Mad King Aerys II watched Emmon Frey's corpse coldly from the stands—the man lay in the dust, throat pierced by a broken lance shaft, blood gushing from his mouth with his final spasms, making a horrific gurgling sound.
No mercy showed on the King's face; instead, extreme contempt appeared. He let out a sharp, cold snort from his nose. "Trash! Can't even beat an eleven-year-old child. Dying is a waste!"
These cruel, heartless words reached the ears of "The Bold" Barristan Selmy beside him clearly.
The old knight frowned deeply. He had to turn slightly and admonish in a low voice, as respectful yet firm as possible, "Your Grace, please mind your words!"
Aerys seemed to realize his loss of composure. He glared fiercely at Barristan but finally let out an extremely displeased snort and said no more.
The clearing of the field was completed quickly, and the next duel began immediately.
This time, the one appearing was the highly anticipated Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. His opponent was Ser Bruce Buckler.
Prince Rhaegar's victory came cleanly and crisply, even elegantly. After probing in the first round, in the second round, his lance struck Ser Bruce's breastplate in a precise and impeccable arc, knocking him cleanly off his horse. The entire process flowed like moving clouds and water, without suspense.
Seeing Prince Rhaegar win, Lyanna Stark on the stands almost jumped up instantly, clapping and cheering selflessly. Her small face overflowed with pure excitement and adoration, that enthusiasm stronger than any she had shown before.
Eddard Stark beside her was still immersed in watching the match and didn't immediately notice his sister's anomaly.
But young Benjen, who always watched Lyanna like a loyal puppy, immediately caught this unusual scene.
He turned his head, face written with huge suspicion, staring at his overly excited sister, muttering secretly in his heart: "No way, Sister? When your fiancé Robert won, I didn't see you this excited. Why are you so happy when Prince Rhaegar wins?"
---
In the afternoon, the sun became more intense, and the competition events at the tourney grounds outside Harrenhal switched.
On the archery field, targets were set a hundred paces away. The rules for the first round were simple: behind the line, each archer fired ten arrows. Based on the total score, half the participants would be eliminated directly.
The air was filled with the tension of taut bowstrings and breathless silence, broken only occasionally by the sharp whistle of arrows tearing through the air and the dull thud of hitting the bullseye. Noble archers and commoner experts competed on the same field, sweat sliding down their foreheads.
Euron's gaze originally scanned the contestants casually until one figure firmly attracted his attention. It was a young man from the Vale named Adrian, just a common hunter. He wore simple roughspun clothes, forming a sharp contrast with the well-equipped noble archers around him.
However, when he drew his bow and nocked an arrow, all differences seemed to vanish. His movements were steady and seasoned, as natural as breathing, carrying the precision and calm unique to a forest hunter.
Thwip—the first arrow, dead center in the red bullseye.
Thwip—
The second arrow tore the fletching of the previous one, also nailed dead in the center.
Third arrow, fourth arrow... until the tenth arrow!
Ten twangs of the string, ten tears through the air.
In the end, on the red heart of his simple target, ten arrows were densely nailed. None missed the target, and none deviated from the center!
Ten arrows, all bullseyes.
The amazing result drew suppressed whispers of amazement from around. This common hunter named Adrian shocked the entire field in the first round with his indisputable skill.
After witnessing those ten amazing arrows, a sharp light flashed in Euron's eyes. Without almost any hesitation, he turned his head immediately and ordered the silent, loyal Dagmer beside him in a low voice: "Go, investigate that hunter from the Vale, Adrian, carefully. Find out his background, the more detailed the better."
His fingers unconsciously rubbed his sword hilt as he continued to instruct: "If his identity is clean and there are no problems, offer to recruit him on behalf of House Greyjoy. Such talent should not be buried in the mountains."
However, there were clearly many nobles and envoys who shared Euron's thought. When Dagmer received the order and walked quickly through the crowd toward the common hunter who had just put down his longbow, he found Adrian already surrounded by a large group of people.
