Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 170 Another Frey—Dead!

The two returned to the banquet hall together, where the bustling heat and cheerful music continued unabated; their brief absence had not interrupted the grand feast in the slightest.

Euron and Ashara danced together again.

When the music ended, Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne, came over with his radiant niece, Arianne.

Oberyn, with his signature nonchalant smile, gave Ashara a slight bow, his words carrying the characteristic Dornish enthusiasm and playfulness: "Oh, my beloved from Starfall City, a being brighter than the brightest star in the night sky, would I have the honor of inviting you to dance?"

Asara chuckled softly, covering her mouth as she was amused by his words. She first glanced at Euron beside her, her eyes questioning. Euron simply chuckled and nodded generously.

At the same time, Arianne Martell's beautiful yet bold eyes stared directly at Euron, her tone carrying a hint of challenging amusement: "As a gentleman, are you planning to stand here and wait for me to invite you?"

Euron could only smile helplessly at this direct invitation, and obligingly extended his hand to take the Dornish princess's hand, leading her into the dance floor.

As the music played, Arianne looked up at Euron and suddenly said, "This is our second time dancing."

""

Euron nodded, his memory clear: "The first time was at the banquet in Lannister Harbor. I remember."

A fleeting, enigmatic emotion crossed Ariane's eyes. She asked softly, as if it were a casual remark, "Tell me—if I had agreed to the marriage your father proposed back then, what would things be like now?"

Euron's steps did not falter, his tone calm and unwavering, yet carrying a clear distinction: "How can the Ironborn of the Iron Islands be worthy of the future ruler of Dorne, the heir to Sunspear?"

Upon hearing this, Arianne suddenly laughed, a laugh as radiant and dazzling as the Dornish sun, completely concealing the fleeting, subtle emotion that had crossed her mind. Following Euron's words, she declared with unparalleled pride, "That's right, the one worthy of me—is probably not even born yet!"

After the song ended, Arianne smiled, turned around, and disappeared without a trace.

Euron's gaze swept across a corner of the noisy banquet hall, suddenly settling on a petite figure engrossed in eating—it was one of his "regretful guests," Victoria Daniels. She practically buried herself in a pile of exquisite pastry tarts, using both hands to rapidly stuff honey cake, grape tarts, and meat pies into her mouth, her cheeks puffed out like a hamster.

Euron walked silently to her side and sighed, "Stop eating. Get up and go do something for me."

Victoria paused, lifting her sugar-coated face, her mouth stuffed full, and looking at him with confused, round eyes: "————?"

Euron took something from his pocket—it wasn't an ordinary seashell; its surface displayed a peculiar dark golden pattern, gleaming faintly under the light, and its shape was even more bizarre, as if it were some kind of deep-sea creation. He placed it into Victoria's greasy hand.

"Place this in the king's quarters," he said in a low voice, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Place it where he won't be easily discovered, but where he can still be observed."

Victoria stared at the strange seashell in her hand, then looked at the half-eaten lemon cake on the table next to her, shook her head like a rattle-drum, and then reached out to grab the cake.

Euron grabbed her wrist and said with a fake smile, "You're my subordinate, believe me or not, I'll sell you to Rhys's pirate ship as a cook tomorrow?"

Upon hearing this, Victoria abruptly raised her head and glared at him fiercely, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger, grievance, and longing for the pastry. But in the end, she still angrily grabbed the dark gold seashell and, like a gust of wind, disappeared into the shadows of the crowd while still chewing something.

The martial arts tournament entered its second day.

In the early morning, before the cool air had been completely dispelled by the sunlight, the crisp sound of horns once again broke the tranquility of Harrenhal, announcing the continuation of the spear duel.

The stands were already filled with expectant spectators, and the dust kicked up by the horses' hooves mixed with the scent of grass filled the air.

The first match took place between Oswell Hoan, a Kingsguard, and Gales Rossby. Clad in white robes, Sir Hoan displayed the composure and shrewdness of a royal guard. After a probing first round, he seized the opportunity in the second, delivering a precise and powerful thrust that cleanly and decisively knocked his opponent off his horse, earning a winning start.

Next up was Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne, who faced Benjen Stark of the North. Oberyn's spearmanship, like his personality, was agile and aggressive; his attacks were cunning, swift, and unpredictable. After three rounds of intense fighting, he finally broke through Benjen's defenses and defeated him.

Then, the young Ser Jaime Lannister entered the arena, his blond hair and white armor gleaming in the morning light, like a legendary hero. His opponent was Dano Slytherin. Jaime's spearmanship was elegant and confident; he too took three rounds to easily defeat his opponent, drawing cheers from the stands, especially from the Western nobles.

One contest after another took place, with the sounds of horses' hooves, cheers, and the cracking of spears rising and falling.

