The uproar from the previous match hadn't fully faded when the royal herald's high-pitched voice rang out again.
It pulled everyone's attention from the wretched Sandor Clegane back to the main event of this carnival.
Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers!
Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain!
The moment the names were called, the entire tourney ground exploded!
This was a duel between Beauty and the Beast.
The most handsome, popular knight in the Seven Kingdoms against the most brutal, feared monster.
Loras Tyrell's entrance was, as always, flamboyantly excessive.
He rode a snow-white stallion, his silver plate armor engraved with golden roses shimmering in the sunlight.
He looked like a hero walked straight out of a song.
He elegantly blew kisses to the noble ladies on the stands, eliciting screams loud enough to lift the roof.
His opponent, "The Mountain" Gregor Clegane.
He sat silently on his black stallion, a beast a size larger than any ordinary warhorse, at the other end of the track.
He hadn't even cleaned the armor stained by Ser Hugh's blood. The cold steel exuded a nauseating scent of gore under the scorching sun.
On the high dais, Littlefinger's expression had returned to calm.
He took a fresh cup of wine, looking at the restless white mare in the field, then at the ungelded, tempestuous stallion beneath the Mountain.
The corner of his mouth curled into a smile of assured victory.
Lynn the crow's luck had run out.
From now on, every opponent he faced would be among the peak knights of the Seven Kingdoms!
Any one of them could easily crush Lynn.
And now, Littlefinger was about to truly start harvesting wealth!
"Begin!"
With Robert's impatient roar, the horn blew.
The charge began!
The Mountain's warhorse started instantly.
Every heavy hoofbeat struck like a war drum on everyone's heart.
However, the moment the charge began, disaster struck!
The black stallion beneath the Mountain suddenly let out an agitated whinny!
Its red eyes locked onto the white mare opposite, hot breath snorting from its nostrils.
The momentum of the charge faltered.
A mare in heat was an irresistible temptation for an ungelded stallion!
"Hiyah!"
Gregor roared, driving his spurs viciously into the horse's flanks!
The horse, in pain, accelerated again.
But the charge was completely deformed. The horse's head twisted uncontrollably to the side, unable to maintain a straight line.
A smile of elegance and contempt appeared on Loras's face.
Everything was under control.
CLANG!
A crisp sound.
Loras's lance struck precisely on the Mountain's shield.
The massive force shook the Mountain violently in his saddle.
Meanwhile, the Mountain's lethal lance, due to his mount losing control, missed Loras completely at a laughable angle.
Round one, a complete victory for the Knight of Flowers!
Thunderous cheers erupted from the stands.
"Hiyah! You damn beast!"
Gregor's roar drowned out even the cheers.
He whipped his mount frantically, trying to regain control.
But it was futile.
Second charge.
The scene became even more farcical.
The Mountain's horse charged at Loras almost sideways, emitting mating calls.
THUD!
Loras didn't even need to aim.
He simply extended his lance casually.
The tip lightly tapped the heavy breastplate of the Mountain.
A massive impact was delivered!
Gregor Clegane's mountain-like body was easily lifted from the saddle by this seemingly small force!
BOOM!
Heavy steel crashed into the ground, the dull thud silencing the entire arena for a moment.
After a brief dead silence, a tidal wave of noise erupted!
"Knight of Flowers! Knight of Flowers!"
Loras reined in elegantly, basking in the adoration of the crowd.
However, the "Mountain" on the ground moved.
Gregor Clegane staggered to his feet.
He tore off his twisted helm, revealing a face purple with extreme rage and humiliation.
He lost.
He, Gregor Clegane, had been unhorsed by a pretty boy in such a manner!
This was a humiliation he could not bear!
NEIGH——
The stallion, still in the throes of lust, foolishly approached, nuzzling its master.
"Die!"
Gregor's rage exploded completely in that moment!
He drew the massive greatsword at his waist, a blade that required two hands to wield!
A terrifying cold light flashed!
SQUELCH!