Stewards and squires of various major houses, and even some minor nobles themselves, crowded around Adrian. Everyone talked at once, throwing out tempting conditions—generous gold dragon rewards, spacious residences, the title of captain of the guard, even a small piece of land... Various promises of high positions and generous pay rang incessantly, attempting to bring this dark horse that suddenly burst out under their banner.
Dagmer could only stop, looking from afar across the noisy crowd at Adrian, who was surrounded in the center and appeared somewhat overwhelmed, then looked back at Euron helplessly.
---
Before the aftertaste of the archery competition fully dissipated, the tourney grounds were quickly cleared for the fiercer, bloodier Single Combat.
According to the schedule, Euron had two duels today. His opponent for the first match was a warrior from Dorne, wielding a long desert spear.
However, when the Dornish warrior stepped into the arena and saw clearly that his opponent was Euron Greyjoy, he didn't assume any offensive stance. Instead, to everyone's surprise, he slammed the butt of his spear heavily onto the ground.
Facing Euron, he placed his right hand on his chest, bowed slightly, then announced loudly to the judge: "I surrender."
Amidst the surprised gazes of the crowd, he walked straight to Euron, smiled helplessly, and explained in the Common Tongue with a Dornish accent: "No need to compete again. On the sands of Dorne, I challenged you once, and I was convinced of my defeat then." There was no unwillingness in his eyes, only frank admission of past results. "Fighting again now is meaningless, just repeating the past ending. Better to save some energy."
With that, he nodded to Euron again and turned cleanly to leave the field. This duel had been decided before it even began.
The horn for Euron's second Single Combat blew.
Euron stepped onto the sandy field again. His opponent this time was Mero of the mercenary company "The Second Sons", a figure notorious for his brutality and Braavosi background, known as the "Titan's Bastard." He was exceptionally tall, cruel light flashing in his pale green eyes. His thick red-gold beard, reaching his waist, added a few points of savage ferocity to him. His notoriety was so blatant that under his command, the Second Sons received almost no decent employment contracts.
Mero's gaze was like a bloodthirsty beast, locking dead onto Euron. His mouth split into a sneer full of killing intent, unconcealing the dangerous aura surging around him.
The two approached the center of the field. Weapons not yet raised, invisible killing intent already collided.
Euron keenly perceived the killing intent that far exceeded the scope of a tourney. He frowned and said coldly, "What's in your brain isn't winning the match, but wanting my life."
Mero spat, whispering without taboo: "Someone paid heavy gold for your Ironborn head!"
"Then try it." Euron's voice was calm and ripple-free, yet more threatening than any roar.
Mero roared and launched his attack. He wielded a giant scimitar that required two hands, heavy and powerful. Every chop carried terrifying force that tore the wind. However, Euron didn't choose to meet force with force. His figure was like a ghost; every time his longsword contacted the giant blade, it touched and parted instantly, using skillful force to quietly unload that terrifying power. It made Mero feel as if every blade strike hit empty air or cotton, with no sense of purchase, making him increasingly manic.
Dozens of exchanges passed in the blink of an eye. In the instant Mero's strength lagged slightly due to prolonged fruitless attacks, a trace of almost invisible yet extremely deadly blue electric glow suddenly surged on the seemingly ordinary longsword in Euron's hand!
[Soul-Soul Fruit — Thundercloud: Thor] — Imbued on the Blade!
Mero's massive body shuddered violently. A sudden, intense numbness swept through his arms and torso briefly, causing a fatal stagnation in his movements.
This opening of less than a breath was enough for Euron.
His twin swords struck out like vipers leaving their hole, slashing in a cross!
Blade light flashed. The tough leather armor on Mero's chest was easily and thoroughly split open. A huge, hideous cross-shaped wound appeared on his chest.
He looked down in disbelief, then let out an inhuman scream—the wound burst open, and intestines and other internal organs gushed out uncontrollably. The scene was gruesome to the extreme.
To this, Euron had only one sentence: "Death is more than you deserve!"