**Chapter 18: The Wandering Swordsman**
Elick was stunned by the sudden and swift attack.
Looking up, he saw the person who had just been subdued sitting leisurely on a chair, holding a silver chopstick in one hand.
"White Knight, I mean no harm. I'm just a poor, hungry soul looking for some appetizing food."
Seeing this, Rhaegar silently put down his plate and hid behind Elick.
Judging by the speed of that strike, it was clear this was a skilled fighter.
Rhaegar's small stature couldn't afford to provoke someone like that.
"You are truly generous, Your Highness," the stranger said.
When presented with a plate of pastries, the man beamed with joy and gave a bow of thanks to Rhaegar.
He truly seemed to mean no harm.
Taking the opportunity, Rhaegar finally observed the man more closely.
He had brown curly hair, brown eyes, and a weathered face that bore the marks of a hard life, yet he kept a constant, cheerful expression.
He was very short—no taller than 160 centimeters.
Among ordinary people, this height was unremarkable, but compared to knights skilled in martial arts, it made him look quite small.
Noticing Rhaegar's gaze, the man chuckled. "I know who you are, but it seems you don't yet know who I am."
"And who are you?" Rhaegar asked.
"A nobody," the man replied.
Rhaegar: ...
He felt a surge of irritation.
Rhaegar's fists clenched.
He felt as though he was being mocked.
Before Rhaegar could lose his temper, the man handed over the plate and said softly, "Sireu Frillier, a wandering swordsman from Braavos, at your service. I humbly offer to share this food with you, my prince."
Rhaegar locked eyes with him. The man's dark pupils were calm and inscrutable.
Rhaegar glanced back at Elick, silently seeking his opinion.
Elick gave a slight nod, signaling that everything was fine.
After all, they were in the Red Keep, and no one would dare openly assassinate the king's eldest son here.
Rhaegar picked up a piece of pastry and smiled. "I gladly accept, Sireu Frillier."
Sireu's ever-present smile widened. "You may call me Sireu, though I am no noble and currently out of work."
"Oh? What did you do before? Your swordsmanship is exceptional."
Intrigued by the man's impressive skills and his background in the free cities, Rhaegar was curious.
"We can talk while we eat," Sireu suggested.
"That suits me perfectly."
The two sat back down, the earlier tension dissipating as they ate and chatted.
Through their conversation, Rhaegar learned that:
Sireu had been a knight's squire in his youth, learning swordsmanship from an early age—and excelling at it.
However, his dream was always to become a graceful dancer.
He had worked hard to achieve this ambition.
As an adult, he was hired by a wealthy Braavosi merchant as a personal dancer.
It seemed like his fortunes were turning.
But within a few years, the merchant was assassinated.
At the time of the murder, Sireu had been performing for the merchant, making him an obvious suspect.
To escape capture, he smuggled himself to Westeros.
Later, a noblewoman took a liking to him and brought him to the Red Keep to attend banquets.
Rhaegar listened intently, engrossed in Sireu's story and sympathizing with his misfortunes.
Sireu alternated between devouring food and lamenting his fate.
For a moment, it seemed as though the two shared a deep connection and understanding.
At least, that was Elick's perspective.
In reality, while Rhaegar appeared attentive, he was inwardly full of doubt.
"A Braavosi dancer with natural talent for swordsmanship? Unlikely!"
Rhaegar scrutinized Sireu's appearance.
The man had the height and skills of a swordsman, but his looks...
How blind must that Braavosi merchant have been to hire such a short, unattractive man as his personal dancer? A peculiar taste, perhaps?
"He's lying through his teeth. I wouldn't be surprised if he sweet-talked some gullible noblewoman and weaseled his way into the Red Keep to freeload."
Rhaegar smiled without saying a word, quietly watching him fabricate stories.
After chatting for a while, the chocolate pastries on the nearby tables were all eaten, and Xiryu regretfully stopped indulging.
Out of the blue, he brought up the dueling tournament outside.
"Your Highness, the duels outside are quite exciting. Don't you want to take a look?"
Rhaegar shook his head. "No, I'm still too young. I'm not used to seeing bloodshed."
Xiryu chuckled. "That's true. But the dueling arena is in utter chaos—so much so that even the king is furious."
"For what reason?"
Rhaegar frowned, sensing that there was hidden meaning in Xiryu's words.
"A Dornishman brutally killed his opponent and arrogantly bragged about it, acting completely insolent."
Xiryu took a small sip of wine. "That Dornishman will continue to challenge others. The second duel should be starting right about now."
"Let's go and take a look," Rhaegar said, standing up immediately and walking briskly toward the tournament grounds with Elric in tow.
Xiryu smiled and followed them.
When the three arrived at the arena, they found the crowd in the stands loudly cheering for one person.
Rhaegar found a spot close to the railing and stood there to observe.
Inside the arena, a knight clad in silver-gray armor wielded a sword with both hands. Each swing carried tremendous force, driving a dark-skinned young man into constant retreat.
Every time the greatsword grazed the opponent, the spectators would cheer and urge the knight to finish him off.
After watching for a moment, Elric whispered, "The one with the advantage is Ser Silon of the Stormlands. His opponent is a Dornishman—a despicable and dishonorable man."
Rhaegar nodded and focused on the duel.
Ser Silon's attacks were ferocious, employing a classic frontal assault style.
His moves were swift, precise, and relentless, leaving no opportunity for the opponent to counterattack.
The Dornishman, however, seemed to notice this pattern. Taking advantage of his light armor, he darted left and right, dodging each attack.
The spear in his hands became a makeshift shield, deflecting the greatsword's strikes with a series of loud clangs that echoed across the arena.
Just as the fight was heating up, Xiryu suddenly said, "The outcome is decided. The tide of the battle will soon turn."
Rhaegar looked at him doubtfully and asked, "Why do you say that? Ser Silon is very strong."
"On the battlefield, he's indeed a one-man army. But the Dornishman is avoiding a direct fight. All he has to do is drag this out until Ser Silon's stamina wanes, and he'll win."
Rhaegar turned his gaze back to the arena.
Looking closely, he noticed that Ser Silon was indeed starting to show signs of fatigue after repeated attacks. His sword strikes were no longer landing as close to the opponent as before.
In contrast, the Dornishman still seemed to have plenty of energy and continued to fight while retreating.
He even taunted, "Oh, mighty knight, if you were mounted on your warhorse, I would certainly avoid you. But alas, you're stuck here in the mud on your own two feet."
"Ha! Even without my horse, I can still take your head," Ser Silon retorted in a hoarse voice, his tone dripping with disdain. But the sweat on his forehead betrayed his condition.
Rhaegar tugged on Elric's sleeve. "Ser, is Ser Silon really going to lose?"
Elric's expression grew serious. "It's hard to say. The cunning Dornishman isn't giving Silon a chance to engage in close combat."
"Silon's armor is very heavy. The longer this drags on, the worse it will be for him."
Xiryu interjected at the right moment. "Armor can save its wearer's life in critical moments, but it also limits agility and flexibility."
"Take the Dothraki across the sea, for example. They never wear armor and believe that quick, nimble movements are the key to victory on the battlefield."
"Let's keep watching. I believe in Ser Silon."
Rhaegar frowned slightly, his small face serious as he silently cheered for Ser Silon.
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Xiryu is an original character created by the author, inspired by Syrio Forel, Arya Stark's dancing instructor in *Game of Thrones*.
He's a mysterious, elegant, and highly skilled swordsman.
(End of Chapter)