Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 166 Spear duel - Euron's first battle

Euron's first spear duel has finally arrived.

His opponent was Ser Jon Redford, son of the Earl of Redfield. Euron showed no disrespect despite his opponent's lack of fame. He rode his restless Faruru slowly to the stands and, under the watchful eyes of all, extended his jousting spear to his fiancée, Ashara Dayne.

A bright smile bloomed on Asara's face. She stood up gracefully and carefully wrapped a sky-blue ribbon—symbolizing blessings and good fortune—around Euron's spear shaft.

This traditional ceremony drew a chorus of kind whispers and exclamations from the stands.

After the ceremony, the two riders met in the center of the arena, the tips of their spears lightly touching in a ceremonial manner, producing a crisp sound. Then, they turned their horses around, trotting back to opposite ends of the arena, widening the distance between them, and preparing to charge.

The sound of horns ripped through the air!

Faruru shot out like an arrow, its powerful burst of speed even giving Euron a strong feeling of being pushed back. Ser Jon Redford, on the other side, also galloped towards them.

In the split second as the two horses passed each other, Euron's sharp eyes precisely caught the fleeting opening revealed when his opponent raised his shield. He suddenly thrust his hips forward, his spear lashing out like a venomous snake, carrying the full force of his body!

"Bang!"

A heavy, muffled thud!

A precise and fierce blow landed squarely on Ser Jon's breastplate. The immense impact caused him to lose his balance instantly, and he was thrown off his horse like a sack of potatoes, crashing heavily into the dust.

In the first battle, Euron Greyjoy declared victory with a perfect, fatal blow.

Euron reined in his horse, dismounted nimbly, and walked toward the defeated Ser Jon Redford, pulling him up from the dust with the grace of a true knight. Then, he looked up at the stands and gave Ashara, who had been nervously clutching her chest but was now finally relieved, a reassuring smile.

A deafening roar of cheers erupted from the circular stands like a tsunami, celebrating the birth of the ultimate victor.

Amidst the thunderous applause, one figure stood out: Miss Brienne of Tass. She practically rose from her stone bench, clapping with unbridled passion. Her clear blue eyes shone with undisguised admiration and excitement, and she seemed oblivious to the fact that her broad hands were red from clapping, as if she herself had won the glory.

Beside her stood her father, Earl Selwyn of Tass, a stark contrast to the surrounding frenzy. He wasn't looking at the arena, but rather gazing at his daughter's innocent yet passionate profile. His brows furrowed tightly, finally settling into a barely audible, heavy sigh that was swallowed by the roaring crowd.

He saw that familiar light in his daughter's eyes, an admiration he had long known yet was powerless to stop. His gaze involuntarily drifted to the victor surrounded by the crowd in the stands, then returned to his daughter, his eyes filled with love, worry, and a touch of helpless bitterness.

"Silly daughter—" he murmured to himself, his voice filled with weariness and pity, "Why does your gaze always follow those most dazzling yet most unattainable figures? That man—not only does he already have a fiancée, but they stand together, looking so perfectly matched in the eyes of the world."

The word "well-matched" was like a cold needle piercing his heart as a father.

He knew his daughter possessed a soul nobler and braver than any knight, but the world's cold rules and cruel aesthetics had already drawn boundaries for the objects of her affections. He could only watch, watch as she repeatedly offered her heart to those destined to never reciprocate, and could do nothing but sigh silently.

While some rejoiced, others were furious at the outcome; Iris II's displeasure had been building for some time.

First, Earl of He'an openly declared that the drinks for the conference were provided free of charge by the Iron Islands—if they hadn't robbed Qingting Island, where would those Ironborn have gotten their red wine? He couldn't help but take a sip just now, and that damned sea monster red wine was surprisingly mellow, making him want to criticize and curse, "What kind of stuff did you brew?!" but he couldn't even utter a word.

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Now, seeing that a commoner not only participated in the sacred jousting tournament but also flirted with Arthur Dayne's sister in public before the match, has already enraged him.

In the end, this Iron Seed actually won, and he was only eleven years old! This series of shocks made his face turn terribly gloomy.

He abruptly turned to "The Fearless" Barristan beside him and asked in a sharp voice, "How old were you when you participated in the tournament?"

Ser Barristan Selmy replied respectfully, "Your Majesty, it was a tournament held in Black Harbor. I was ten years old that year."

