The morning mist had not yet fully surrendered to the sun, but the crisp air of the Harrenhal arena was already ignited by rising anticipation.
There were only two jousts scheduled for the day, and the very first one was enough to make every spectator hold their breath.
Euron Greyjoy would face Barristan "The Bold" Selmy.
When the names were announced, a low hum of awe and excitement rippled through the stands.
For Euron, today's opponent was a challenge straight from the Seven Hells.
Ser Barristan of the Kingsguard. His name was a synonym for legend. He was the most decorated champion in the history of Westerosi tourneys. His lance, his honor, and his fearlessness were verses sung by bards from the Wall to Dorne.
Clad in dazzling white scale armor, sitting atop his charger like an insurmountable mountain of snow, Ser Barristan was calm and majestic. Compared to him, any opponent seemed to fade into the background.
For Euron, this was no simple contest. It was a confrontation with a living myth, a peak that demanded every ounce of his strength to climb.
---
Euron and Ser Barristan met in the center of the lists, reigning in their horses for the traditional salute.
Euron's eyes instinctively swept toward the familiar seats in the stands, but he did not see his betrothed, Ashara.
At that moment, Ashara was below the stands, intently fastening the buckles of her brother Arthur Dayne's armor, whispering reminders for his upcoming duel against Prince Rhaegar. She was completely immersed in her brother's preparation.
Seeing this, the corners of Euron's lips quirked up. He hadn't intended to mind the minor absence.
Just then, another figure stood up—Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne.
She walked briskly to the edge of the railing and winked mischievously at Euron below. Her voice rang out clear and bright:
"Your Ashara says her brother is more important right now and she has no time for you. So, I shall take on the honorable task of tying your favor!"
Before the words had even settled, she deftly tied a ribbon—representing good fortune—around the tip of Euron's heavy lance. Her movements were fluid and elegant.
Euron smiled, accepting the teasing blessing from Dorne with grace.
On the other side, Ser Barristan calmly extended his lance toward Princess Elia Martell. The gentle Dornish princess rose with a smile, tying a ribbon of respect to the legendary White Knight's lance with delicate solemnity. Once finished, she raised her eyes, nodding first to Ser Barristan, and then offering a friendly nod to Euron across the field.
The formalities were complete.
Euron and Barristan steadied their lances, each bearing the blessing of a different woman. The tips of their lances touched lightly with a crisp clack, completing the knightly salute. Then, they wheeled their horses around and rode slowly to opposite ends of the track. The heavy hoofbeats pounded in rhythm with every heart in the crowd.
The killing atmosphere thickened once more.
Wooooo—!
The horn tore through the air. The duel began.
---
Euron Greyjoy and Ser Barristan "The Bold" spurred their horses toward each other, the first tilt kicking off amidst the thunder of hooves.
This was not a death charge, but an opening dance of probing strikes. Two blunted lances met precisely in the air with a dull thud before bouncing off. The immense impact shook both their arms as the warhorses thundered past.
In that fleeting moment of contact, a strange glint flashed deep in Euron's eyes. He quietly activated a skill granted by the Pirate King System: [Doriki Test lv1].
Instantly, a set of cold, precise data branded itself into his consciousness:
> [Barristan Selmy — The Bold War God]
> Strength: 34
> Agility: 35
> Stamina: 31
> Spirit: 16
> Command: 43
> Charisma: 24
The sheer magnitude of these stats, especially the near-perfect balance of Strength, Agility, and Stamina, sent a chill down Euron's spine. He had only felt such a flawless, "perfect warrior" template from one other person—his future brother-in-law, the Sword of the Morning, Arthur Dayne.
Ser Barristan might not have the legendary greatsword Dawn, but his technique—honed to perfection through countless battlefields and tourneys—was a peak unto itself.
Second Tilt. The horses charged again. Euron clearly felt the force transmitted from Barristan's lance increase by a fraction. The two lances collided mid-air once more. Snap! Snap! Both shafts shattered simultaneously, sending wood splinters flying. Neither man paused; they wheeled their horses and took fresh lances from their squires.
Third to Fifth Tilt. The sound of metal clashing was ceaseless. Every thrust from Ser Barristan seemed measured by the gods—precise and heavy, a perfect interpretation of the union between power and technique.
By the Sixth Tilt, Euron was showing signs of fatigue. His steed, Farul, also seemed to feel the pressure, its steps losing their initial lightness. After taking a particularly heavy strike from Barristan, Euron swayed visibly in the saddle. Though he managed to steady himself, that momentary loss of balance was caught by every sharp eye in the crowd.
On the other side, Barristan's breathing remained even, his posture relaxed. Beneath his ornate winged helm, he even shot Euron a look of near-relief—the appreciation of a veteran master seeing a junior warrior capable of pushing him this far.
Seventh Tilt. The horn blew.
The two riders accelerated again, rushing toward each other like arrows from a bow. This time, the power in Barristan's lance spiked sharply! It was no longer a probe, but a crushing wave of force intended to end the match decisively.
As the impact—heavy as a landslide—hit him, Euron gave a low growl. A strange power surged through his body.
[Skill: Pegasus Rush lv1] — Activated!
> Origin: Skypiea, God Gan Fall.
> Description: While mounted and using a lance, gain Super Armor status. You will not be easily unhorsed.
The core of this skill was not speed, but the "Super Armor" effect that made him as immovable as a rock while mounted!
