Skyrim System In Westeros

The hall was abuzz with murmurs—some filled with fear, others with excitement. A tall and lanky man had transformed into a green-blooded muscle-bound giant after drinking a few potions. Even Wright was seeing this for the first time.

"Robb, be careful!" Wright shouted, resting his chin on the armrest of his chair, his expression calm and unshaken, which helped ease the tense atmosphere in the hall.

In reality, Wright was merely putting on an act. His mind was already racing—once again, something from his own manuscripts had come to life!

He recalled an old conflict with an organization that opposed a certain orphan. One of their leaders had consumed a potion that turned him into a rational-minded giant. Wright had only drafted a rough concept of such a potion, but he never expected it to actually work—especially when combined with Geralt's body, already enhanced by the Trial of the Grasses. He couldn't help but wonder if this was the result of Tyene's research.

"Who doesn't know to be careful when facing a monster like this? What I need is a way to defeat him!" Robb inwardly grumbled, frustrated that Wright wasn't offering any real advice.

He had no choice but to rely on himself. Robb quickly composed himself, activating a defensive spell. At the same time, his right foot tapped the ground, and a magic formation with six flames along its edge appeared at his feet.

Standing in the center of the purple magic array, Robb gripped his greatsword, Ice, assuming a defensive stance. An orange glow shimmered across his body, complementing his striking features—a sight that made more than a few female mages swoon. Geralt, once a handsome young man himself, now had a form that only a handful of men in the room could appreciate.

A group of young female Skinchangers cheered in unison, "Robb is invincible!"

"I want to bear your children, Robb!" a middle-aged female Skinchanger shrieked as well.

Despite being in her forties, she remained remarkably alluring. Unfortunately, all six of her previous husbands had passed away in succession. Now, she was searching Winterfell for a seventh worthy warrior.

"Seran, aren't you going to stop this?" Sansa asked, noticing how the woman remained quietly focused on the duel, paying no mind to the others lusting after Robb.

"You'll get used to it," Seran replied indifferently, not even sparing the other women a glance. She had already borne Robb two children, and even if he had illegitimate offspring elsewhere, none would be old enough to threaten her standing in their household.

"Robb, don't think that just because you can control your magic, you can ignore the roar of this sword," Geralt sneered.

His arms had swelled to the size of a child's waist, and in his grasp, the longsword Sea Wraith looked more like a dagger. The sheer disproportion was unsettling.

"Every Valyrian steel weapon is unique. Naturally, I will be cautious," Robb said, tightening his grip on Ice.

Woo~

With each swing of the Sea Wraith, its blade and crossguard whistled through the air. Geralt took three steps forward and delivered a clean, decisive slash.

But the moment he stepped into the purple magic formation, it was as if he had plunged into the depths of the sea. Every movement of his body felt as though it was being restrained by the weight of ocean currents, slowing him to an extreme degree.

When facing an opponent stronger than oneself, avoiding direct confrontation was the wisest strategy. While knights were forbidden from using crossbows in duels, ranged magic attacks were standard practice among mages.

Flames erupted from Robb's left palm, a vibrant orange. Raising his right arm, he aimed at Geralt, expecting him to cry out in agony. Yet there was no scream, no sign of struggle. Robb could only keep bombarding him with fire.

The raging flames engulfed Geralt's muscular frame, their searing heat radiating throughout the hall.

Holding his sword high in a charge, Geralt remained motionless in the flames. Through the inferno, his voice rang out, "Destructive fire magic and a slowing magic array? I know them both."

The magic array still pulsed on the ground, but suddenly, Geralt moved. He pushed through sheer brute force, overpowering the spell's effects with raw strength.

With one mighty slash, Geralt aimed for Robb's left shoulder.

Before Robb could react, the blow struck. A burst of yellow light exploded on impact, shattering his protective barrier but leaving him unharmed.

Geralt wasted no time. He spun around and swung his sword again, this time targeting Robb's right shoulder. His movements were so fast that even Robb couldn't keep up.

Ha~~

Previously, the Sea Wraith's swings had screamed like a wailing banshee. Now, infused with magic, it roared with the deep timbre of a man's battle cry.

Robb had no time to retreat or cast another spell. He could only raise Ice to block the strike.

Boom!

The two longswords collided with a strange, heavy sound.

Robb, though burly and enhanced by a powerful potion, was sent sprawling. His greatsword, Ice, slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground. As his face met the stone floor in an unceremonious crash, his legs flailed comically in the air.

Geralt stood over him, watching without making another move.

