Euron stepped into House Greyjoy's temporary residence at Harrenhal, and a familiar, rough atmosphere hit him.
His father, King Quellon Greyjoy, sat at the head. His older brother Balon, younger brother Victarion, and nephew Rodrik were all present. It was very much a small family gathering.
Seeing Euron enter, Balon was the first to grin, his eyes twinkling with unconcealed teasing. "Yo, our great hero returns. Where is your 'Pearl of Dorne,' Lady Ashara? Didn't bring her along?"
Euron was long accustod to his brother's banter and responded indifferently, "She is naturally with her brother, Ser Arthur Dayne."
Hearing this, the smile on Balon's face beca even more mischievous. He leaned closer, lowered his voice, and chuckled in a tone of tacit understanding between n. "All this way, from Dorne to here, spending so much ti together... didn't you find a chance to... do that?"
He deliberately dragged out his tone, winking and making rude, obscene gestures with his hands, his aning couldn't be more obvious.
This blatant teasing finally made the usually calm Euron roll his eyes in annoyance, too lazy to bother with his unreliable brother.
"Shut up, Balon!" King Quellon Greyjoy's voice was deep and full of pressure, echoing in the stone room. His sharp, hawk-like gaze locked onto Euron. He already knew of Euron's decision from their letters and now wanted to confirm it face-to-face. "Have you made up your mind? You're going to participate in that damned Single Combat?" His tone carried unquestionable paternal authority as he raised an eyebrow. "You should know, your brother Balon also wanted to go, and I flatly refused him. Tell , why do you think I would allow you to take this risk?"
Although he knew this son had traveled to Dragonstone and undergone three full months of rigorous training under the "Sword of the Morning" Arthur Dayne—and even Arthur himself had personally admitted to him that Euron's swordsmanship was exquisite and his movent agile, making him one of the favorites to win—
But these things didn't seem to fully dispel the concerns and paternal stubbornness in the heart of the ruler of the Iron Islands.
Euron straightened his back, his face beaming with unconcealed confidence. "Strength!" his voice rang clearly in the stone room. "I have crossed swords with Arthur Dayne and sparred with Prince Rhaegar. I know my own weight clearly. In single combat, I will never lose!"
King Quellon was not moved by this confidence. His thick fingers tapped the armrest of his chair, his gaze deep. "Sparring on the training ground and fighting for your life with real steel in the arena are not the sa thing."
Balon beside him imdiately sneered and chid in, "Exactly! Heaven knows if they were just going easy on you for the sake of an alliance or other sentints."
Euron turned sharply to Balon, a confident smile curling his lips, his words poking straight at his brother's sore spot. "Going easy? Then when I crushed you, I didn't need anyone to go easy on , did I? Do I need to help you recall who was beaten until he scrambled all over the floor looking for his teeth last ti, my dear brother?"
"Bullshit!" Balon jumped up from his chair like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, his face flushed red with rage. He roared, "That was just casual play; I didn't get serious at all!"
"Oh?" Euron raised an eyebrow, taking a step forward, his eyes flashing with provocative light. "Since you're unconvinced, let's go now. We'll find a place and have a real fight. Let facts speak, how about it?"
The atmosphere in the room tightened instantly, filled with the sll of gunpowder.
King Quellon pondered for a mont. His sharp eyes scanned back and forth between Euron's confident face and Balon's angry, unconvinced expression. Finally, he huffed heavily and slapped the table. "Good! Then fight!" His booming voice made the decision, carrying unquestionable authority. "Listen, I have one requirent—give one hundred percent of your strength, no holding back!"
His gaze beca unusually serious, sweeping over every son and commander present. "Getting hurt now ans lying down for a few days at most. But if soft-heartedness now leads to a misjudgnt of his true strength, the price of losing in the real arena could very likely be death! Anyone going easy on him now is harming him! Consider this a rehearsal for the Single Combat—Euron's Trial of Combat!"
Quellon's decision was made.
In the ensuing contest, Euron indeed did not disappoint his father, proving he wasn't boasting.
