Inciting the Wrath of Many

Pointing at the delirious Burter, he sneered:

"This Knight seems unfriendly towards me and even harbors prejudice against us Dornish people."

"This is wrong."

The spear cut off one of Burter's ears. The Dornish youth said, "I've heard a saying that women from the Vale are not as attractive as goats. Is that true?"

"Honestly, I haven't experienced the taste of a Vale woman yet, so I don't know if they're truly inferior to goats."

He kicked Burter's head, mocking, "Hey, Knight of the Vale, give me your opinion, offer some reference."

Burter bled profusely from multiple wounds, dizzy and disoriented.

As the Dornish youth prattled on, Burter forced himself to take a breath, his lips moving, seeming to want to say something.

The Dornish youth squatted down, grabbed his hair, and pulled him up, grinning sinisterly, "If you want to speak, speak louder."

"Cough, cough, son of a bitch... Dornish... monkey..."

Coughing up two mouthfuls of clotted blood, Burter spat a bloody phlegm all over the other man's face, cursing weakly with a pained smile.

"Heh, damn old Vale man."

The filth enraged the Dornish youth, but he didn't deliver a swift death.

A quick death was a mercy.

He didn't want this old Vale man to die so easily.

The spear was then thrust into Burter's limbs one after another, each time twisting and churning within the flesh, inflicting extreme pain.

He tortured him for a full ten minutes.

Only when Burter could no longer endure did he pierce his throat with the spear tip.

Ending his suffering.

"Damn Dornishman, you'll face retribution!"

Suddenly, a curse came from the seats outside the arena, followed by an empty wine cup being thrown.

With a clink, it shattered on the muddy ground.

This curse seemed to sound the horn for venting.

More and more people in the audience stood up, shouting curses and throwing things at the Dornish youth.

Wine cups, apples, dinner plates...

Even several ladies' high-heeled shoes.

Rhaenyra, amidst the crowd, stared expressionlessly at the Dornish youth who was dodging and laughing mockingly.

As a Princess of the realm, she already had a poor impression of Dornish people.

Furthermore, her mother, Aemma Arryn, hailed from a noble family of the Vale.

The Dornish youth not only brutally murdered a Knight of the Vale loyal to her but also shamelessly mocked the women of the Vale.

This undoubtedly ignited Rhaenyra's murderous intent.

"Cole, go down and duel him. Kill him for me!"

Rhaenyra turned her head and gave Cole her orders.

Cole looked troubled, "I am happy to serve the Princess, and that Dornishman is indeed detestable."

"However, I am a Kingsguard, and without the King's command, I cannot voluntarily enter a duel."

"Then I'll find someone who can make the decision."

Rhaenyra brushed Cole aside and walked to Viserys's side, lowering her voice, "Father, that man is too arrogant. He's disrespecting the entire Kingdom."

"I can have Cole act. He can definitely avenge Ser Burter."

Viserys was already furious.

Although he agreed with his daughter's suggestion, he maintained his composure and advised, "Wait a moment. The Kingdom has many valiant Knights. The Kingsguard cannot act rashly; we must give the young men a chance to showcase themselves."

His words held much truth, and Rhaenyra, on the verge of retorting, ultimately swallowed her words.

The melee had to continue. Lyonel spoke up, silencing the audience's curses and attacks towards the Dornish youth.

Under everyone's watchful eyes, the Dornish youth became even more arrogant, "The Knights of the Vale are no match for me. Are there any stronger contenders? I crave a true opponent, not just cowards and weaklings."

He laughed heartily, utterly presumptuous.

"I'll do it!"

Such a hateful individual attracted the animosity of many contestants. A middle-aged Knight in silver-grey armor stepped forward.

He walked onto the tournament grounds, holding a longsword, and said gravely, "My name is Thorl Baratheon, from the Stormlands. Let me teach you to have some reverence."

The Dornish youth smiled playfully, "Is that so? I hope you'll still be as imposing later, Knight of the Stormlands."

Meanwhile, in the banquet area.

Rows upon rows of dining tables were laden with a lavish spread of food. Many noblewomen and young ladies clustered around tables, chatting as if at a tea party.

Rhaegar occupied a dining table by himself, a large space cleared in front of him where a single type of pastry was placed.

He spoke, asking what it was called.

It resembled a chocolate cookie but was shaped like a tart, with a sweet and chewy texture.

"This is delicious. Who came up with this?"

Munching heartily on the pastry, Rhaegar's eyes crinkled with joy, clearly delighted.

"No, when I get back, I have to ask Alicent which chef is this amazing, and have him make pastries for me exclusively from now on."

Rhaegar thought to himself.

As he was eating, a figure abruptly sat down beside him.

Under Rhaegar's bewildered gaze, the figure picked up a plate of chocolate pastries and popped them into their mouth, their expression one of utter bliss.

"Where did this person come from? Why are they eating my pastries?"

Rhaegar grumbled inwardly but ultimately said nothing, as there were still several plates left.

However, reality soon taught Rhaegar a lesson.

When something displeases you, if you don't put a stop to it, it will only make you more displeased.

Rhaegar had only taken a few bites when the other person began to devour the pastries ravenously.

A plate was gone in the blink of an eye.

"Tastes really good. A diligent and capable chef."

The other person mumbled, and before Rhaegar could react, they grabbed another plate of pastries.

Then came the third plate, the fourth...

When only the last plate remained, Rhaegar finally couldn't stand it anymore.

He shot up from his chair, shielding the last plate of pastries in front of him, and loudly demanded, "Do you know who I am? How dare you snatch my pastries! Are you always this brave?"

He spoke with great spirit, but unfortunately, he was too young.

His voice was immature, and his increasingly round face lacked any menacing quality, making it seem like a child's squabble.

The other person scratched their curly hair in distress and chuckled sheepishly, "You are a Prince, but pastries on the table are for guests to eat, aren't they?"

Rhaegar grew even angrier, "You know I'm a Prince and you still snatched my pastries?"

"You wouldn't even let me have the last plate! Snatching food from a child, have you no shame!"

"Uh..."

"There's no age or status when it comes to delicious food. Besides, Prince, you're still a child. Eating too many sweets will cause cavities."

"You can't handle it, so give the pastries to me. I don't fear cavities."

The other person shamelessly argued back.

"You scoundrel, trying to trick me! Do you really think I'm a three-year-old?"

Rhaegar pointed at the other person and instructed Illyric, "Sir, teach him a lesson he won't forget. Let's see if he dares to be so shameless again."

Illyric: ...

"Yes, Your Highness."

Although he was reluctant to fight at a banquet, the other person was bullying the young Prince, so he had to step in to uphold the Prince's dignity.

Illyric did not draw his sword. He strode behind the other person and reached out a large hand to grab their shoulder.

"No, no, no, Sir White Knight, I think there's been a misunderstanding between us."

"I don't care. If you provoke someone you shouldn't, you must bear the consequences."

Illyric had no time for pleasantries. He gripped the shoulder, intending to throw the person down.

Slap--

In a flash, a blur struck Illyric's hand, sharp and precise.

Under the pain, Illyric instinctively let go, a bruise appearing on the back of his hand.