Karl El and his entourage left King's Landing by the riverside road. After passing through the crowded streets, they finally emerged from the King's Gate.
The moment they stepped outside, everyone in the group froze.
Before them stretched a sea of people.
Voices rose like crashing waves. The noise was so immense that it felt as though they had walked into a bronze bell that never stopped ringing. The crowd outside the walls was somehow livelier than the city itself.
Rows upon rows of heads extended as far as the eye could see. It looked as if every resident of King's Landing had poured out beyond the gate and gathered on the vast open ground beside the river.
There were cheers, laughter, arguments, songs, and the endless chatter of excited people.
Heat rose from the tightly packed masses like steam from a cauldron.
Banners snapped in the wind. Musicians beat drums. Performers juggled torches. Dancers spun through the crowd. Food sellers shouted prices. Children ran between carts.
The entire scene resembled a grand festival.
Even Karl, who had anticipated large numbers and planned extensively when constructing the stadium, was stunned.
For a moment, he felt as if he had returned to a temple fair from another life.
Clearly, the realm's recent military victory and the return of temporary peace had filled the people with enthusiasm. Combined with the novelty of this new event, curiosity alone had drawn countless spectators.
This was no longer merely a tournament.
It had become a phenomenon.
Even the City Watch of King's Landing appeared overwhelmed.
Though the force still numbered around six thousand men after recent reforms, four thousand had already been deployed to maintain order, and even that seemed barely enough.
Karl surveyed the scene with satisfaction.
"Looks like a strong beginning."
Beside him, Tyrion Lannister silently shared the same thought.
He glanced sideways at the young duke.
Karl El was already formidable in battle, sharp-minded in politics, and now he had displayed an astonishing instinct for economics and public spectacle as well.
Only one word came to Tyrion's mind.
Genius.
Perhaps, he thought, the gods occasionally gifted humanity with extraordinary men—if only to make the rest feel inadequate.
Smiling faintly, Tyrion said aloud, "It looks like an excellent omen."
Karl nodded smugly.
"It is."
Despite the enormous numbers, the crowd remained surprisingly orderly.
That was no accident.
Karl had anticipated congestion weeks in advance. During the Games, the King's Gate was designated for exit only. Anyone wishing to re-enter the city had to circle around and use the Lion Gate instead.
It was a simple diversion strategy, but effective.
By preventing two-way traffic through one gate, he had avoided stampedes, bottlenecks, and riots.
As they continued forward, the riders observed the surroundings closely.
Street performers lined the roadsides. Merchants sold roasted meats, pastries, beer, ribbons, toys, and cheap souvenirs. Even beggars had managed to turn the occasion into profit.
Everyone was smiling.
Even the men running temporary latrines.
Yes—temporary latrines.
Karl had personally arranged them.
He had also announced that anyone caught relieving themselves openly would be flogged by the Gold Cloaks.
Naturally, many had complained.
But few dared challenge the most influential man in King's Landing.
As for persuading people to manage such unpleasant work, Karl had used the oldest method known to civilization:
He paid them.
By the bucket.
Karl had thought about sanitation from the earliest stages of construction.
Farther behind the stadium, he had ordered large disposal pits dug specifically for waste collection.
Anyone willing to bring filled buckets would be paid immediately.
He did not care if some clever soul tried transporting refuse from inside the city for extra coin.
In fact, he welcomed it.
This was part of a broader plan for improving King's Landing's future cleanliness.
Forcing reform directly often created resistance.
But reward people first, make them dependent on the system, let habit form naturally—and then reform became easy.
More importantly, Karl believed even filth could become wealth.
With enough imagination, waste could be processed into fertilizer and turned into profit.
One day, he thought, even the king's treasury might benefit from what people now despised.
When that happened, others would push the system themselves.
This was one of Karl's private experiments.
He had told no one.
Satisfied that everything unfolded according to plan, Karl continued riding toward the stadium.
Banners bearing the sigil of the rising House El flew proudly above his escort.
Protected by Gold Cloaks and his personal guards, he passed through the outer gates without obstruction.
Soon, the stadium itself opened before him.
It was a massive open-air structure, with a central plaza large enough to hold several thousand people.
Today, every available seat was occupied.
The nobles of King's Landing had all come.
