retaliate.

If that were true, then the value of this gift from the Lord of Light had risen yet again.

Before he could think further, the door burst open as the guards rushed in after hearing his cry. “My lord.”

“It is nothing. Get out and close the door,” Aegor said quickly, waving them away while suppressing the violent emotions surging from the scale. He forced a smile, tossed the bloodied Needle onto the bed, and stepped toward Arya again, extending his uninjured left hand as if to pull her into an embrace. “Now can we talk properly.”

“Say what you want to say, do not touch me.”

Contrary to his expectations, this gesture was not enough to soothe Lady Stark’s sense of betrayal. She twisted her shoulder to shake off his hand and shoved his chest hard. In doing so, she discovered what lay beneath his clothes. “You. You actually came to see me wearing armor. Get away. Do not touch me.”

The anger that had just begun to subside flared up again. A moment ago, her refusal to let him touch her had been half hearted. Now she was genuinely furious. When Aegor tried to hold her, it was like trying to catch a startled cat. There was no tender reconciliation. Instead, his chest and face were met with punches and scratches. Where the breastplate covered him, the blows mattered little, but the strikes to his exposed face burned painfully.

Since he was the one at fault, Aegor naturally did not turn hostile over a few slaps. However, he still had to mind the wound on his hand and suppress the anger rising from the scale on his chest. With every new scratch on his face, the scale flared hotter and sent out more heat. Finally, after a solid slap to the nose, the amplified rage overwhelmed his restraint.

“Enough. Calm down,” he roared.

“Get out.” Arya was not frightened at all and slapped him again.

Her arm was caught in midair by Aegor’s left hand. His eyes reddened, and his right hand rose uncontrollably.

If this slap landed on Lady Stark’s face, everything he had done would be ruined. Reason forced itself back at the last moment. His raised hand paused, then fell with reduced force, landing on her backside instead.

“Ow.” Arya leapt up in fury and retaliated, biting down hard on Aegor’s left hand. Taking advantage of his momentary loosening, she broke free and rushed toward the Needle on the far side of the bed, intent on reclaiming it.

She failed. The bite was the final straw. Having come with good intentions only to be battered by her, Aegor finally stopped holding back. With his mind flooded by heat from the scale, he made a simple judgment. If he did not settle this today, he would forget about handling matters properly while in Winterfell.

As Arya lunged forward, she felt a powerful force seize her from behind and yank her back. Under the influence of R’hllor’s gift, Aegor was far stronger and faster than usual. He grabbed her clothes, dragged her back, twisted her arms behind her, and sat down on the bed, pressing her across his knees. He locked her arms with one hand and brought the other down hard, spanking her repeatedly.

This time, he did not hold back. Arya cried out for her mother in pain, yet still refused to submit, twisting desperately and even trying to bite his thigh. For a moment, she broke free of his grip.

The freedom was brief. Aegor stopped, used both hands to restrain her again, then drew a small dagger from his waist and cut her belt. He pulled out the cloth strip and bound her wrists tightly, then pulled off her trousers.

Since overthrowing the former captain of the City Watch, Aegor had not acted so rashly in a long time. He was completely driven to chaos by this little she wolf. How hard to strike and how to end this were thoughts he could no longer process. His anger clouded everything except one simple idea. If striking through clothing did not subdue her, then striking bare skin would. He did not believe this girl was made of steel.

(To be continued.)

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep