The atmosphere in the jousting arena was completely ignited the moment the knights entered.
Deafening cheers mingled with the smell of roasted meat, the sour stench of sweat, and the cheap perfume of women.
These smells wafted in the scorching sun, creating a fervent atmosphere unique to King's Landing.
The rules for this event were still the traditional elimination format.
Lynn sat quietly in the Stark family's viewing area.
His dark plate armor made him stand out among the silk-clad nobles around him.
Arya sat beside him, her small face flushed with excitement, constantly pumping her fists.
Sansa, however, seemed a bit flustered.
She constantly adjusted her blue gown, her gaze secretly darting towards one side of the stands.
On the high platform, Robert Baratheon impatiently urged his attendant to pour him wine, his corpulent body sinking into a large chair.
"How long have I been sitting here?!"
"Hurry! Hurry and start!"
"I can't wait to see these tin cans smash into each other!"
His roar clearly echoed across the entire platform, drawing a wave of good-natured laughter.
Ned Stark sat beside him, without a hint of a smile on his face.
His gray eyes were filled with weariness for this extravagant revelry.
Lynn stood up, walked behind Ned, and leaned in to whisper in his ear.
"Lord Ned, I need your help."
Ned turned, his eyes questioning.
"Go find the biggest bookmaker in the city," Lynn's voice was extremely low.
"Bet all the money you can get your hands on, on me."
Ned's pupils suddenly constricted.
All of it?
He knew Lynn had his own plans, but such a gambling-like act really didn't fit the Stark family's style.
"This is too risky, Lynn."
"The higher the risk, the greater the reward."
Lynn looked at him, his gaze under the visor deep and resolute.
"This is part of our plan."
"We need not only prestige, but also money."
"I understand."
Ned no longer hesitated, nodding heavily.
He took a deep look at Lynn, then stood up and quietly left the high platform.
After settling Ned, Lynn walked down from the stands and headed straight for the liveliest tent at the edge of the jousting arena.
That was the official bookmaker set up by the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish.
All the gold dragons in King's Landing flowed into it like a stream.
Lynn's appearance immediately caused a small stir.
His dark armor, the cape embroidered with a Direwolf, and his unapproachable aura made the surrounding gamblers instinctively clear a path for him.
The clerk in charge of accounts looked up, and a hint of disdain flashed across his face when he saw it was Lynn.
"Well, isn't it our Black Knight? What, you want to place a couple of bets too?"
Lynn ignored his taunt.
He simply threw a heavy leather pouch heavily onto the table.
"Clatter—"
The mouth of the pouch opened, and golden gold dragons rolled out, instantly covering the entire tabletop.
A collective gasp sounded around him.
This was at least a thousand gold dragons!
The clerk's eyes went wide.
"Here are a thousand gold dragons, and I will have another two thousand six hundred gold dragons sent over later."
Lynn's voice was calm and unwavering.
This was Robb and Mormont's investment in him, and it hadn't cost much on the journey.
"Bet it all on myself, to win continuously, until I win the jousting championship."
The entire tent instantly fell silent.
Everyone looked at Lynn with the gaze one would give an idiot.
The clerk was stunned for a long while before stammering:
"Are...are you sure?"
"Sure."
"The odds...the odds are fifty to one."
The clerk licked his dry lips.
This meant that if Lynn won, they would have to pay out one hundred and eighty thousand gold dragons!
This was no longer gambling; if Lynn won, it would be outright robbery!
"Is there a problem?" Lynn's voice turned cold.
"No...no problem! Of course no problem!"
This huge bet quickly reached the high platform.
Petyr Baelish's hand, holding a wine glass, paused slightly.
He looked at the black figure in the arena, the smile on his lips growing colder.
Idiot.
An idiot from the North.
Did he really think he was invincible just because he saved the prince once?
The fifty to one odds were set by him personally.
It was meant to humiliate this Night's Watch member who didn't know his place.
Now it seemed the effect was surprisingly good.
He gave a meaningful look to the servant beside him.
"Tell the people below, we'll take this bet."
He was already eager to see.
What kind of desperate expression would be on Lynn's face when he was unhorsed by the lance of "The Mountain."
Just then, the horn sounded in the arena.
A royal herald rode into the center of the arena and announced loudly:
"Hand's Tourney, jousting, first match!"
"Featuring—'The Mountain' from the Westerlands, Ser Gregor Clegane!"
"Against—'The Valiant' Ser Hugh from the Vale!"
"Oh oh oh oh!"
The entire arena erupted in thunderous cheers.
The enormous "Mountain," Gregor Clegane, riding a black warhorse almost as imposing as himself, slowly rode into the arena.
His heavy steel armor reflected a terrifying cold light in the sunlight.
Just sitting there, he was like an unshakeable mountain, exuding a suffocating sense of oppression.
His opponent, Ser Hugh, seemed much slighter.
He was once Jon Arryn's squire.
Now, he wore a brand new suit of armor, his face showing a hint of nervousness and excitement, seemingly wanting to prove himself in this highly anticipated joust.
On the high platform, Ned Stark looked at Ser Hugh in the arena, his brows tightly furrowed.
He remembered this young man.
He was always taciturn when he was with Jon Arryn.
And now, he had to face the most brutal beast in Westeros.
"Start!"
Robert could not wait any longer.
He violently waved his hand, downing the wine in his cup.
The two knights spurred their warhorses, distancing themselves at opposite ends of the arena.
"For the King!"
Ser Hugh shouted, lowered his visor, and raised his lance.
"The Mountain" said nothing, only urged his warhorse forward, beginning his charge.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The heavy hoofbeats were like war drums, pounding in everyone's hearts.
Two figures, like two meteors, rapidly approached each other on the track!
"Bang—"
A loud crash!
Two lances struck their opponents' shields with precision almost simultaneously!
Ser Hugh's lance shattered instantly.
The immense impact made him sway on his horse, nearly falling off.
"The Mountain's" body, however, merely paused slightly.
His lance, made from a single oak tree, only broke in half under such a terrifying impact.
And the front end of the broken lance shaft.
That half-section, with its sharp wooden splinters, due to immense inertia, pierced fiercely towards Ser Hugh at a tricky angle!
"Puff—"
A dull sound of flesh being pierced.
Ser Hugh's helmet and visor could not block this fatal blow at all.
Half of the broken lance directly penetrated through the gap in his visor and emerged from the back of his neck!
Blood instantly gushed out.
Ser Hugh didn't even have time to let out a scream.
His body stiffened on the horse for a moment, then, like a broken sack, he fell heavily to the ground.
The entire arena was dead silent.
The deafening cheers from a second ago vanished without a trace at this moment.
Everyone stared dumbfounded at the slightly twitching corpse in the arena, and the gushing blood.
"Ah!"
Sansa let out a terrified shriek, her face pale, tightly covering her mouth.
This was completely different from the joust she had imagined!
This wasn't a romantic knightly duel; this was a bloody massacre!
Robert's expression also darkened somewhat.
He took a deep look at Gregor.
"Someone! Drag the body away! Next match!"
The attendants rushed into the arena in a flurry, carrying away Ser Hugh's corpse, and then hastily covered the glaring bloodstain with sand.
Ned Stark's face was so grim it could drip water.
This was the "chivalry" that the Southern nobles prided themselves on.
Absurd, cruel, and utterly devoid of honor.
Lynn's expression remained unchanged.
He just calmly watched the mountain-like man, watching him carelessly discard the broken lance in his hand and replace it with a new one.
He was analyzing, calculating.
The Mountain's strength, speed, and his almost beast-like killing instinct.
Just then, the royal herald's voice rang out again.
His voice carried a subtle tremor due to the recent bloody scene.
"Next duel!"
The herald's voice was a bit off-key due to nervousness.
"From the Twins, 'The Warlike' Ser Hosteen Frey!"
"Against—"
The herald's gaze lingered on the roster for a moment, seemingly confirming the unfamiliar name.
"From the Wall, the unnamed Black Knight!"
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