House of The Dragon:The Rise of the Emperor of the Seven Kingdoms

Maekar was not in the least surprised by Daemon ignoring Jaehaerys’s orders. Daemon had set out to risk so much; how could he stop halfway? However, as a bastard and someone who aspired to be king, he could not be so cruel and treacherous, at least in the public eye. In private, though...

Closing his helmet’s visor, Maekar gripped Blackfyre with both hands and spoke with a muffled voice from beneath the steel. "Be glad I am benevolent, brother. I will let you strike first, the last shred of dignity I shall grant you before I cut you down like a pig."

"You talk too much, bastard," Daemon said with a cruel smile on his lips. He gripped Dark Sister with one hand and advanced relentlessly.

Neither of them carried shields; it was almost as if they wanted to wound each other without a single thought for their own safety.

Clang!!!

A loud, clear sound of metal rang through the arena. Blackfyre against Dark Sister, both swords that should have been protecting the blood of House Targaryen, now collided fiercely.

Unlike normal swords, the sparks from the collision between the two blades were like hot, fierce flames sweeping through the air.

With every clash of the swords, flames bloomed around them; both seemed to be wielding the flames themselves in the shape of a blade.

The nobles were fascinated, the commoners were fascinated, and even the king was watching the battle intently.

Daemon attacked fiercely, sparing none of his stamina, blow after blow, each strike delivered with all his might. If it were a normal sword, the edge would already be dull and the blade full of notches. However, Dark Sister was a Valyrian steel sword; its edge could never dull, nor could the blade break.

Even against Blackfyre, Dark Sister did not lose its edge in the slightest, remaining as sharp as it had been for the thousands of years of its existence.

Unlike Daemon, Maekar was defending against every blow; his feet hadn’t moved four inches since the duel began. He moved his sword and parried the attacks with a calm, cold gaze. He felt every strike, his arm trembled, but the firmness in his hands never wavered.

After blocking yet another treacherous strike aimed at his neck, Maekar felt the strength of Daemon’s blows diminish and knew it was his turn to attack.

When Daemon struck again, Maekar stepped forward and shifted his body to the side; in the same instant, he swung his sword. The blade went straight for Daemon’s helmet.

The Rogue Prince, caught by surprise, tried to gain momentum to dodge, but it was already too late; the blade made a clean cut through his helmet. Blood splattered as the blade pierced the metal and struck Daemon full in the face.

Daemon recoiled while clutching his face in pain; blood trickled down his cheeks and then his chin, falling onto his helmet before sliding down his neck.

Maekar could have charged and pressed Daemon, but he didn’t. He circled Daemon like a wolf circling its prey. The tip of his sword dragged on the ground, creating a sharp, deadly sound.

"Prince Daemon has been wounded!!!!" The shout made the audience wake from the spectacle and exclaim loudly.

"Incredible, I didn’t even see the sword’s trajectory!!!"

"Maekar the Killer, he is worthy of that title!!!"

The entire crowd commented with excitement; it had been a long time since anyone had seen such a legendary and excellent duel. It was like seeing two legends from the history books facing off before them.

In the stands, the tension was high, the air was heavy, and little Rhaenyra, sitting on Aemma’s lap, watched the two figures in the arena with bright eyes. She didn’t quite understand what was happening, nor why both her uncles were fighting, but she could understand that what was happening was incredible.

However, she didn’t know who to root for. Although Maekar had spoken little to her, he had left a lasting impression on little Rhaenyra’s mind. Daemon, on the other hand, always brought her lemon cakes, which she loved.

In the end, her love for lemon cakes seemed to outweigh the impression she had of Maekar, and she began to cheer for Daemon. "Get him, Uncle Daemon!!!"

Everyone’s eyes focused on Rhaenyra; Aemma gave an apologetic smile and covered her daughter’s mouth with a furious look.

Jaehaerys didn’t mind the child and looked at Ryam. "Who do you think will win?"

The King felt his question was foolish, but he asked anyway. Although he was king, he had also trained his entire life with the sword, so he was no novice but a seasoned veteran.

"Your Grace, Prince Maekar is toying with Prince Daemon," Ryam commented with a tone full of admiration and solemnity. "No, he isn’t toying; he is humiliating Prince Daemon on purpose. Showing that he could end the fight at any moment, yet he chooses not to."

Ryam looked at Prince Baelon and did not add the sentence he wanted to. In his eyes, Maekar was putting on a show for Prince Baelon. It was as if Maekar wanted to show Baelon how much better he was than Daemon.

Jaehaerys narrowed his eyes and couldn’t help but look at the fourteen-year-old boy in the arena. He wondered what kind of monstrous talent was capable of giving a teenager who hadn’t even reached adulthood such a capacity for combat.

Of all the men he had seen, Maegor was the most skilled with a sword, surpassing even Ryam beside him. Maegor was a complete monster with strength beyond any human. Maekar seemed even more terrifying than Maegor.