Members of the Faith, wealthy merchants, guild masters, famous craftsmen such as Tobho Mott, and influential figures from every trade had received invitations.
With the royal family attending personally, refusing Karl's invitation had never been an option.
Even outside the designated boundaries, commoners stretched their necks to watch.
This too was intentional.
Karl wanted the Games to establish a principle from the very first day:
Status would not matter here.
If a commoner possessed skill, he could compete against nobles.
If he won, victory would be recognized openly.
Inside the arena, rank would yield to merit.
That ideal alone made the crowd roar with excitement.
To strengthen legitimacy, Karl had also struck an agreement with the Faith of the Seven.
In exchange for certain commercial concessions and donations, the Faith publicly endorsed the Games.
But religion alone was not enough.
Real power required enforcement.
So Karl established an organizing committee.
Its first honorary president?
Robert Baratheon himself.
With both faith and crown behind it, the Victory Martial Games now possessed unquestionable authority.
And Karl had no intention of allowing anyone to ruin the masterpiece he had built.
Far from the platform, Karl dismounted.
Though founder of the event, he chose to approach on foot out of respect.
He adjusted his robes and composed himself.
News of his arrival spread instantly.
The stadium gradually fell silent.
Then even the crowds outside quieted.
Anyone who attempted to shout was glared into silence by those nearby.
And if stubbornness persisted, the short clubs carried by the Gold Cloaks proved persuasive.
Karl looked toward the long aisle laid with red carpet leading to the raised platform.
For a brief moment, he felt strangely nervous.
Under the gaze of thousands, it almost felt like walking toward a coronation.
The absurdity of the thought made him smile.
"Let this grand event shine brighter than ever," he murmured.
"I want it remembered for ages."
Then he lifted the hem of his robe and strode forward.
At his side walked Samwell Tarly and Tyrion Lannister.
Behind them, Karl's guards followed in two solemn rows with lowered banners.
Upon the high platform, King Robert watched with pride.
Holding a golden goblet studded with jewels, he grinned broadly.
"Ned, look at that boy," Robert said. "He's nearly as handsome as I was when I rode into King's Landing and smashed the Targaryens."
Beside him sat Eddard Stark.
Before replying, Ned glanced first at Stannis Baratheon, who sat rigid and expressionless.
Then he looked farther down the platform at Renly Baratheon, who was whispering cheerfully to Loras Tyrell.
Ned sighed inwardly.
"Yes, Your Grace," he said carefully. "Duke Karl El is indeed capable."
"He has filled your treasury and helped the people afford bread."
"Many are grateful to him."
Robert snorted.
"Grateful? He's worth all of you put together!"
"In battle and in coin!"
He drained half his cup angrily.
The cupbearer rushed to refill it.
"Do not overfill the king's cup," Ned said sharply. "There is a celebration tonight."
Robert glared.
"The Master of Coin controls my purse, and the Hand controls my drinking."
"Seven hells, what misery."
Nearby, Varys smiled softly.
"The evening feast will be cooler, Your Grace. There will also be roast yak."
Renly leaned over.
"And I have prepared a gift for you tonight, brother."
Robert grunted.
"Then we'll speak later."
At the far end of the platform sat the High Septon, smiling serenely beneath a massive jeweled crystal crown.
Yet his gaze never left Karl.
Slowly, under the eyes of thousands, Karl climbed the platform stairs.
He bowed first to the king.
Then he turned to the people.
From his waist, he withdrew a folded sheet of paper.
He cleared his throat.
"Ahem."
"Thank you, Your Grace."
"Thank you to all distinguished guests and citizens gathered here today."
He opened the paper dramatically.
"The Victory Martial Games shall contain sixty-six events!"
"Hunting, swimming, climbing, racing, jumping, melee contests, mounted competition, and many more!"
"The top three competitors in each contest shall receive prizes and honors!"
"The final event shall be the grand jousting tournament, held to commemorate the origin of these Games!"
"And for that contest…"
He paused as the crowd leaned in.
"The Queen of Love and Beauty's crown shall return!"
The stadium erupted.
Karl raised both hands.
"With this—"
"I declare the First Victory Martial Games officially open!"
His voice rolled across the field like thunder.
And all of King's Landing roared back in answer.
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