Chapter 393: The Archery Tournament (Part 2)
The entry fee for the tournament was a single copper penny. This nearly non-existent, purely symbolic threshold was no burden even for the most destitute New Gift contestants. It ensured that the turnout wouldn't be so small that the event couldn't proceed, and it meant Egger's search for elite marksmen wouldn't be hindered by financial barriers.
The downside, however, was that the skill level of the participants was appallingly uneven.
The targets were set over seventy meters away, a distance that would be considered normal but slightly challenging for a regular archer—judging by the standards of the Seven Kingdoms, at least. The reality was that many New Gift contestants from beyond the Wall used their own bows and arrows. In the wild lands without standardized weights and measures, they couldn't even say for sure how far they could shoot. Perhaps some were top-tier hunters in their own villages or tribes, but a small target seventy meters away?
There was no snow in Queenscrown today, but the biting wind whistled as usual. In such an outdoor environment, it was common for unskilled archers to have low hit rates or even miss entirely. Most comical were those who—due to young age, lack of strength, or poor-quality bows—couldn't even reach the target. After firing a few arrows into the dirt, they would either slink away in embarrassment or temporarily switch to the Night's Watch standard bows and arrows provided by the organizers. Predictably, picking up an unfamiliar weapon for the first time and competing without practice rarely yielded impressive results.
While these mishaps added a sense of lively drama to the event, no one was foolish enough to cause trouble under the watchful eye of the Lord Commander over a single copper penny. Standing in stark contrast to these participants were the serious marksmen who quickly stood out from the massive crowd. Theon and Anguy the Archer naturally advanced with perfect scores. Among Anguy's companions, Dondarrion—as a nobleman—being skilled with a bow was no surprise, but Egger hadn't expected Thoros of Myr, a Red Priest, to be so proficient. All three experts sent from Castle Black passed the second round. Additionally, Ygritte emerged as one of the few New Gift contestants to advance. Somewhat frustratingly for Egger, the advancement rate of the Logistics Department soldiers—his own core troops and officer corps—was somewhat underwhelming.
It couldn't be helped. Although a scientific system, advanced theories, and diligent training had made this commoner-led force formidable in discipline and overall combat capability, a year or two of hard practice simply couldn't close the gap with warriors and nobles who had held bows since childhood.
Regardless, Egger was no longer just the boss of the Night's Watch industries and head of the Logistics Department; he was the Lord Commander. As long as a few of the "Men in Black" held their own, he had no reason to feel embarrassed.
The only thing that made Egger slightly uneasy was that Arya had actually led several Winterfell guards into the next round. He had hoped she would be eliminated early for being unable to pull the bow, but it seemed the girl's strength was greater than he imagined. Seven hells: if Lady Stark actually cracks the top ten, do I really have to take her to the front lines to face the Others in the final battle?
The worry only flickered through his mind. After checking Arya's advancement score—hitting the target half the time—he breathed a sigh of relief. While Queenscrown and the Night's Watch weren't lacking in talent, they weren't so desperate that a little girl could make it into the final round. Drawing a bow was not as easy as it looked; after a few more rounds, she wouldn't even be able to lift her arms.
During a break in the competition, Myrcella spoke up in a low voice: "Lord Egger, your attitude toward Lady Greyjoy is a bit... stiff, isn't it?"
"It has to be." Egger glanced at the back of Asha's head a few meters away and sighed, explaining just as quietly. "There are always women in this world who think that if they have a bit of beauty, men should revolve around them or treat them specially. If I'm not decisive in showing her my stance, she'll only misunderstand and think I'm interested, leading her to believe she can trade her fle... trade 'certain prices' for things." Realizing he was discussing this with a young girl, he quickly skipped over the cruder parts. "If I don't maintain a firm attitude, it will only bring more trouble."
"I didn't mean... that you should accept her trade." Myrcella was also a female; in fact, her proactive approach to Egger was likely fueled by a subconscious confidence in her own appearance. Her face flushed a slight crimson at his words. "I know that out of respect for Lord Theon, you must give his sister some preferential treatment, yet you don't want to get too entangled with her... but have you forgotten her 'sparring' with Arya? This time she didn't try to hurt Arya, and everyone is relieved. You warned Arya not to do it again, and she might listen... but think: the sparring might have stopped, but as 'friends,' if Asha meets Arya in Queenscrown and calls out to her for some 'girl talk,' given Arya's temperament, would she pretend not to hear and ignore her?"
