To ensure absolute fairness, Lord Whent ordered the list of all participants to be thoroughly shuffled and randomly assigned to ten temporary combat arenas.
Huge matchup lists were posted at the entrances of each arena well in advance. Euron Greyjoy's na was assigned to the Third Arena.
Each arena was overseen by a judge responsible for supervising the duel, deciding the winner, and maintaining basic order.
These judges were all renowned and awe-inspiring warriors, such as the "Sword of the Morning" Arthur Dayne, the "White Bull" Gerold Hightower, "The Bold" Barristan Selmy, and even the Warden of the North, Lord Rickard Stark. Their presence itself symbolized rules and authority.
While waiting for his turn, Euron calmly shuttled between the arenas, silently observing the life-and-death struggles within. He witnessed a cruel lesson: a swordsman, after knocking down an axe-wielding rcenary, relaxed his guard and raised his hands to salute the audience, thinking he had won. However, the fallen rcenary had neither surrendered nor lost combat capability. He sprang up violently, plunging a hidden dagger ruthlessly into the swordsman's unprotected heart.
In another arena, two swordsn fought fiercely. One had his arm severed. The victor pointed his sword at the injured man, ordering him to surrender. Unexpectedly, the one-ard man lunged, hugging his opponent tightly with his single arm. The two rolled on the ground, and the one-ard man strangled the other with an iron grip, suffocating him to death by sheer force. The one-ard man didn't count as a victor either; he bled out completely. Both perished together.
The bloody reality washed over Euron's perception like a cold current. The last trace of youthful impulsiveness in his eyes settled completely, turning into a bottomless, cold pool.
He recited silently in his heart, establishing an unshakable iron rule: "In my matches, no holding back, no rcy. A lion uses full strength even when hunting a rabbit!"
Euron stepped onto the sands of the Third Arena. His first opponent was already standing there. It was a giant of a man nad Terry, nearly two ters tall, with knotted muscles bulging like rocks. His incredibly thick arms looked capable of easily strangling a bull. In his hands, he gripped a terrifying double-bladed battle axe. Apart from this, there were no titles or introductions, only this simple na, indicating he was likely a rcenary or hedge knight who lived by killing.
Following etiquette, the two announced their nas. The mont their voices fell, each took three steps back to open the distance.
Almost in the sa instant his steps halted, Terry let out a deafening roar. The massive battle axe, carrying a terrifying whistle that tore the air, chopped fiercely toward Euron with force enough to split mountains!
However, Euron's reaction was unimaginably fast. He didn't block; instead, he stepped back lightly but precisely. The heavy axe blade missed by a hair's breadth, scraping past his breastplate and smashing up a cloud of sand and dust.
In the split second the axe hit empty air and the opponent's montum was spent, Euron moved. The longsword in his hand turned into two cold flashes of light.
The first strike precisely sliced across Terry's wrist, left unprotected by the full-force swing! The giant roared in pain, his fingers loosening involuntarily, and the battle axe crashed to the ground.
The second strike followed the trajectory of the first almost imdiately, sweeping upward rapidly, ruthlessly slashing across that thick neck!
Everything happened within a single breath.
By the ti the crowd saw clearly, Euron was already standing with his sword withdrawn. His opponent, the giant Terry, remained in a forward-lunging posture, then knelt heavily on the ground. His massive body collapsed with a boom, blood quickly dyeing the yellow sand red.
In an instant, victory was decided, life and death determined.
Seeing Euron achieve victory instantly with such sharp and ruthless ans, Balon and Victarion, who had been tense on the sidelines ready to rush in to intervene or stop the match at any mont, finally exhaled the foul air held in their chests. Their hands, tightly gripping their weapons, relaxed slightly.
On the sandy field, there was no ti to mourn the dead. Several silent servants entered quickly, nimbly dragging away Terry's corpse and hurriedly covering the spreading dark red bloodstains with sand. Almost the mont the blood was covered, the judge's cold voice rang out, announcing without pause: "Next match, begin!"
Winners of all matches received a small bottle of Golden Kraken wine as a reward. Euron accepted it calmly—this was also a promotional thod he had devised.
At the edge of the tourney grounds, there was an area noisier than the clang of steel—the center for betting. The flow of people was densest here; gold coins jingled in hands, and the air was filled with the scent of speculation and fanaticism.
The bookmaker was the wealthy House Lannister. Presiding over the situation was Lord Tywin's brother, the famously steady and reliable Ser Kevan Lannister. Currently, betting was only open for the Joust, as the other events had too many participants and unpredictable outcos, making odds difficult to set.
A huge wooden board stood there, clearly marked:
Harrenhal Tourney · Joust Betting Odds
Rules: Bet on the final champion. Odds adjust dynamically with match rounds. If the final champion is not within this list of ten, all bets are void (House takes all).
Ser Kevan's voice echoed steadily through the crowd. "My lords, Ser Barristan is as llow and seasoned as old wine, Prince Rhaegar as dazzling as the rising sun—but before the dust of the joust settles, fate on horseback is always written by the gods. Do you dare stake your honor and gold dragons on a dark horse in the shadows?"
Only ten top knights renowned throughout the Seven Kingdoms were listed on the board:
Rhaegar Targaryen — House Targaryen — Defending Champion, precise lance skills, dragon blood — Odds 1:3 — (Weakness: Imnse psychological pressure, must maintain princely dignity)
Barristan Selmy — Kingsguard — 4-ti Tourney Champion, unmatched experience, calm and steady — Odds 1:2 — (Weakness: Advanced age, stamina may fail in prolonged combat)
Arthur Dayne — House Dayne/Kingsguard — Odds 1:2.5 — "Sword of the Morning," invincible on foot, superior lance skills — (Weakness: Lance skills slightly inferior compared to his god-like swordsmanship)
Oswell Whent — House Whent/Kingsguard — Odds 1:5 — Expert at charging and breaking shields, ho field advantage — (Weakness: Slightly lacking in technique flexibility)
Gregor Clegane "The Mountain" — Knight — Odds 1:6 — Imnsely strong, brutal and cruel — (Weakness: Lack of major tournant experience, lacks flexibility and chivalry)
Ramton Baratheon (Note: Likely ant a Baratheon relative or generic knight, text says Raymond/Ramton) — Knight — Odds 1:6...
Lewyn Martell...
Jon Connington...
Robert Baratheon...
Brandon Stark...
Euron's gaze swept over the top favorites without hesitation, ignoring the rest. He walked straight to the betting counter, pushed a heavy bag of gold dragons forward, and said calmly: "Two thousand gold dragons. On Rhaegar Targaryen for Champion."
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