Skyrim System In Westeros

Robb's roar carried not just fury but also sorrow. Everyone in the hall could hear the grief in his voice, and even outside the castle, Grey Wind, who had been patrolling the grounds, lifted his head to the sky and howled in response.

"Robb!"

Wright's sharp call cut through Robb's rage, making him halt his roar. He remained on his knees, turning his upper body towards Wright, his expression lost and broken.

"Back then, three of us dared to take on an entire cavalry battalion. The same Robb Stark who charged fearlessly into battle against hundreds of pirates, full of spirit and valor—where has he gone?"

Robb opened his mouth, but the words he wanted to say never came out.

Everyone present understood his pain. If they were in his place, they might have handled it even worse.

Valyrian steel swords weren't just expensive; they were sacred heirlooms passed down through generations. When Jaime lost one, he nearly lost his mind. But Robb? He had held his family's ancestral blade in his hands and watched it shatter. It was a miracle he wasn't completely broken.

"Think about how you got here. You set out from King's Landing, facing thieves, swindlers, and bandits along the way. You fought in naval battles, laid siege to castles, and when King Robert knighted you for your valor, you stood proud!"

As Wright recounted his past, Robb recalled every step of his journey—not just as a story he told his son, but as the undeniable truth. He had once been fearless, passionate, and unyielding.

"How is Ashara? It's been a long time since I heard from her," Robb asked quietly as he stood, his voice calm now.

Seeing that Robb had steadied himself, Wright was relieved. Folding his hands behind his back, he replied, "She's doing great. Just two days after giving birth to her second child, she grabbed her sword and went off to cut down some mountain bandits—came back covered in blood, still trying to nurse the baby. The maester had to chase her out of the bedroom."

"Still so carefree… That's good," Robb muttered. His gaze shifted past Wright, drawn to his mother's actions.

Eddard, who was acting as the official witness for the duel, held a shard of the shattered Ice, turning it over in his fingers, his expression full of regret. As per the rules, no compensation would be given for broken weapons.

Catelyn also held a fragment of the sword, but she wasn't focused on the steel—her hands and eyes were sending signals to Wright.

It was then that Robb's heart finally settled. The greatest blacksmiths and dragons in the world were here in Winterfell. With his connection to Wright, reforging a Valyrian steel sword wouldn't be an issue. What was he even worried about? Countless lords longed for the chance to reforge such a blade but lacked the means or resources. Perhaps this was an opportunity for Ice to be reborn.

Robb nodded at Wright and his family, silently assuring them he was fine.

Then, he turned back to face Geralt. Shrugging off his shirt, he tossed it aside, ready to face the towering warrior bare-chested.

"The duel continues!" Robb roared, his voice firm and unwavering.

Uncomfortable in his Ice armor, Robb abandoned it in favor of a different approach. A golden light flashed repeatedly over his body as layers of magical protection took hold. He activated his Beast Vision, his eyes transforming to match Grey Wind's, sharp and wild. Clenching his fists, he took a combat stance, mimicking Geralt's technique by wrapping his fists in magic—flames and lightning flickered around his knuckles.

"Heh, all that effort is pointless. Your face is still going to kiss the floor!" Geralt sneered before launching himself forward.

A heavy right hook crashed into Robb, his golden barrier flaring brilliantly. The impact sent magical shards scattering in all directions with a deafening explosion.

The protective spell—known as the Quen Sign—shattered, but Robb remained unscathed.

Geralt, his muscles bulging, followed up with a left punch, hammering into Robb's chest. Once again, golden light flickered under the impact.

"Double casting! You actually pulled it off!" Geralt barked in surprise.

Robb ignored the taunt. His mind was locked in total focus, his heightened senses barely keeping up with Geralt's movements. Taking two hits, he managed to counter with a spell of his own—then he struck back.

His flaming, electrified fist slammed into Geralt's chest. The impact burst a small hole into the ice armor, sending shattered ice fragments scattering like tiny stars reflecting the torchlight.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The two men exchanged blow after blow, Robb relying on his magical defenses, Geralt relying on sheer brute strength. Their fists collided, sending flashes of multicolored energy through the hall.

"Ha!"

"Roar!"

Their war cries echoed as they abandoned all defense, putting everything into their strikes. They weren't just fighting—they were determined to pummel each other into the ground, neither willing to give an inch.