Iris II let out a disdainful snort: "Hmph, he's a year older than you, I thought he was something special." His tone was full of belittling and sarcasm.

Barristan maintained his respect, yet still stated objectively: "Your Majesty, at the age of eleven, to have the courage to step into the arena is already extraordinary, and to win a victory is even more remarkable. Moreover, I observed that his timing in striking the spear was extremely precise, and his power was also—"

"That's nothing!" The Mad King rudely interrupted the Imperial Guards, impatiently waving his hand with its yellowed nails. "Just a mere victory, is it worth your praise?"

The Mad King Aerys II's bloodshot eyes suddenly turned to Arthur Dayne, the "Sword of the Morning," beside him, his voice becoming even sharper with displeasure: "That Ironblood brat! I don't think he had any good intentions towards your sister!"

Arthur Dayne maintained his knightly composure, bowed slightly, and replied clearly and calmly, "Your Majesty, you misunderstand. Euron Greyjoy and my sister Ashara are officially engaged and are expected to marry in two years."

"Engaged? And with an Ironborn?" Iris II's brow furrowed deeply, as if he had heard something blasphemous. "They worship a drowning god! A god of pirates and barbarians!"

Arthur continued to explain, his tone tinged with a hint of protectiveness: "Euron may be young, but his character and abilities are both excellent, Your Majesty. Given time, he may become a true knight."

These words seemed to touch a ridiculous nerve in the Mad King, who suddenly burst into hysterical laughter, the sound sharp and piercing, instantly attracting the attention of the entire stands.

"Hahahaha! An Ironborn? Wants to be a knight?" He laughed so hard he was doubled over, almost breathless, pointing wildly at Euron in the audience with his yellowed fingernails. "Is he insane? Or has the entire Dane family gone mad? Hahaha! A pirate knight? That's the funniest joke I've ever heard!"

Since Duskvale, Aerys II had been speaking in this manner, and Arthur and Barristan remained silent, offering no further response. King Coron, meanwhile, watched the mad king of the Iron Islands mocking him without restraint, gave a cold snort, and pondered his future.

The dust of the spear duels settles at dawn on each duel day, and the sounds of horses' hooves and the crashing of spears breaking temporarily cease.

As the afternoon sun pours down on the vast arena of Harrenhal, a completely different kind of clamor begins to emerge—the freer and wilder one-on-one duels.

Unlike the jousting of lances, which symbolizes noble status and chivalry, the morning competition had an extremely high threshold. Only knights who had been knighted or those with the blood of nobles from the seven kingdoms could participate. They also needed to bring their own valuable warhorses and full sets of armor. In the end, very few people were qualified to participate.

The afternoon's one-on-one duels are open to everyone. There are no restrictions based on background, and no barriers to entry. Whether you are a free rider eager to prove yourself, a mercenary looking to win a bounty, a skilled civilian, or anyone confident that they can earn glory with their weapon, you can step onto this battlefield.

The only rules are cold and direct: weapons must not be poisoned, the use of any kind of concealed weapon is prohibited, shields are not allowed, and heavy armor is not permitted.

Strength, skill, and courage are the only keys to success.

To ensure fairness in the competition, all participants are prohibited from wearing their own armor or leather armor. The He'an family has prepared standardized leather armor for the competition, which will be distributed by the organizing committee. This rule aims to prevent anyone from gaining an unfair advantage by relying on precious magical armor that can withstand sword strikes, either inherited from their family or purchased at great expense.

As for weapons, the tournament has set no restrictions. Whether it's a longsword, battle axe, mace, or even more obscure weapons, they can all be brought into the arena.

The rule-makers have the most basic yet cruel understanding of this: on this battlefield, whatever you hold in your hand, as long as you can accurately pierce your opponent's neck, it is enough to be fatal and determine the outcome.

The criteria for determining victory or defeat are: loss of combat ability (being knocked down and unable to get up or continue fighting), broken or lost weapon, death, going out of bounds, and surrender.

Because of the large number of participants, ten competition areas were set up. Each competition area was a circular area with a diameter of ten meters. Anyone whose feet or more than half of their body went out of the circle lost.

There are no losers' brackets or resurrection brackets; it's a single-elimination match.

This afternoon, we will be able to eliminate half of the participants... That's all.