Euron Greyjoy's entrance was relatively late. When the master of ceremonies' booming voice finally echoed throughout the arena, announcing his name, he spurred his horse, Faruru, and slowly stepped into the arena. Sunlight shone on his cold, hard armor, giving it the characteristic greyish sheen of the Iron Islands. His opponent in this battle was Amon Frey from House Frey of Leh River City.

As with yesterday's ceremony, Euron rode up to the stands and pointed his lance at his fiancée. Ashara Dayne rose with a smile and carefully and gently wrapped a blue ribbon, symbolizing blessings and good fortune, around the lance shaft.

The two men reached the center of the arena, their spear tips lightly touching in a perfunctory gesture. In that brief instant, Amon Frey cast a venomous glance through the gap in his visor, and growled in a voice only the two of them could hear: "Little sea monster, the blood shed at the Frey family's crossroads will be atoned for today!"

Euron's face was hidden beneath his helmet; only his cold voice rang out: "Then let's give it a try."

The horn rips through the air!

The two warhorses galloped off at each other. In the first exchange, their spears slammed into each other's shields almost simultaneously, producing heavy thuds. The force was remarkably even; the immense impact caused both men to sway violently on their horses, and their spears snapped in two at the same time.

A servant swiftly brought over a new spear. The second round began! Aemon Frey's spear tip pierced Euron's shield again, but Euron's spear, at an even more cunning angle, precisely struck the point where Aemon's arm armor connected to the spear! Aemon cried out in pain, staggering, but the force of Euron's blow failed to completely shatter his balance. Once again, both spears shattered under the immense force.

The crucial third round has arrived.

The two horses clashed again, and in the blink of an eye, Amon subtly raised the tip of his spear, defying the rules of the duel, and thrust it directly at Euron's unprotected neck!

This was no mistake, but a premeditated murder!

Euron's eyes instantly sharpened; he had already seen through his opponent's intentions. Just as the two horses crossed paths and the spears were about to strike, Euron's wrist suddenly flicked, and the tip of the spear, which had been thrusting horizontally, subtly rose upwards. Amon Frey's pupils dilated in shock; he had never expected his opponent to respond in the same ruthless manner!

"Snap!"

A teeth-grinding cracking sound rang out!

The two horses passed each other. Euren firmly reined in his horse, and a heavy thud echoed behind him as something fell to the ground.

Aymon Frey fell backward into the dust, a sharp, broken piece of the gun barrel embedded squarely in his throat.

A duel of spears: Euron Greyjoy versus Amon Frey.

Amon Frey, defeated! Euron Greyjoy, victorious!

As soon as the verdict was announced, Euron removed his helmet. He didn't look at the cheering crowd, but instead gave a cold glance to Amon Frey, lying in the dust, his throat pierced by sawdust. Then he raised his head, his gaze piercing through the crowd, precisely locking onto old Walder Frey in the stands, his face so dark it seemed to drip with rage. His eyes held no joy of victory, only a chilling warning.

Amon Frey's fatal little move at the last moment might have fooled ordinary onlookers, but it could not have escaped the eyes of the top experts present. "The Dawn Sword" Arthur Dayne and "The Dauntless" Barristan Selmy tensed up almost simultaneously, their hands already on their sword hilts, the muscles beneath their white robes poised to intervene and stop this despicable murder.

Only when they saw Euron kill his opponent in a more ruthless and precise way, completely ending the threat, did they slowly loosen their grip on their swords, but the coldness in their eyes did not dissipate.

After the match, Ser Barristan Selmy went straight to Old Frey's seat. The old knight's posture was still upright, his eyes, sharp as an eagle's, which had weathered countless storms, looked directly at the Marquis of Lihe City with unquestionable authority.

His voice was not loud, but it was as heavy as the clash of steel, clearly reaching the ears of old Frey and those around him: "The tournament is a sacred arena for knights, Marquis Frey! If I find out who has secretly broken the rules with the aim of taking lives, whoever it may be, I will not be lenient."

1

This was not a suggestion, but an ultimatum from the captain of the Imperial Guard.

Old Marquis Walder Frey's face was contorted with rage and grief over the loss of his son. He abruptly stood up, his voice hoarse and shrill, and roared at Barristan's retreating figure, "Now it is my son who is dead! Fearless Barristan! Didn't you see?!"

Barristan Selmy stopped in his tracks. He didn't turn around completely, only his face turned to the side, his weathered features as hard as stone in the torchlight. His gaze swept over old Frey like a cold sword, his voice low but carrying an undeniable weight, drowning out the noise around him: "You know what your son is trying to do. I know it too. That's enough."

He paused slightly, letting the weight of his words sink deep into the other person's heart. "You understand it yourself," he said finally, his tone almost cruelly calm, "but I don't want to see—the Frey family—do it again."

Having said that, he left without lingering and returned to the king's side.

Old Frey stood alone, his face shifting in the flickering firelight. His anger seemed to have been suddenly doused with ice water, leaving only a chilling cold and a humiliation he dared not utter.

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