The tournament ground was a massive enclosure.
The ground had a slightly sticky black soil texture. The earth had already been trampled by the horses in the knight’s tournament yesterday, followed by a night’s revelry by tens of thousands, making it very loose.
Perfect for a melee tournament.
So placing the group tournament after the knights’ competition has been a common tradition in the Westeros Continent tournaments for so long.
The fence was only half a man’s height, and anyone wanting to exit during battle merely had to reach the edge, flip over, and retreat, avoiding unnecessary deaths.
But today, the champion prize of ten thousand gold dragons led everyone to believe that today’s contest would be exceptionally bloody.
Edd Stark sat on the platform where the King had just walked over, which was much emptier today after being full yesterday, missing the Stark family and the Queen and her attendants who were scolded away by the King.
Petyr Baelish sat down beside Edd with an apologetic face, once again explaining that his lack of knowledge of the King’s temper caused this situation.
His attitude was sincere and earnest... if Edd hadn’t seen through him sooner, he might have thought that way.
The cheers of the crowd roared like tides.
Robert Baratheon had donned his temporarily expanded armor for the occasion again.
The dark iron color was the main tone, with a helmet like a bucket adorned with fearsome antlers on both sides. The surcoat over the armor was dirt yellow.
His immense stature combined with his enormous armor and antlered helm was enough to make many tremble.
The attendant responsible for opening and closing the fence gates was dumbfounded.
After Robert had entered, he blankly shut the gate.
Behind Robert, Lann smirked, walked to the edge of the fence, and supported himself with one hand, the hem of his high Bear School Armored padded garment tracing a smooth arc in the air.
Effortlessly, he flipped inside with fluid movement.
Few noticed this at the scene, and those who did were unaware of the armor’s weight.
Robert’s Two-Handed Warhammer was half his height, and the massive, fearsome hammerhead made people imagine the sight of it striking a human body.
There is a place in Westeros called the Ruby Ford.
The name doesn’t come from ruby mines, but because, during the Rebellion, Robert’s hammer struck the chest piece adorned with rubies of Prince Rhaegar.
Prince Rhaegar was acknowledged as the mightiest knight in the Seven Kingdoms at the time, yet Robert’s single blow crushed the thickest, strongest chest plate!
Prince Rhaegar died instantly, his rubies scattering into fragments, which some claim are still found on the ford today.
Calling Robert a top-class knight and warrior in the Seven Kingdoms of that era was no exaggeration.
And now, as King, he had stepped back into the mud of battle and slaughter after over a decade.
—and thoroughly enjoyed it!
"Ah... fantastic, truly fantastic."
Under everyone’s watchful eyes, Robert hefted his massive hammer. His grip on the long shaft opened and closed.
"What are you waiting for? Start! Fight! For your gold dragons! Anyone who dares to avoid me today or refuses to attack me, I’ll melt that gold and drown you in it! Haha! Hahaha!"
Robert’s shout settled the uneasy expressions of the dishonorable warriors and mercenaries on the field.
The yearning for money and glory overpowered their reluctance in the presence of royalty.
Some began panting heavily, others licked their lips... everyone’s eyes gleamed like hungry wolves.
The King’s words were commands, and the referee blew the trumpet by his side without hesitation.
With the sound of a "toot," the scene went momentarily silent.
Chaos erupted in shouts and cries!
A Longsword came cutting down at Lann.
The young man, backed against the fence, crossed his arms, watching the King not far away.
As the wind from the Longsword approached, he didn’t even look.
A simple duck of his head, and the sword meant for his head swung past his face.
Lann reached out, snatched the opponent’s sword hand, the struggle was feeble against him.
Grabbing the opponent’s sword hilt, he forced the man’s own fist against his face!
"Thud!" his mouth was full of blood.
His eyes rolled back, but he hadn’t collapsed yet, so Lann carelessly landed two more "thuds."
The lower half of this man’s face was covered in blood, and his body collapsed totally.
Releasing his grip, letting the first opponent naturally fall. Lann pushed himself erect against the fence, moving toward the center of the arena.
Robert seemed to have a madness about him.
He thrived on being the center of attention, even becoming a target in the midst of a brawl didn’t bother him.
The intimidating hammer wailed in the air, and the next moment, "thud," a mercenary dressing man was hammered on the shoulder.
In an instant, he was left with a terribly uneven shoulder, twitching and roaring on the blood-soaked black ground.
"What a thrill! What a thrill! Haha!"
Robert ducked, avoiding a Page Hammer strike to his helmet, and intercepted the blow with his arm guard.
The pain burst from his bones, but it only made him laugh harder.
With the weight of the giant hammer, he swung it out, cutting through the air toward the Page Hammer wielder’s head!
Instantly, a scene like a smashed watermelon presented before everyone.
The Westeros tournament never indulged in sentimentality; its essence was showcasing the rulers’ might to the populace!
Blood and death were mandatory footnotes!
With each vanquished foe or hit taken, Robert emitted a thunderous, joyous roar.
On the grandstand, Grand Maester Paisier’s old cheeks shook, his body shivering each time Robert laughed.
He murmured intermittently about a name, "Laughing Storm."
That was Robert’s grandfather, the Duke of Baratheon, a contemporary of the legendary Royal Forest Iron Guard, Duncan the Tall.
He once stirred rebellion, self-proclaiming as "Storm King." A legendary knight of that era.
Robert’s current state made the Maester reminisce sincerely about past legends.
And as Robert swung his hammer, nearly clearing the enemies around him, he suddenly let out a scream.
This sound made everyone’s hearts jump to their throats.
But soon after, Robert proved he was fine.
"Armor-piercing daggers? Did you mean to fight with these toothpicks?"
In the field, Robert pulled a shallowly embedded, pointed dagger from the armor connection at his back, tossing it to the ground, mocking his enemies.
But he swiftly realized something was wrong.
Around him, in the battlefield center, seven or eight remaining adversaries had cold eyes fixed on him, synchronized in drawing the same style of armor-piercing daggers from their waistbands.
He understood in an instant... this was an assassination!