The Dornish

"You're right, Ser."

Rhaegar was at a loss for words, but that didn't stop him from despising the bloody tourney.

He told Rhaenyra, "I'm hungry," then got up and headed straight for the feast.

The pointless slaughter turned his stomach. He needed some fruit to wash away the taste.

Illyric shrugged and followed behind him as his guard.

The jousting was over. There were still mounted archery, mêlées, duels...

After round upon round of thrilling contests splashed with blood, the tournament moved on to the duels.

The rules were simple: two people, clad in armor and armed with whatever weapons they chose, fought without limit.

The duel ended when one side surrendered or died.

In other words, a one-on-one fight.

The first two duels were both exciting. The knights swung swords and maces, and the clash of metal set the crowd's blood racing.

Their armor offered excellent protection, so at worst they would be wounded. Nobody would be crippled or killed.

The people in the dueling ground weren't fools, either.

They had come for honor and gold. Now that they had shown their faces before most of the kingdom's noble lords, why risk fighting to the death?

As long as the fight was fierce enough, the noble lords would cheer and toss them prizes.

They couldn't tell the difference between a real fight and a performance.

The third duel soon began.

One fighter was Bart, the Iron Hammer Knight from Iron Oak City in the Vale.

He was tall and rugged, clad in silver-gray armor, with a warhammer in one hand and a shield in the other.

His opponent was a brown-skinned young man in light armor, carrying a spear.

It was easy to see that he was from Dorne.

It was worth mentioning that although King Aegon the Conqueror had united the Seven Kingdoms, the Dornish had never acknowledged their submission to the Targaryen Dynasty and had rebelled for years.

Only a few years before Aegon I's death, the Prince of Martell in the Kingdom of Dorne sent an envoy, and the two sides reached a settlement.

Thus the war between the Targaryens and the Dornish came to an end.

Of course, though the great war had ceased, smaller skirmishes never did.

The Dornish, a fierce people, often raided the surrounding regions, causing trouble throughout the kingdom.

At the sight of the Dornishman below, Rhaenyra's boredom finally gave way to a flicker of interest.

"I didn't expect a Dornish warrior to enter this tournament."

Rhaenyra turned to Cole, who stood guard beside her, and asked curiously, "Who do you think will win?"

Cole laughed. "They haven't even started fighting. How could I tell?"

"They say the Dornish are fierce fighters, savage barbarians who eat raw meat and drink blood. I wonder if it's true."

Rhaenyra watched with keen anticipation.

The judge blew the horn, and the duel began.

Bart hid his face beneath his helmet and advanced step by step, swinging his warhammer, careful not to let his guard down.

He had heard the stories about the Dornish, too.

Cruel, ruthless...

He didn't dare let his guard down. Who knew if his opponent would fight dirty?

The Dornish youth, by contrast, seemed entirely at ease. Twirling his spear, he paced back and forth, taunting Bart. "Hey, big guy, why aren't you working in a blacksmith's shop? Don't waste that lousy hammer."

As he spoke, he darted nimbly from side to side, putting constant pressure on his opponent.

Bart had never been to war, and his nerves were nowhere near as steady. After being insulted, he couldn't keep his temper in check.

"Brown-skinned monkey, I hope your head's as hard as your mouth. Let's see if my hammer can smash it."

As his opponent leaped aside, Bart rushed forward and swung his warhammer in a sweeping blow at his waist, the strike full of force.

The spectators watched with rapt attention, eyes wide, hoping for the thrilling sight of blood spraying everywhere.

"Fool. You're too slow."

The Dornish youth rolled across the ground, dodging the warhammer.

He spread his legs to stop his roll, then thrust his spear into a weak point where Bart's leg armor joined. Blood spurted at once.

"Ah! Damn Dornishman!"

The pain roused Bart's fighting spirit. He roared in fury and swung his warhammer down again.

He wanted to smash the Dornish youth's head.

But the Dornish youth was far too nimble.

He rolled aside like a donkey, yanked his spear free with a sharp tug, and thrust again at the weak spot on Bart's lower back.

Schk!

The spear pierced his lower back. Bart staggered and fell to his knees, blood seeping from beneath his armor.

Having landed his blow, the Dornish youth didn't press his advantage. Instead, he circled Bart, who couldn't get back to his feet.

He taunted him with a sneer. "Ser from the Vale, you don't seem to like us Dornish very much!"

He pulled the spear from Bart's wound and continued as Bart screamed, "You called me a brown-skinned monkey. Then what does that make you Vale folk?"

"Hairless goats?"

Bart struggled to rise, but his opponent kicked him down. Humiliation consumed him, and he shouted, "You craven Dornishman! Fight me head-on if you have the guts. Stop hopping around like a monkey!"

"Ha! What a clever thing to say—to ask someone to challenge you at your own strength and their weakness."

The Dornish youth made no effort to hide his scorn. "On the battlefield, do you ask your enemies not to dodge, too, Vale goat?"

"Damn bastard, die!"

Bart had lost all reason. While his opponent was talking, he gripped his warhammer and swung it in a low arc, trying to break the other man's ankle.

The Dornish youth had hardly been caught unawares.

He hopped lightly over the long-planned ambush, then drove the spearhead down through Bart's right hand, the one gripping the hammer.

With a twist of the shaft, he severed Bart's hand. Bart let out a terrible wail.

Thud!

As soon as the scream escaped, the Dornish youth drove his knee into Bart's jaw, forcing him to choke it back.

Then he ripped off Bart's helmet, exposing his vulnerable head.

The Dornish youth grinned cruelly and, as Bart stared at him in terror, kicked him hard in the mouth.

Teeth and blood spilled from Bart's lips. All he could manage was a despairing whimper.

His head injured, Bart finally collapsed, his body twitching faintly.

The Dornish youth held his spear to Bart's throat and turned to the spectators, shouting, "Look at this! Such a brave Vale knight, refusing to surrender even when death stares him in the face!"

As he spoke, he planted his heavy leather boot on Bart's face and ground it back and forth.

The spectators' expressions changed at the sight.

This was no longer a simple duel. It was a one-sided slaughter.

Knocking out his teeth so he couldn't surrender was nothing but tormenting his opponent.

King Viserys's face turned livid. He rounded on Lyonel, his Prime Minister, and scolded him.

"Where did this Dornish savage come from? He has no honor or manners at all. Is he trying to defy everyone here!?"

Lyonel wiped his brow with a handkerchief, though there was no sweat there, and explained, "Your Grace, the Dornishman down there is named Diga Orle. When he entered the tournament, he said he greatly respected you and wanted to put on a fine show for you."

"And this is what you call a fine show?"

Viserys was furious. "The Dornish have never known gratitude. You should have arrested him for theft and locked him in the black cells until he died."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace."

Lyonel lowered his head in shame. "All we can do now is hope he ends Ser Bart's life quickly and doesn't cause too much trouble."

"Do I need you to tell me that?"

Viserys snorted and ignored him.

In the arena, the Dornish youth continued to leap about and spout nonsense.

"I hear the Vale has many warriors. How can this knight be so weak? Did someone take a bribe to let him in?"

I've worked hard at this for so long, and I finally got signed. I'm so happy.

This chapter is an extra update. The regular update will be at four this afternoon.

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