Egger raised an eyebrow. Myrcella had pointed out a blind spot in his thinking. A skilled warrior woman like Asha wasn't just a threat when trading blows on the training ground. If she wanted to cause trouble... indeed, merely forbidding Arya from practicing with her wasn't a foolproof plan.
"Oh, I'm rambling. My Lord, pretend you didn't hear that while I reorganize my thoughts." Myrcella shook her small head vigorously. "My suggestion is that you shouldn't rely on simple silence to expect her to cool down, realize everything, and become a content prisoner. Not everyone is as calm and unemotional as you. If you continue with this passive 'cold treatment'—people who see no hope are capable of doing crazy things. You either lock her up completely as a prisoner, or you give her a little hope by making a couple of verbal promises—like saying you'll ask the Starks for her, or consider giving her something to do. You don't have to follow through immediately, but having a goal—at least you'll see the signs before she truly snaps."
To be honest, Myrcella's suggestion this time wasn't as sharp or eye-opening as her previous ones; it just had a bit of sense to it. Egger thought for a moment, not wanting to snub the little princess's kindness, and nodded. "Fine, I'll find time to talk to her during lunch and soothe my prisoner. At least ensure she doesn't... pull any more stunts before this great war."
Myrcella nodded quickly... if she said any more, she feared her face would burn hot enough to reveal her true intentions.
She had pushed herself to speak for Asha not out of affection for her, but largely out of a selfish desire to test Egger. If he were truly an uncompromising, cold-faced man who only wanted to be a dutiful Lord Commander, her hope of using him to change her fate would be in vain. Conversely, if he was willing to talk to Asha today, or help someone with a small favor tomorrow... once he got used to stepping over the line of duty and authority, he might eventually consider her plea for rescue.
Egger didn't know what Myrcella was thinking; if he did, he would likely just laugh and pat her head. The competition continued. By the time the morning session ended, the top thirty had been decided. Arya had been eliminated as Egger hoped, saving him the dilemma of whether to let her fight.
At noon, after a brief talk with Asha—promising to help feel out the Starks' stance after the war—Egger faced a minor problem. Because this informal tournament used a "flow-through" style where many people shot at once to determine who stayed based on the number of hits, rather than a modern broadcast style where one person shoots at a time, the pace was becoming uncontrollable. If it continued this way, the tournament would end abruptly in less than an hour of afternoon play.
A rare grand event should ideally fill an entire day to justify other activities in the evening. Egger rubbed his chin and quickly had an idea: before the afternoon session began, insert a temporary segment—a simple catapult accuracy competition.
Since the actual cannons couldn't be fired, Egger had equipped every fortress with small to medium catapults capable of launching Wildfire and Dragonglass bombs as the primary heavy firepower along the Wall and Queenscrown. He demanded his artillerymen prioritize accuracy in their training. He had personally tested the results, and they were decent. Using this as a filler event would allow the soldiers to show off in front of the spectators, kill time, and further demonstrate the defensive capabilities of the fortress to the people, boosting their confidence—killing two birds with one stone.
Ten artillery teams were called to participate in this exhibition match, aimed at striking a large circle drawn on the ground 150 meters away (the size of the circle was roughly based on the kill radius of a Dragonglass bomb). The rules were the same as the archery tournament: the team that hit the target most frequently with stone projectiles of equal weight to the bombs would win.
A small portion of the crowd eager for the archery results was indifferent, but most watched the entire process with great interest. After the hour-long interlude, the final stage of the archery tournament began. To increase the spectacle, the organizers appropriately reduced the number of contestants on the field at one time. By this point, everyone left was a skilled marksman; not only were there fewer mistakes, but a single missed arrow could quickly decide elimination or advancement. The number of people on the field dwindled as the spectators grew more numerous. In this heated atmosphere, the top twenty and top ten were finally determined one by one.
Tenth and eighth place were taken by a New Gift man and a Mountain Clan warrior Egger didn't recognize. Beric Dondarrion, the Lord of Blackhaven known in the original story for being blessed with immortality by the Red God, was unexpectedly a fine archer and took ninth. Sixth place went to the famous Kissed by Fire, Ygritte, the only woman in the top ten. Fifth was a Winterfell soldier—Egger wondered if he should keep him around to fulfill the reward of carrying Lightbringer into the final battle if Catelyn were to return to Winterfell. Seventh, fourth, and third place all came from the Castle Black rangers, Egger's former colleagues, led by the current First Ranger, Jaremy Rykker.
