Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 143 Who else?! I'll take on ten of them!

Euron slowly sheathed his twin swords, his tone calm yet tinged with a mocking smile: "It seems your mouth is far sharper than your sword."

These words were like the last straw, completely crushing Roger's pride. His face flushed red with shame and indignation. He abruptly threw his practice sword to the ground with a crisp clang, then turned and pushed through the crowd without a word, head down, striding out of the banquet hall, his back view utterly disheveled.

Prince Oberyn Martell, seeing this, coughed lightly, breaking the silence.

With a playful smile, he smoothed things over according to the previously agreed-upon rules, saying, "It seems our little sea monster has successfully preserved his engagement. As agreed, each person gets one challenge opportunity per day. Today's competition ends here—"

However, Euron interrupted him before he could finish speaking.

"We won't be staying in Dorne for long," Euron's voice rang out clearly, cutting off Oberyn's words. He glanced around at the young nobles whose faces still showed defiance and eagerness, and said, "In ten days at most, we will set off for Harrenhal. If we only accept one challenge a day, I'm afraid many people will miss their chance."

He paused, a hint of arrogance playing on his lips, and continued, "Besides, the warm-up just now didn't take much of my energy."

Before he finished speaking, an invisible yet incredibly powerful aura suddenly spread out from him!

That wasn't magic, yet it was more oppressive than any magic—it was the [Conqueror's Haki] of a king!

Although it wasn't aimed at anyone at full power, it already dimmed the candlelight in the hall, causing everyone who sensed its aura to feel a sudden sinking feeling in their hearts, and even making it hard to breathe.

To the astonishment of the crowd, Euron clashed his twin swords together, producing a deafening clang. He stood tall, his voice booming like thunder throughout the banquet hall: "So, next! Who else?!"

Prince Doran Nemerlos Martell frowned slightly. In his view, Euron's aggressive stance was almost a pointless provocation against the dignity of all Dornish warriors, which was too arrogant and completely unnecessary.

Prince Oberon Martell, a playful smile on his face, was wondering why the usually cautious, humble, and low-key sea monster had suddenly become so arrogant when Castor Daniels, the "Regretful Guest," suddenly leaned over and chuckled, "I heard that the little sea monster signed up for the Harrenhal tournament. He's using those rookies as practice."

Upon hearing this, both Prince Oberon and Prince Doran's eyes flashed with understanding. Prince Oberon resumed his nonchalant expression, but the worry between Prince Doran's brows did not completely disappear.

"Don't worry, even I couldn't say I could definitely beat that little sea monster back then. Let alone these little brats!"

At this moment, the Dornish youths in the hall had already been completely enraged by Euron's shout, "Next! Who else?!"

"He's too arrogant! He needs to be taught a lesson!"

"This iron-rich guy is completely disregarding us!"

The surging hostility almost materialized.

That night, Euron stood like a tireless war god in the center of the makeshift arena, accepting challenges from dozens of Dornish warriors one after another! The sounds of swords clashing, footsteps rubbing together, and the gasps and exclamations of the audience rose and fell.

Prince Oberyn Martell finally stood up laughing and shouted for a halt after the tenth challenger also failed.

"Enough! Enough!" Oberyn's booming voice drowned out the clamor in the arena, his face beaming with satisfaction. "Ten wins in one night—that's an astonishing record! If this continues, even if our little sea monster can still fight, we Dornish will be winning unfairly, and it'll sound like we took advantage of him with a series of attacks. Tonight, that's enough!"

Oberyn's announcement brought this unexpected series of matches to a close, and quietly preserved the last vestiges of dignity for Dorne.

Although the banquet was able to continue, the music started again, and the wine was refilled, the atmosphere was completely different.

The small area where Euron stood seemed to have formed an invisible, icy barrier. Not a single Dornish nobleman was willing to approach him to speak, and their gazes toward him were a mixture of anger, fear, and cold rejection. He had almost single-handedly offended all the Dornish nobles in the hall in an instant.

However, amidst this deliberate aloofness, a figure strode through the indifferent crowd. Balf Greyjoy, grinning with undisguised admiration, walked up to Euron, rudely pushed open a chair, sat down, and then gave him a forceful thumbs-up.

"Heh heh, kid!" he chuckled gruffly, his voice booming and clashing with the surrounding whispers. He raised his glass and, without a word, slammed it against Euron's, the force so great that crimson wine splattered everywhere. "That was what a man did! That felt good!"

In Balf's simple and straightforward values, Euron, though strong and calm on ordinary days, always lacked the youthful passion and arrogance. But tonight's display of sharpness and domineering power, taking on ten men single-handedly, truly embodies his definition of a "real man."

Just then, Victoria Daniels strode over. Her usual playful or displeased expression was gone, replaced by a sharp, eagle-like scrutiny. Ignoring the awkward atmosphere around them, she fixed her gaze on Euron and cut to the chase: "Those last few thrusts and that strange sliding step you took—what was that all about? That style looked so much like the 'Regretful Guest's' techniques!"

Euron met her probing gaze and answered with unusual frankness, without the slightest concealment: "Not like," Victoria. That was originally a technique of the "regretful guest."

Victoria froze for a moment, her azure eyes widening slightly in shock, seemingly unable to process the answer: "————?!"

Seeing her bewildered expression, Euron seemed to just remember something, adding in a tone as casual as if discussing the weather: "You forgot? Your brother Castor, he spent three years with me on the other side of the Narrow Sea, he's the one who taught me. Well, of course, I paid him handsomely!"

"Golden Dragon!? That—traitor!!!"

Victoria's cheeks flushed crimson with rage, as if betrayed by the person she trusted most. She spat out those three words through clenched teeth, no longer caring about questioning Euron. She whirled around, her murderous gaze immediately searching the crowd for her brother Castor, clearly intending to settle scores with him for the "leak of their family's secret technique."

Euron chuckled, pleased that he had provided some amusement for that wretched scoundrel, Castor Daniels.