An invisible toughness wrapped around his body, pinning Euron firmly to the saddle. Even though Ser Barristan's strike was heavy enough to send an ordinary knight flying, shaking Euron's organs and numbing his arm to the bone, the Super Armor held. Despite swaying violently, he miraculously regained his center of gravity on Farul's back. He did not fall.
The riders passed each other again.
During the precious seconds it took to turn and grab a new lance, Euron quietly triggered the eerie power of the Soul-Soul Fruit. He drew upon his stored soul points, converting them into a cool, revitalizing stream of energy that rapidly soothed the tearing pain and hidden injuries in his wrist and arm.
Though his stamina and mental fatigue could not be instantly refilled, the physical pain was alleviated. When he took the lance from his squire, his trembling arm steadied. His fighting spirit, reignited, burned fiercely.
By the end of the Eighth Tilt, Euron's entire right arm felt as if it were filled with lead and acid. Half his body felt like it had been run over by a wagon. Every breath pulled at sharp pains in his chest.
In his heart, he roared: Soul-Soul Fruit—FIX ME!
The eldritch power surged again, forcibly knitting torn muscle and soothing rattled bones, propping up a body that was nearing its limit.
Ser Barristan saw this and his admiration deepened. He respected every worthy opponent, and while he had heard rumors of the Ironborn second son's tenacity, witnessing it firsthand was something else entirely. The lad's grit far exceeded his expectations. He silently praised Arthur's judgment in finding such a fearless warrior for his sister.
Ninth Tilt. The horn sounded. Barristan held nothing back. He spurred his horse, unleashing one hundred percent of his power! His lance tore through the air with unparalleled momentum!
Euron gritted his teeth, scraping together every last bit of strength remaining after the repairs. He pushed the [Pegasus Rush] Super Armor to its absolute limit just to stay on Farul's back.
But his divine steed could not fully negate the terrifying force. Farul let out a pained whinny. The massive impact forced the horse—and Euron with it—to tilt dangerously to the side. The two legs on the side facing Barristan left the ground entirely. It was only by a hair's breadth and miraculous balance that they didn't collapse right then and there.
The crowd erupted in a gasp that swept through the arena like a tsunami!
People in the stands rose to their feet, craning their necks to look into the dust, unable to believe that Euron, stubborn as a kraken, was still in the saddle.
Back in the stands, Ashara Dayne had returned. She stood up abruptly, one hand unconsciously clamping over her mouth to stifle a scream. Her other hand instinctively grabbed the hand of Arianne beside her. Her grip was so tight from sheer terror that she nearly crushed the younger princess's fingers. Arianne hissed in pain but understood Ashara's state of mind and endured it silently.
Tenth Tilt!
Barristan's gaze sharpened. He unleashed one hundred and twenty percent of his power! He condensed a lifetime of honed skill and strength into the tip of his lance, focusing all his brilliance into a single instant.
This time, no skill or trick could withstand it.
The ultimate power exploded.
BOOM!
Euron and his faithful Farul were hit as if by an invisible wall. He wasn't knocked off; rather, horse and rider were irresistibly pushed sideways as a single unit, crashing heavily onto the ground in a cloud of dust.
The dull thud of man and beast hitting the earth marked the end of the earth-shattering duel.
Ashara's eyes were locked on the fallen figure, her knuckles white. All her fear and dread were transmitted through her crushing grip on Arianne's hand. A second later, she could hold back no longer. Forgetting she was still holding onto the princess, she bolted like an arrow from a bow, rushing down from the stands, desperate to reach Euron.
Almost simultaneously, Balon, Baelor Blacktyde, and the Ironborn warriors swarmed the field. They worked quickly to lift the whinnying Farul and carefully help Euron up.
Ashara pushed through the crowd, rushing to Euron. Her trembling hands frantically undid the buckles of his helm.
When the heavy steel was removed, revealing his face—she saw Euron's eyes shining bright with the joy of a battle well fought. Though a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, he looked spirited, as if the blow that would have crushed a giant had only made him more high.
Ashara's heart finally dropped back into her chest. She let out a long breath, her tense body nearly going limp. Extreme worry instantly turned into the ecstasy of relief. Abandoning all ladylike etiquette and reserve, right there under the gaze of thousands, she opened her arms and hugged the dust-covered, sweaty Euron tightly, burying her face against his cold breastplate.
Forgotten in the stands, Arianne stood still, watching the embracing couple. A fleeting shadow of melancholy crossed her bright face—like a star briefly obscured by a cloud—before she returned to her usual smiling demeanor. Though, perhaps, that smile held a touch more loneliness than before.
Ashara soon woke from her daze of relief.
Feeling the thousands of eyes upon them, she realized how unseemly her desperate embrace had been. Her cheeks flushed crimson. Like she had touched a hot iron, she flusteredly loosened her arms and took a small step back, trying to reclaim her composure.
But Euron didn't give her the chance to retreat.
With that bloody, roguish grin still on his face—as if he hadn't just been knocked into the dirt—he reached out swiftly and firmly. He grabbed the hand Ashara was trying to pull away.
With undeniable strength, he held her hand and led her to the very center of the arena.
Then, under the stunned gaze of everyone present, Euron raised their joined hands high. Like a true victor, he waved calmly to the stands.
This unexpected, dramatic gesture instantly ignited the crowd!
The audience stunned for a moment, then erupted into thunderous whistles, applause, and cheers even wilder than before!