The audience, swept up by the raw energy of the fight, pounded the tables and shouted in encouragement.

Robb delivered a devastating uppercut to Geralt's waist. The ice armor, already riddled with cracks and holes, finally gave way—shattering completely and collapsing into a pile of glittering shards at his feet.

Geralt landed an uppercut to Robb's abdomen, followed by another punch that shot out from a flash of light, striking Robb's left arm. He hadn't had time to cast a defensive spell and was forced to block with his forearm.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The two of them swung their fists wildly, the hall reverberating with the explosive clashes of their magically enhanced blows and their fierce roars.

Geralt's speed remained the same—every strike a heavy blow. Robb, however, missed his timing and took a punch to the shoulder, his entire body tilting backward from the impact.

Fully focused on the battle, Robb took a wide step to steady himself and launched another attack at Geralt.

By now, it was clear to everyone that Robb's stamina and magic were draining fast. He was falling behind, going from blocking two punches and countering with one at the start to now taking frequent hits.

"Ahhh—!" Robb staggered from a punch, his body lurching sideways.

With a furious roar, Geralt leaped into the air, clenched both fists together, and smashed them down onto Robb's back.

Robb could no longer keep up with the pace.

Boom! Flames erupted across his back.

Bang! The impact sent Robb crashing into the ground, shattering the stone slabs beneath him.

As Geralt landed, he continued his rapid assault. At first, Robb could still defend, but he soon lost the ability to keep up.

A barrage of explosive magical strikes rang out, accompanied by shattered stone flying in all directions. The slabs beneath Robb completely fractured, and the ground was left with a small crater. Lying inside it, Robb had lost consciousness.

It was only now that some in the audience realized just how terrifyingly powerful Geralt had become. Taking even one punch from him in his current state was no joke. Robb had magical defenses on the surface and was instinctively channeling his magic to mitigate the force of the blows. If an ordinary person had been hit, their head would have exploded on the spot.

Geralt stepped back voluntarily, making no further attacks. In his heart, he believed Robb was a villain, but he had never intended to commit patricide. Robb's crimes would be judged by the kingdom's laws.

Wright stepped forward and stomped the ground, activating a golden magic circle beneath the unconscious Robb. It was the highest-tier healing spell.

"Robb is fine. You should announce the winner," Wright whispered to the still-dazed Eddard.

"Right, right." His son had lost miserably, and after all that fighting, Geralt didn't even have a single scratch. Only after hearing Wright confirm Robb was fine did Eddard and Catelyn finally relax. Eddard then stood up and declared loudly, "The victor of this duel—Geralt Sand!"

The mages in the hall erupted in cheers for the winner, while the surrounding vines withered, their moisture drained, falling to the ground like lifeless ropes.

Seran hurried over to Robb's side, dragging him out of the crater and cradling his upper body. Seeing his bruised and swollen face rapidly heal while he remained unconscious, she looked up at Geralt and asked, "Congratulations on your victory, champion. As the wife of the defeated, I have a question."

"Go ahead." Geralt found Seran to be a kind person—her voice was gentle.

Seran asked, "What grudge do you hold against Robb to humiliate him like this?"

Geralt was momentarily stunned before leaning down and whispering a few words into Seran's ear. As soon as she heard them, her eyes widened, and her expression changed drastically.

A moment later, Wright approached, and the two stopped their conversation.

Wright pressed his fingers against Robb's philtrum. "He should be waking up now."

Robb slowly regained consciousness, and the first thing he saw was Seran, followed by Wright.

"With your strength, dealing with Geralt should've been easy. The stronger an alchemical potion is, the shorter its effect and the greater its side effects. You only needed to stall until his potion wore off," Wright finally revealed the simple method to defeat Geralt.

"I knew that," Robb replied weakly, "but I didn't want to win that way. I just wanted to fight with everything I had."

Seeing his exhausted state, Wright instructed Seran, "My magic healed his wounds, but his body is paralyzed from overexertion. Just take him to his chambers and let him rest for a day."

Seran glanced up at Eddard, then back down at the man slumped in her arms. Without hesitation, she let go, letting Robb drop to the ground, then grabbed her son's hand and started walking toward the chambers. Over her shoulder, she left Robb with one last remark:

"You really are just like your father. If the floor's so comfortable, go ahead and keep lying there."

Robb stared blankly at Eddard.

He thought to himself, We've always been alike, haven't we?