Cheering.
That was the sound that greeted him as he stepped onto the designated terrain of the melee.
The sky was cloudless and held a beautiful blue whilst the ever bright and unforgiving sun beat down hard on the earth beneath it.
There were hundreds on the field—closer to two hundred, really. Men and teenagers, squires and would-be knights. All equipped with decent armor—chainmail, brigandine, and a lucky few in mismatched plate.
The scene reminded him of Stonehaven, of the mountain clansmen charging in. Except this lot were better armored and probably better trained.
A dangerous glint flashed in his eye, and behind the helm, his mouth curled into a grin.
I almost feel bad for the little shits, he thought.
None of the nobles cheered. To them, this wasn't a battle. Just boys playing at war.
Then the signal came.
A horn. A shout. And all at once, they charged—yelling, grunting, or letting the loud steel speak for them. What had started as a shaky but organized line of squires broke instantly into the chaotic free-for-all it was always meant to be.
Edric, seven feet tall and towering over most, charged into a knot of boys with little hesitation—his sheer size enough to carve a path through flesh, leather, and steel.
He slammed a smaller lad's armored face, dropping him without a sound. He backhanded another into the realm of dreams, starting a streak of unbroken dominance.
It wouldn't take much more than an hour until half the yard had yielded, was bloodied, or were left lying in the dust.
Edric moved among them like a bear among dogs, hammering rivets like he had been doing his whole life
Clad in his signature dark steel plate, his helm a mix between a gladiator visor and a great helm, Unmaker resting in one hand, he looked like a creature from some northern tale. But he didn't swing it—not unless truly necessary.
A real blow would pulverise whatever ever body-part he hit and cayse devastating damage—possibly crippling or even killing.
And he had decided not to take lives as going for the kill in a squire melee could very easily create enemies whether those squires were voluntiers or nots. He made use of his fists, elbows, boots instead. His knuckles split lips and knocked brains around. His knees destroyed ribs. Even standing was enough to make sime yield.
A Reachlander tried to wrestle him down.
Foolish. Edric chuckled internally.
He twisted and flung the poor imbecile like a sack of grain.
He was here to prove something, sure— to create a new legend about his person and to advertise his products.
But above all else, he was here to win.
And win he would.
___
Another tall youth finish beating two smaller participants. Dressed in what looked to be brigandine and almost as tall than he was, the young man finally looked towards him. Powerful "strong as an ox" arms, legs as thick as tree trunks, he held a heavy but well made greatsword.
"Mountainsbane." He heard, the voice—not of a youth, but seemingly of a grown man whose voice was as deep as stone breaking.
Seeing him in plate armor, the freak of nature before him dropped his sword—hastily picking up a mace from an opponent he killed earlier and charging without warning at Edric.
Shit. Edric cursed. He is fast.
The first blow slammed into Edric's shoulder. He staggered, rolled with it, then kicked Gregor square in the thigh. Slowing the beast down enough to properly make distance and wield his hammer.
Gregor grunted, and swung again—wild, high but trained at the same time. Edric ducked, drove a metal fist into his gut, and caught a glancing strike across the helm for the trouble.
When the attempt at creating distance failed, both entered close quarters—close enough that they both dropped weapons and grappled— a contest of pure might beginning to form.
They locked on to each other.
This guy is good. Especially at fighting against foes his size, Edric realised.
He had well and trully trained from the moment he was a child till now and was showing his skill aquired through learning and besting many men. This... teenager was one of the few who could use their experience and skill to overwhelm his bodily might and less than perfect weapons mastery—through, of course, possesing great physical prowess of his own.
The others being able to beat him were probably Robert, the Kingsguard and the crowned prince along with a knight or two he harbored no knowledge of.
Somehow... in this deadlock, Edric's sheer power was beginning to overwhelm the new contestant, despite the other years of training and conditioning, God's gift proved to be genuine.
His adrenaline had reached new hights.
The tall newcomer couldn't use technique to escape as it wasn't an option here. After all, Edric, despite his lack of skill in comparison had—accidentally of course—managed to drag his opponent into something he was better at —that being pure strength— while simultaneously limiting his rivals movement options, therefore eliminating the risk of accidental tricks that only veterans knew to use.
Headbutting him with such force that any normal human would have snapped their neck. Edric left the squire stunned enough to remove his helmet before slamming his fist in his face and wrapping his hands arroundhis thick neck in an attempt to choke him out.
"Tommen Lefford sends his regards."
Edric recoiled in surprise before reacting immediately, releasing the neck of his downed rival and swinging his arm in large arc.
He hit.
He had hit two people.
He quickly rose from the coughing body he had just been sitting on, intercepting a new strike from another assailant by grabbing his hand and slamming him— face first— into the ground.
His hands gripped the now whimpering fools face, before slamming his armored fist in his helmet.
Once
Twice
He used the blunt force trauma from his punch carried through the metal as a way to kill the hired squire. The youth's actions having not only raised the smith to an almost purely instinctual state but also having angered him greatly, remembering that foolish spoiled brat and his being victim of dumb attempt at revenge.
"That fool sends his regards, aye?" he mocked, the boy writhed and yelled under him. None hearing him but the two of them amidst the cheering.
"Don't worry." he said "You'll meet him soon enough."
Wham
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A/N: Sorry about the lateness of the chapter. It seems I am becoming incredibly inconsistent.