Finally, only the battle for first and second remained. Anguy, the archery champion of the King's Landing tournament who had claimed he would definitely take the top spot, never expected to encounter such a rival in this cold, remote place. Theon Greyjoy was younger and less experienced, but his advantage was ten years spent in the North, becoming familiar with its humidity and freezing winds. Both men had not missed a single arrow since entering the field and eliminating all other contestants. In this competition decided by hit rate rather than ring scores, regardless of their true skill, they were currently tied!
After Yam ran to the stands to ask Egger how to proceed, an extra round was added.
After five arrows each, both were still perfect!
Egger felt a spark of interest and announced a new rule on the spot: "Rounds of three arrows each, alternate firing. If the score is still tied at the end of a round, the target moves back thirty feet... and so on, until a winner is determined."
Unlike thermal weapons, the kinetic energy of a bow—a cold weapon—comes entirely from the muscles of the archer, which is already taxing. As the distance increases, the strain only grows. With this fast-paced increase in distance, even if both archers were peerless, someone would eventually fall due to a lack of endurance!
A duel at the summit! Since most of the Gift's residents had never seen much of the world, the atmosphere began to boil. The spectators, who had been waiting to disperse, were re-energized. Much like a penalty shootout in a football match, when only two duelists remained and the rules were simplified to something raw and brutal, even those who weren't fans of either side would stop to watch out of curiosity!
Three hits, add thirty feet.
Three hits x2, add another thirty feet.
Three hits x3, add another thirty feet!
After ninety feet were added, the distance between the targets and the archers reached a staggering hundred meters. Many spectators from the mountains or beyond the Wall—especially the latter—stared with wide eyes and expressions of disbelief. It wasn't that they couldn't shoot; Ygritte and the other New Gift contestant in the top ten were also gifted, but they had fallen early because their self-made bows were of poor quality. At a hundred meters, Ygritte's weirwood shortbow would struggle to even reach the target, yet the two contestants on the field maintained perfect scores!
One arrow, both hit!
Two arrows, both hit!
Three arrows, both hit!
Still a tie.
At this moment, everyone forgot their cultural and religious differences; they forgot they had once hated and warred with one another. The roars, cheers, and discussions around the field were like boiling water. The noise almost tore through the leaden clouds in the sky, and the somber atmosphere of war preparation that had hung over Queenscrown for days was swept away!
Up ahead, the staff energetically rushed onto the field to move the targets, while at the archer's mark, the archery instructor of Queenscrown turned helplessly toward the main stand and shrugged.
Theon Greyjoy's bow was a fine yew longbow, a gift from his foster father, Lord Eddard Stark, on his sixteenth name day. Let alone a hundred meters, he would dare a try at a hundred and fifty. However, wanting to try is one thing; now, after drawing his bow dozens of times in succession, he felt a dull ache rising in his shoulders and back. That last arrow had been fired with a tremble.
In contrast, Anguy, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere without even a surname, looked perfectly relaxed, as if he could shoot another hundred arrows. Even knowing he might be bluffing, it dealt a massive blow to the confidence of the less experienced Theon.
Seeing the Lord Commander nod to him in encouragement, Theon turned back, gritted his teeth, and looked at the field. The staff moved the targets and ran clear of the danger zone. On the other side, Anguy notched an arrow and drew his bow, aiming casually as if he didn't need to adjust for the changing distance and wind speed, and let the arrow fly.
The arrow traced a beautiful arc across the hundred-meter gap. Blown several degrees off course by a crosswind, it seemed as though it were pulled by an invisible hand—turning back to align with the target.
With a faint thud of impact, the arrow hit home!
A mountain-shaking roar of cheers erupted.
Theon gritted his teeth, notched an arrow, settled into his stance, and put his back into it, forcing one last attempt.
His posture was slightly distorted. The correct way was to relax the arms and use the back muscles, but the reality was: without leaning more on his upper arms, he could no longer draw the bow far enough to reach that distance.
Holding his breath, he adjusted his aim for the wind speed and direction. Maintaining the draw was extremely taxing; he had to let go quickly.
But the very instant Theon released his arrow, the sounds of horns and alarm bells rang out simultaneously from the direction of the Queenscrown watchtowers.
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