Maegor was strong and extremely resilient; Maekar was fast and precise. However, both were equally deadly.

A concern appeared in Jaehaerys’s heart: would Viserys be able to face Maekar when he died?

The king didn’t know, but there wasn’t much he could change; he was old and no longer had the fire of youth within him. At the same time, he couldn’t help but look at Daemon with a cold, dangerous gaze.

While everyone seemed shocked by the scene in the arena, Alysanne was calm and quietly sipped a glass of juice. She knew Maekar’s skills and never worried about seeing him lose this battle. However, she noticed that her other grandson, Daemon, was aiming for Maekar’s vitals.

It wasn’t just her who had noticed; everyone had, but they chose to remain silent. Only the king looked coldly at Daemon. It was the second time Daemon had disobeyed him.

In the arena, Maekar saw Daemon remove his helmet and reveal a bloodied face. There was a clean cut on his cheek that ran down to his jaw. Blood still flowed from the wound, making Daemon’s handsome face look more fierce than it already was.

Flicking the remaining blood from his sword onto the ground, Maekar looked at Daemon and asked calmly, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice: "Didn’t you say I would die today?"

Daemon did not answer; he gripped Dark Sister with both hands and attacked Maekar again. This time, he was calmer, colder, and more focused. His sword practically transformed into a silver blur in the air.

Maekar defended against the attacks with a calm gaze; his brother was more focused, and that was dangerous.

Clang!!! Clang!!! Clang!!! Clang!!! Clang!!! Clang!!!

Fire bloomed every time the swords clashed, and they clashed at an extremely rapid pace. Fueled by fury, Daemon’s attacks seemed endless; he struck and then struck again, giving Maekar no time to breathe.

However, Maekar was getting excited. There was a smile beneath his helmet. Daemon’s skill level was better than he had expected.

Maekar shifted his position, using a standard knight’s stance; he began to fight back while alternating between attacking and defending.

Daemon was forced to retreat constantly as he desperately tried to block every attack, but it was not easy. The unpredictable and deadly angles made it extremely difficult to defend from all sides.

The Rogue Prince had to admit: this bastard half-brother was much more powerful than himself. Yet, even so, Daemon felt no fear, only becoming more excited and fighting with even more fervor and fury.

He could not allow Maekar to leave the arena alive, or his brother would have many problems; Maekar was too powerful, both physically and mentally.

Then, Daemon saw an opening he had been looking for since the duel began. Moving his sword into a low-to-high stance, he swung the blade toward Maekar’s armpit with the intent to pierce him.

Suddenly, just as Daemon was about to strike, he didn’t see Maekar’s metal armor but an armored leg.

The impact came at the same moment; Daemon lost his balance and fell toward the ground. Knowing the strike would follow in the next moment, Daemon accepted the fall and rolled to the side. In the next second, a sword struck exactly where he had been previously.

Daemon tried to get up, but he was pinned down by Maekar, who climbed onto him. Before he could react, a punch covered by a metal gauntlet struck his nose. The sound of breaking bones rang out, and Daemon felt a sharp pain in his face.

However, before he could react, more and more punches struck Daemon. Blood splattered on the gauntlets until the metal fist was covered in red.

Daemon’s face could no longer be called handsome; his beautiful features had become a mixture of blood, bruises, and saliva.

He tried to speak, but he couldn’t even move his jaw; how could he speak?

The audience watched in complete silence; eyes were wide and incredulous.

Baelon, in the stands, stood up abruptly and shouted loudly. "STOP IT, MAEKAR!!!"

If this continued, Maekar would beat Daemon to death! The faces of everyone in the royal box were tense and rigid. The scene was simply too bloody. Little Rhaenyra just closed her eyes and could no longer bear to see that horrific sight.

Hearing Baelon’s words, Maekar snapped out of his rage, got off Daemon, and stood up; he raised his sword high. Looking down at Daemon, he spoke calmly.

"Daemon, I could say it isn’t personal, but you and I both know we want to kill each other. Unfortunately, I cannot kill you today."

"However, I promise that we will try to kill each other atop dragons, like true dragonriders. Just like Maegor and Aegon, beneath the Gods Eye."

When Maekar finished speaking, his sword fell, but it did not fall toward Daemon’s head or any other vital point, but toward his right arm, the arm he used for his sword.

In one clean, swift cut, Daemon’s arm was severed from his body. Blood slowly stained the ground

Daemon, whose field of vision was blurred and tinged with red, caught only a glimpse of his severed arm before hearing loud screams, and darkness took over his consciousness. However, there was one last thought in his mind.

"You filthy bastard..."

----

Note: This was difficult to write; I had to rewrite it a few times to feel it turned out decent.

Read the advanced Chapters on my Patreon!

/GOTSW

Read my other books:

House of The Dragon: The Pale Prince

Game Of Thrones: The God-Emperor of Planetos

Percy Jackson: Godwyn the Golden.

Game Of Thrones: The King’s Court Wizard