Bronze Yohn's sharp gaze slowly swept over everyone, and he added, "Gentlemen, pride and underestimation are quick paths to embracing the stranger on the battlefield. This is a battle concerning the highest honor of the Vale!"
He lifted his chin and declared loudly, "I, Yohn Royce, hope, I command you to take your enemies seriously."
He waved one arm and shouted, "Long live the Vale of Arryn!"
Everyone followed, shouting in unison: "Long live the Vale of Arryn! Long live the Vale of Arryn! Long live the Vale of Arryn!"
"Ser Symon Templeton, you will be the vanguard of the Vale!"
"Leave it to me, Earl Yorn!"
"Earl Bennard Belmore, you will lead the next charge!"
"As you command, Earl Yorn."
Two hours later, the Kelleber Soldiers and the Valley Knights faced each other across a wheat field, approximately 1500 yards apart.
The Valley Knights stretched as far as the eye could see. Greene stood before the formation, gazing forward, his eyes revealing 7 parts indifference, 2 parts detachment, and 1 part mockery.
Greene kicked his horse's flank, and the horse beneath him began to pace forward, with Brienne following closely, holding high the marsh marigold banner.
On the other side, Bronze Yohn also rode forward almost simultaneously.
Pfft!
In the wheat field, the horse beneath him struggled to move. Greene gently pulled one rein, slowing its pace.
Squish... squish... squish... The sound of hooves on the muddy ground made Greene's mood increasingly pleasant. He decided in his mind... to be a little more polite later.
On the other side, the terrible mud made Bronze Yohn's brows furrow. A seasoned veteran, he sensed something was wrong... Even after two consecutive days of rain, the ground should not be this soft.
Before he could ponder further, Bronze Yohn and Earl Kleber met.
According to the tradition of arranged battles, the two of them would "friendly" choose which side would blow the war horn. Once the horn sounded, the battle would begin.
A gentle breeze blew, lightly stirring Greene's dark, medium-length hair. With a confident air, he said, "Esteemed Earl Royce, your mood seems rather somber..."
He raised his chin slightly, his tone shifting to one of disdain: "If the Valley Knights are willing to kneel and surrender, I might consider pardoning your sins."
Bronze Yohn's lips, which had been about to curl into a smile, stiffened. His gaze suddenly sharpened, yet he remained silent... Earl Kleber had left a good impression on him, and he was checking if he had misheard.
"Despicable savage Earl, you have committed an unforgivable offense!" The enraged voice of the standard-bearer quickly confirmed to Bronze Yohn that he had indeed heard correctly.
"Dismount immediately and kneel on the ground, begging for Lord Royce's forgiveness, savage Earl." Bronze Yohn's standard-bearer roared again.
Greene's gaze instantly sharpened, turning to the glaring standard-bearer. He paused, then suddenly asked, "Who are you?"
Crunch!
A sound like teeth grinding echoed. He roared, "I am Harlan Hunt of Longbow Hall."
Bronze Yohn, having regained his composure, coldly added, "He is Ser Harlan Hunt."
Greene raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with mockery: "A mere Valley Knight dares to offend an Earl of the Crownlands? Is this the honor of the Valley Knights?"
Ser Harlan Hunt gritted his teeth and said, "I am a knight personally knighted by Duke Jon Arryn."
To be honest, Greene's first earldom was bestowed upon him by Robert I, who Jon Arryn had "begged" (Chapter 91).
But now was not the time for bickering, nor did he have the inclination to engage in a war of words with a "dead man."
Greene ignored Ser Harlan and spoke directly to Bronze Yohn: "Earl Royce, two days of heavy rain have made the ground absorb some water, which will affect your horses."
After a pause, he added, "I'm a little worried that your horses won't be able to run. Do you still want to fight as agreed? As the ruler of the Crabclaw Peninsula and an honorable knight, I can allow you to surrender directly..."
Before Greene could finish speaking, Ser Harlan angrily interrupted, "Even in a swamp, the Valley Knights can still charge at savages!"
Bronze Yohn also coldly added, "Young Earl, a few wooden stakes cannot withstand the charge of heavy cavalry."
Greene spread his hands and said, "Earl Royce, your insight is sharp. I hope those few wooden stakes can withstand the attack of the Valley Knights."
Bronze Yohn gazed at Greene and said, "Young man, I hope you can make it in time. The brave Valley Knights won't give you much time."
Greene extended his hand towards Brienne, and seeing this, the "beauty" immediately handed over the knight's lance.
After firmly grasping the knight's lance, Greene said, "According to tradition, we will decide which side blows the war horn through a joust."
Ser Harlan's face twisted as he looked at Greene, who was turning his horse, and a cruel smile appeared on his face.
After Ser Harlan had adjusted his horse's direction, Bronze Yohn instructed, "Harlan, be careful. Earl Kleber was the jousting champion at the last tourney in King's Landing."
With a clang, Ser Harlan pulled down his visor and said, "Lord Royce, a tourney is merely a knightly game for entertainment. I will give him a good 'lesson.'"
When Greene and Ser Harlan were about 100 yards apart, they stopped their horses in perfect sync.
This was not a tourney; no horn blast was needed as a signal.
Adjusting their horses' heads, after a pause, both men almost simultaneously spurred their horses, galloping towards each other.
As the distance closed, Ser Harlan, through the slit in his visor, stared intently at Greene, who was galloping towards him. His upper body leaned further and further forward with the horse's movement, the pointed tip of the knight's lance in his hand glinting coldly in the morning light, and the corners of his mouth slowly curled upwards.
Hooves churned, and the distance grew even shorter.
Ser Harlan's eyes, visible through his visor, were filled with ferocity; he wanted more than just a lesson!
That's enough... The veins on his arm bulged... He wanted the savage... The expression on Ser Harlan's face instantly froze, his eyes filled with shock and pain, as if he couldn't believe the sudden turn of events.
Greene's knight's lance plunged violently into his opponent's chest first. The horse beneath him was still running, and Ser Harlan was still "hanging" on the lance.
Tap, tap, tap... tap... tap... tap... The slowing horse was pacing. Greene suddenly raised the lance, with Ser Harlan's body impaled on it, with one hand. The nearly five-meter-long shaft showed a distinct curve.
Then, Lord Green hurled Ser Harlan directly towards Bronze Yohn.
With a thud, the splashing mud even splattered onto Bronze Yohn.
With a flick of his marsh marigold-embroidered cloak, Greene's voice carried over: "Vale Noble, the Kleber war horn sounds, battle!"
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