Balon Greyjoy roared and attacked first. His blows were heavy and powerful, his moves ruthless; clearly, he was truly angry and using his full strength. However, before Euron's swordsmanship, which fused eerie footwork, precise anticipation, and sharp counterattacks, Balon's fierce assaults were repeatedly thwarted.
Facing Balon's first violent charge, Euron didn't choose to block the heavy axe cleave capable of splitting stone. Just as the axe edge was about to land, his body seed to lose weight, sliding sideways in a strange, near-ground arc—[Kami-e] (Paper Art)—while his footwork changed swiftly—[Soru] (Shave)—instantly cutting into the opening under Balon's ribs exposed by his full-force swing. The unsharpened training sword in his hand turned into a cold star—[Shigan] (Finger Pistol concept applied)—stopping precisely at Balon's vital armpit. The entire process was fast as lightning; Balon's brute force hit nothing but air.
Once, twice, three tis... Balon was defeated successively, each ti more wretchedly than the last. His heavy panting and the disbelief on his face beca the most direct proof.
Balon leaned on his battle axe, sweat mixed with dust sliding down his forehead, his chest heaving violently. Looking at Euron's calm, ripple-free face, a fire mixed of humiliation, shock, and extre unwillingness burned in his heart.
"How is this possible?! His strength is clearly less than mine! Those eerie dodges... those terrifyingly precise thrusts... This is not the swordsmanship or footwork of a Water Dancer at all! I can split any enemy's skull at sea, but I can't even touch the corner of his clothes! I actually lost... three tis in a row!"
Subsequently, the renowned brave warriors Balf and Dagr stepped forward to challenge in turn. Their axes and swords carried the wildness and killing intent unique to the Iron Islands, but before Euron, they still gained no advantage and were defeated one after another.
Finally, Euron even proactively requested Balf and Dagr to enter the field together.
Facing the pincer attack of two n, Euron still appeared at ease, his figure weaving freely through the crossing shadows and cold light. Against Balf and Dagr's combined assault, he combined technique and strength to the extre. First using [Kami-e] and the exquisite footwork of the Sorrowful n, he leaped out from the gap in their encirclent like a ghost, causing their weapons to nearly clash together.
Imdiately, in the instant Dagr couldn't retract his move, Euron closed in on his side. A heavy elbow strike fused with the power generation technique of [Fish-Man Karate] slamd fiercely into his chest and abdon, instantly dismantling his combat capability. Following closely, he turned to parry Balf's horizontal slash, used the montum to pull, tripped his feet, and easily laid him flat on the ground.
When facing their combined lunge, he didn't even move much. In the nick of ti, he shouted low—[Tekkai] (Iron Body)—and took Balf's side kick head-on. His body remained immobile as a mountain, instead jarring Balf into stumbling back. Then twisting his waist, a fierce low [Rankyaku] (Tempest Kick) swept out, hitting both their lower bodies precisely, knocking them to the ground simultaneously.
In the end, he remained the victor standing steadily in the field.
Silence reigned over the arena, leaving only the heavy breathing of the defeated.
Balf, a man proud of his bravery, looked at his slightly trembling, numb wrists, his face full of disbelief. He thought secretly, "My full-force chop was deflected so lightly? Like smashing into cotton with all my might, and then... then I was hit in the vitals by force coming from nowhere! Damn it, what on earth did this guy learn on Dragonstone?!"
King Quellon stared at his son standing in the center of the field, sword sheathed and breath steady. His gaze was deep, and he didn't speak for a long ti.
"Euron," King Quellon called his son's na, his tone unusually solemn. "Your sword has exceeded the understanding of the Iron Islands."
King Quellon paused, as if making a major decision, finally exhaling heavily. "Fine. You have proven your strength, and your ability to survive. I allow it. Single Combat, go."
"But rember," his voice suddenly turned sharp, carrying iron-like coldness. "A Greyjoy can die in battle, but cannot be disgraced. Either co back with the championship, or don't co back at all."
Euron nodded with a smile, brimming with confidence.
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