He decapitated the massive horse with a single stroke!
Scalding blood sprayed like a fountain into the sky, soaking Gregor's head and face!
"AHHH—"
The noble ladies in the stands screamed in utter terror!
Sansa turned pale and fainted directly into Ned's arms.
This bloody, brutal scene instantly turned the tourney ground into a living hell!
The smile on Littlefinger's face froze completely; his wine cup slipped from his hand again, shattering on the floor.
Like a thoroughly enraged beast, Gregor charged toward Loras, who was still enjoying the cheers!
"Die! Pretty boy!"
The smile on Loras's face froze.
He hadn't expected a tourney match to turn into a fight to the death!
He drew his sword in a panic.
But against the mountain of flesh charging with blood and fury, his knightly skills seemed so pale and weak.
Just as blood was about to spill again!
A black figure leaped from the stands!
It was "The Hound" Sandor Clegane!
CLANG—
Sandor parried Gregor's greatsword precisely with his longsword!
"Back off! Sandor!"
The two brothers were instantly locked in combat!
"In the name of your King, STOP!"
"Enough!"
On the high dais, Robert's roar finally rang out.
"Pull these two madmen apart!"
Several Kingsguard rushed forward, struggling mightily to separate the brothers who were red-eyed with killing intent.
The arena was a mess.
The Mountain threw down his greatsword in anger, expressing his dissatisfaction.
Then, ignoring the dark-faced Robert, he spat on the ground and left the field.
Robert looked grim, but the Mountain belonged to the Lannisters; there wasn't much he could do.
"Let him go!"
"Lannister bastard!"
"Next match, hurry up!"
While everyone was still reeling from the bloody farce, the royal herald's trembling voice sounded again.
"Winner of this match, Ser Loras, the Knight of Flowers!"
Hearing this, Renly Baratheon on the stands finally let out a long breath.
Several more rounds of "showing weakness" followed. Whenever Lynn took the field, he was met with boos.
Yet Lynn always managed to secure victory through repeated "good luck."
Finally.
"Jousting... Semi-Finals!"
"Ser Lynn, the Black Knight of the Wall..."
The herald's gaze involuntarily turned to the black figure sitting quietly in the stands from start to finish.
"Against—"
"Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard!"
The crowd went wild!
The crow who had stumbled his way into the semi-finals on dumb luck was actually going to face the most renowned knight in the Seven Kingdoms, Jaime Lannister!
Everyone's eyes darted between Lynn and Jaime.
One was a lucky fool rolling in the mud; the other was a favored son of heaven standing in the clouds.
There was no suspense in this duel!
Jaime Lannister stood up calmly.
His golden armor was so dazzling in the sun it hurt to look at.
He didn't even bother to glance at Lynn.
To him, this was just a formality.
Lynn stood up as well.
He rolled his wrist, producing a crisp crack.
He looked at the high dais, at Petyr Baelish whose face was dark enough to drip water.
Then he looked at the betting board, where his odds had reached astronomical figures. Now entering the semi-finals, the betting was completely locked.
The game should end now.
And against Jaime, he could hide no longer.
Although the Hound was a top-tier fighter, he wasn't skilled at jousting and was added on a whim by Robert.
Jaime was far stronger than the Hound. Lynn had to show his true strength!
Thinking this, Lynn put on his helm and mounted his horse.
Just as he was about to ride into the lists, he felt a sharp gaze.
It came from the Tyrell box.
He followed the feeling.
A young woman in a green gown, beautiful as a blooming rose, was watching him quietly.
Margaery Tyrell.
Her eyes held none of Sansa's worship, none of the noble ladies' infatuation, nor the commoners' curiosity.
It was a pair of eyes full of intelligence and scrutiny.
Lynn met her gaze for a moment, then looked away.
The Little Rose of House Tyrell?
Interesting.
Lynn urged "Storm" slowly into the center of the lists.
At the other end of the track was the gleaming Ser Jaime.
Lynn raised his lance, pointing it from afar at Jaime Lannister.
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