He had consumed a large quantity of potions, granting him immense resistance to magic. After enduring for so long, he had only suffered minor burns, and his wounds were healing at a speed visible to the naked eye. Soon, the fresh skin would completely replace the damaged flesh. Thanks to his constitution and rapid regeneration, Geralt had managed to withstand Robb's magic head-on.

After retreating a few steps, he approached the magic circle, letting his left hand hover over a flickering flame. Suddenly, he clenched his fist and struck the ground with force, sending shards of stone flying.

"Whoa!" The crowd gasped in unison.

His fist had sunk into the ground, leaving a crater the size of his knuckles in the stone floor. The purple magical flame that had been burning there dissipated into the air upon impact, snuffed out by the force of his magically infused punch. The magic circle etched into the ground vanished along with it.

Geralt slowly withdrew his fist from the ground and straightened up, blowing the dust from his knuckles. "That punch was just to break the magic circle. If I were to unleash my full strength with magic infused, I could knock a dragon's teeth out!"

"Boasting!" Robb retorted, rising to his feet. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his wrists. He hadn't expected Geralt's strength to surpass even the bears he had once wrestled. But even if Geralt's power doubled, the notion of him breaking a dragon's fangs was absurd. No dragon had ever been known to lose teeth.

Ha! Geralt launched himself at Robb again, his cuts and slashes making the Sea Wraith Sword wail as if crying out alongside him.

Now that he had gauged Geralt's strength and speed, Robb avoided clashing head-on. Instead, relying on his wealth of experience and masterful swordsmanship, he used the broad blade of his frost-forged greatsword to deflect and divert the attacks.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

After exchanging several blows, Robb sensed that something was off. Each time their blades met, the impact felt different from usual.

It wasn't just the sheer force behind every strike—there was also a subtle vibration in his sword, as if his blade were being struck repeatedly in rapid succession in the briefest of moments. If not for his heightened senses, enhanced by potions, he might not have even noticed.

Clang!

Their weapons collided once more, but this time, Geralt didn't immediately follow up with another strike. Instead, he pushed his longsword against Robb's greatsword with all his might.

Both combatants exerted force simultaneously, locking their blades in a deadlock. One sword held horizontally, the other pressed down vertically—two Valyrian steel blades crossed at chest level as they strained against each other at close quarters.

Now that the swords were firmly locked together, Robb became acutely aware of an eerie sound.

Geralt, gripping his sword single-handedly, increased the pressure. The sheer strength difference was evident—Robb's defensive stance was gradually forced into one of pure resistance. Gritting his teeth, he raised his other hand to grasp his greatsword's blade, using both hands to withstand the immense pressure.

With the blade so close to his face, Robb could hear it even more clearly now. At the point where their swords met, the Sea Wraith Sword let out a faint, ghostly wail, while his greatsword, Ice, which usually rang with crisp, resonant chimes, now emitted a rapid, dense tinkling sound—one that was gradually turning into a harsh, grating creak.

Geralt noticed Robb's change in expression and smirked.

Then, without warning, he altered the angle of his pressure, dragging the Sea Wraith Sword along the length of Ice's blade. A sharp, ear-piercing screech of metal scraping against metal filled the air.

"The Stark family's four-century-old heirloom… ends today! Ha!"

This time, it was a genuine battle cry from Geralt.

He raised the Sea Wraith Sword high and brought it down with an even swifter, fiercer cleave than before. His attack was so fast that afterimages of his arm and blade lingered in the air.

Most of the onlookers couldn't react in time. Only a select few, including Wright, who had activated their heightened vision to observe the swordplay in detail, managed to witness the moment of impact.

It wasn't until Geralt had finished his strike and stood firm once more that Robb realized he had been struck.

Ting-ting-clang!

Robb lowered his gaze. Shards of metal tumbled to the ground near his feet. Lifting his hand, he saw that all he held now was a hilt and a short, broken segment of the blade.

His greatsword was broken. Ice had been shattered by the Sea Wraith Sword!

The crowd's eyes darted to Robb's feet, where a sizable portion of the greatsword's tip remained intact, but the section that had taken the brunt of the strike was reduced to dozens of jagged metal fragments—shattered beyond repair.

"Nooo—!"

Robb fell to his knees, letting out a roar of despair.

As his cry faded, he turned his gaze toward Geralt. His bloodshot eyes burned with fury, his entire body wreathed in flames interwoven with crackling lightning. Frost crystals formed on his skin, only to instantly evaporate into white steam from the surrounding heat. His magic was now surging uncontrollably, chaotic and unrestrained.

Overcome with rage, Robb flung away the broken sword hilt. His fists, now ablaze with fire, encrusted with frost, and crackling with lightning, clenched tightly as he hurled himself forward at breakneck speed—intent on tearing his opponent apart!