Mud splattered and blood sprayed.
Inside the arena, the twenty men each held shields and blunt weapons, clashing violently with one another.
Yet the shields in their hands seemed of little use; once they engaged in combat, their first move—whether against the enemy or even among themselves—was always to seize the opponent's shield. What followed was to find a way to knock away the other's weapon or throw him off balance.
The twenty of them fought in chaotic disarray. At times they formed small teams to fend off others, but as soon as their enemies fell, their alliances collapsed, and in the blink of an eye, infighting broke out again.
Allies were newly made and swiftly broken, until at last only one remained standing in the center of the field.
Compared to another inexperienced squire, one of the two armored knights in this match had become one of the final two still able to stand.
Although he had been besieged at the beginning and even struck down to one knee several times, he stubbornly refused to fall or surrender.
Instead, relying on his relatively rich experience, he managed to fend off wave after wave of attacks directed at him.
Unlike the squire who chose to take the initiative to attack others, his decision from the very start was to defend.
Even when surrounded, he never swung his sword wildly. He kept his shield firmly in hand, striving not to give anyone a chance to strike at him.
He dashed left and right, moving ceaselessly across the field.
And during this time, he was far from idle, constantly seeking opportunities to "form teams" with others to knock down and eliminate those under attack.
He responded to this contest mostly with skirmish tactics—dodging whenever he could.
And so, relying on his superior plate armor, he finally managed to hold out until now.
"Give up. You're not my match. You're one of the few smart ones among this bunch of fools."
With his shield raised before him, the knight from the Frey family began to urge his opponent to surrender.
Yet the single-handed sword in his right hand was completely hidden behind his shield.
His eyes were fixed firmly on his opponent, not relaxing in the slightest.
And clearly, the man standing opposite him was no fool who would be shaken by the words of Theo Frey.
"Ser Knight, you are the one who should give up. You have no reason to continue this fight, do you?"
"Whether it's money or honor, I believe you lack neither."
The mercenary knight had a small round shield strapped to his left arm. The hammer he had been gripping, bound with an iron ring, had already broken its wooden handle.
So now he was using a longsword he had casually picked up from the ground as a temporary weapon.
Facing Theo Frey's call to surrender, he only replied with a cheerful smile.
However, neither side's psychological tactics had any effect; both men tacitly used this moment to steady their ragged breathing, letting their strength recover as much as possible.
"Both of them are clever men, but what follows probably won't be a pleasant sight."
On the high platform, watching the two finalists from among the twenty trade taunts below, Kal explained softly to Sansa Stark, who sat beside him with flushed cheeks and whose gaze had scarcely lingered on the fight below.
Thus, the only one who responded to him was Arya, who was earnestly watching and even occasionally stood to cheer along with the others.
"Why?"
Arya turned her head to look at Kal, wanting him to give her a reason.
When her younger sister spoke past her to Kal, Sansa finally realized what had just happened.
She quickly refused to be outdone and added, "Yes, Lord Kal, I want to know as well."
As she spoke, three pairs of eyes were fixed on Kal—including that of Jeyne Poole, who rarely said anything—aside from Septa Mordane.
"If you observe a little more carefully, you'll notice that the mercenary knight with the round shield on his left arm, when he rolled up from the ground just now, also picked up a hand axe and tucked it at his back."
"His opponent clearly didn't notice that."
Kal pointed his finger at the mercenary knight, indicating the subtle movement he had just made.
But Kal wasn't merely praising his quick thinking; he continued to explain about his opponent—the knight from the Frey family.
"This Frey knight is very clever and highly experienced in reading the flow of battle. He can stay calm under pressure and knows how to conceal himself."
"So right now, he's still keeping his strength quite well—at least he looks much better off than his opponent."
Jeyne listened attentively to Kal's explanation and subconsciously blurted out, "Then, if the two of them start fighting, who will be the winner?"
But before Kal could answer, Arya took the initiative to voice her own opinion.
"I think it will be that mercenary knight. He's strong—I saw him take down four enemies, including that armored squire who was eliminated at the very beginning."
Sansa glanced at the two of them and realized she couldn't find a moment to join in the conversation.
Hearing Arya's view, Kal smiled slightly.
"Why do you think so, Arya?"
Kal asked curiously.
And Arya's preference and reasoning were straightforward. "I dislike that Frey knight. He's been hiding from start to finish and hasn't really defeated anyone."
"That's because he's old, and his opponent is still young."
"One of them has enough experience and cunning, but the other possesses enough strength."
"That's why I said the next scene probably won't be pleasant to watch."
"If the Frey knight can't finish his opponent while still standing at the start, his situation will soon become difficult."
"His opponent will surely find a way to drag him into the mud, minimizing stamina loss as much as possible while preventing the better-equipped enemy from keeping distance and wearing him down."
"Only in a ground fight will he have a chance to win this match."
The end of the story turned out much as Kal had predicted—the unknown mercenary knight had long been guarding against Theo Frey's cunning.
Once he felt he had rested enough, he took the initiative to attack, deliberately exposing an opening to lure his enemy into striking.
After dodging that perilous blow by a hair's breadth, he immediately hurled the longsword in his hand like a hidden weapon straight at Theo Frey.
Taking advantage of the instant when Theo Frey raised his shield to block and lost sight of him, he used his youth and greater explosive power to leap forward, crashing directly into Theo Frey and knocking him down into the mud.
For about an hour, the two tangled in the mud, grappling and rolling—an exceedingly unsightly scene.
Theo Frey's shield and longsword were completely useless under such circumstances.
Wearing plate armor, once he fell to the ground and faced his opponent's assault, it was simply impossible for him to stand back up.
So, unsurprisingly, relying on his rich experience, he instantly decided to throw away the two items occupying both his hands—the longsword and shield, which at this point were nothing but burdens.
He chose to rely on the weight of his armor to decide the outcome against his foe.
But as the two rolled and struggled in the mud, biting down hard and trading blows, the unknown mercenary knight, after finding a chance to wear down part of Theo Frey's stamina, suddenly burst forth with strength, flipped over, and pressed him beneath his body.
Then he drew out the hand axe tucked at his back and began opening the can.
As expected, he became the champion of this round of the tournament, greeted by the cheers of the crowd.
If not for the fact that his helmet had been knocked off during the scuffle and his eye sockets bruised from punches, he might have even looked somewhat handsome at that moment.
The casualty list of this bout included three broken or fractured legs, five arms, one shattered collarbone, six smashed fingers, and countless sprains and abrasions.
But even the most thrilling day must come to an end. After watching two matches with the Stark girls, Kal had matters to attend to and had to leave.
When the moon rose and the crowd grew weary, the King announced that the final three team matches would be postponed until the following morning.
By then, the venue would be switched to a larger field, and the last three victors would be decided.
The people of King's Landing, who had never seen such a spectacle, the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms, and even visitors from across the Narrow Sea—all departed in high spirits, discussing the day's grand tournament and tomorrow's main event.
Meanwhile, the courtiers and dignitaries went to dine by the river, where ten enormous oxen slowly turned on roasting spits.
Like the tourney itself, these feasts had been nearly a full day in preparation.
The oxen had already been roasting for several hours. Nearby, kitchen boys were busy brushing butter and herbs over the meat until it turned golden, fragrant, and crisp, with fat sizzling and dripping.
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