Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 185 One-on-One Duel - A Clash of Flames

The afternoon sun was scorching, and the list of duelists pointed Euron Greyjoy's opponent to a rather special warrior—the red monk Thoros.

Soros' career began with a act of dedication.

As a child, he was given by his family to the red-robed monks of the King of Light and became a member of the Temple of Rahllo.

That fiery red robe never truly bound his soul, which yearned for worldly pleasures. The desire for fierce battles, the addiction to strong liquor, and the longing for the gentle embrace of women always flowed in his veins, far surpassing his ethereal devotion to the gods.

Soros was a monk, but even more so a warrior who indulged in sensual pleasures.

In order to convert the mad king Aerys II, who was obsessed with fire, to the faith of the Lord of Light, Thoros was sent to King's Landing as a pawn by the Church.

This mission is destined to be difficult.

Despite the king's extraordinary passion for fire, asking him to abandon his millennia-old faith in the Seven Gods and openly convert to a foreign deity from the East crossed a line in his rule.

Throughout the Seven Kingdoms, apart from the Iron Islands which worship the Drowned God and the North which retains the ancient Old Gods, the vast territories are all based on the worship of the Seven Gods. Forcibly changing the state religion would undoubtedly shake the foundation of the regime and cause the already crumbling monarchy to completely lose the support of the people.

Therefore, Soros failed to complete his mission and could only play a somewhat awkward role in King's Landing—an "impious" monk who wore a red robe, wielded a flaming sword, and was more often seen in taverns and arenas.

He stood opposite Euron Greyjoy, his red robes dazzlingly bright in the sunlight.

The afternoon sun baked the battlefield until it was scorching hot, and Euron's opponent was the first to step onto the field—the red-robed monk Soros.

He was tall and fat, and his loose red robe made him look even more imposing, like a moving, fiery totem.

The horn sounded, and instead of the usual knightly opening stance, Thoros gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands, chanting an ancient Valyrian prayer. The next moment, with a loud "whoosh," his longsword burst into flames! The blazing flames coiled around the blade, tumbling and leaping, scorching and distorting the surrounding air.

This incredible and terrifying scene immediately drew gasps from the stands.

Seeing this, Euron didn't back down. Instead, he grinned, revealing a smile that mixed with mockery and excitement. "Interesting," his voice pierced the heat, "Playing with fire? Coincidentally, I can do that too."

Before he finished speaking, a completely different, scorching aura, originating from the abyss, suddenly emanated from his body.

The air above his shoulder distorted, as if invisible souls were howling and gathering into a [Soul-Soul Fruit].

The ability was activated suddenly!

A tiny yet incredibly bright fireball, like a miniature sun—[Apollo]—leaped from his shoulder, not from natural combustion, but more like a living essence of fire.

As if possessing a spirit, it instantly split in two, precisely attaching itself to Euron's twin blades. In an instant, the twin blades transformed into two roaring, flaming blades. Unlike Soros's flames, which relied on secret techniques to burn, the flames on Euron's blades were more condensed and violent, as if imprisoning two angry fire elementals, radiating a chilling pressure.

Before the two even clashed, their contrasting flames were already facing each other from a distance, and the scorching heat made it difficult for the spectators in the front row of the stands to breathe.

In the arena, two raging flames collided with a deafening roar!

Each clash between Euron's twin fire blades and Soros's flaming sword produced a deafening metallic clang and a shower of scorching fire. Burning fragments shot out like meteors, scorching the air and hissing.

A bystander who was standing too close couldn't dodge in time, and a spark landed precisely on his leather armor. With a soft "poof," the spark instantly ignited the tanned leather, and the flames spread rapidly!

"Ah—!" A piercing scream suddenly shattered the noise. The person became a wildly dancing ball of fire, collapsing to the ground in agony, desperately rolling on the sand trying to extinguish the flames.

The pungent, acrid smell of burning leather armor filled the air, startling the surrounding spectators who screamed and retreated hastily, instantly expanding the already tight crowd. Only after several people mustered their courage and rushed forward, clumsily tearing the burning leather armor straps off him and throwing the entire flaming suit of armor away did the man collapse to the ground, panting heavily, his chest charred black.

This tragedy did nothing to affect the two fighters engaged in fierce combat.

Euron's swordsmanship was unpredictable and ruthless, perfectly blending the assassin skills of the Regretful with the agile footwork of a water dancer. His twin blades transformed into two roaring fire dragons, launching a relentless barrage of attacks from incredible angles. Soros, on the other hand, struggled to hold on with his immense strength and wild, fiery swordsmanship. A patch of his red robe had already been singed off, creating a breathtaking scene—a magnificent dance of fire and death.

Finally, Euron seized a moment of opportunity, and with a powerful slash, the flames on his left-hand fire knife suddenly detached from the blade, like a cannon shot to its limit, and roared toward Soros's face!

Soros was terrified and stumbled backward. Euron wouldn't give him a chance to catch his breath; his twin blades, whistling through the air, relentlessly rained down blows, completely shattering Soros's balance. The final, powerful slash came crashing down, and Soros managed to raise his sword to parry—

clang!

With a deafening crash, Soros's flaming sword flew from his hand! His large, obese body was sent flying as if propelled by a catapult, crashing heavily onto the sand outside the circle, kicking up a cloud of dust. He struggled to his feet, but his face and arms were covered in horrifying burn marks, and his red robe was charred and tattered. He was no longer able to fight.

Euron's embers from defeating the Red Monk Thoros had barely cooled when the horn announcing his advancement sounded once more. He had successfully entered the final duel in tomorrow's singles tournament.

His opponent will be either "The Mountain" Gregor Clegane or a skilled elite mercenary from the Golden Company.

The ensuing semi-final, however, presented a brutal picture of pure brute force. Gregor Clegane's inhumanly massive body was like a mobile fortress, and the enormous greatsword in his hand, beyond human comprehension, seemed less like a weapon and more like a battering ram used to destroy cities. Although the mercenaries of the Golden Company were highly skilled, agile, and cunning in their swordplay, all their techniques seemed pale and powerless before the Mountain's absolute power.

After dodging several times, Demon Mountain let out a beast-like roar, and swung his greatsword with the force of a sweeping attack, the terrifying wind pressure it generated even made the nearby spectators feel suffocated. The mercenary had no way to avoid it and could only parry with his sword. With a tooth-grinding crash, his sword shattered in two! He was like a puppet struck by a stone, swept off his feet by the irresistible force and thrown heavily over the edge of the arena, landing with a cough of blood while clutching his chest.

The list of those to be chosen for the final battle has now been finalized.

Euron Greyjoy stood on the sidelines, his cold gaze sweeping across the battlefield, colliding with Gregor Clegane, who had just finished a killing spree.

Beneath the Mountain's visor, his bloodthirsty eyes held only a desire for brutality and destruction. Euron's eyes, on the other hand, burned with a frenzied, predatory fighting spirit.

The air seemed to freeze as the two stared at each other silently, the suffocating, bloody atmosphere of tomorrow's decisive battle already permeating the air.