The mystery knight

On the final day of the Rose Field Martial Arts Tournament, even the wind carried a restless, sweet fragrance.

After the morning light faded, the midday sun scorched the white marble stands, and the gold rose banners fluttered atop the main stand. A crowd even denser than in previous days thronged the grassy slopes and stands, clutching bread or wine in their hands, their eyes frequently glancing towards the main stand. Daemon hadn't appeared since morning; Gael sat in her pale blue rose cloak, her fingers unconsciously twisting a silk handkerchief. Mysaria sat beside her, her eyes beneath her platinum curls also occasionally glancing towards the entrance.

Martyn Tyrell held "The History of Tourneys in the Reach" but didn't turn a single page for a long time. Lady Florence's emerald green skirt swayed gently, clearly also paying attention to the dragon prince who had not yet appeared.

Duke Mathos Tyrell, on the other hand, seemed particularly excited. He had changed into a more magnificent gold and green brocade robe, and his brooch was a jewel the size of a pigeon's egg. His round belly made his belt seem about to burst open. He was boasting to Earl Redwyne beside him, "The final day of the jousting is sure to be a good show! Garlan has been practicing his spear for half a month; I guarantee he'll take first place!"

As he spoke, he patted his eldest son on the shoulder. Garlan Tyrell, dressed in silver-green armor with the gold rose emblem on his breastplate gleaming, merely nodded slightly, his gaze falling on the knights lined up in the arena, a hint of worry hidden in his eyes—he always felt that Rose Field today exuded an unusual tension.

The knights' armor was more exquisite than in the previous days: Thaddeus Rowan 'Earl new green armor was engraved with ivy vines and adorned with turquoise, Alyn Redwyne's silver armor was also embellished with jewels and the pattern of Arbor, and Mace Florent of the House Florent's red and gold armor was even inlaid with tiny rubies.

Only at the very edge, a few figures clad in gold and green armor stood out—they were Mathos's illegitimate sons. The largest wore a silver armor with slightly worn edges, the gold roses engraved on his breastplate crooked and varied. One of the short, stout illegitimate sons had a bruise on his left eye, clearly from being beaten that day. He was currently shrinking back, his gaze uneasily sweeping towards the entrance of the arena, as if afraid of something.

"The duel is about to begin!" The horn bearer blew the brass horn, and as soon as the sound faded, cheers from the stands lifted the roof off. But in the gaps between the knights charging into battle, the empty seats in the main stands remained conspicuously empty, and Daemon's figure still hadn't appeared.

Just as everyone was discussing this, the small door on the west side of the arena suddenly creaked open.

A figure in simple black armor slowly walked in. The armor was covered in scratches, and the edges were even rusty. Even the helmet was made of the most ordinary iron, covering the entire face.

The rickety horse beneath him was skinny and bony, its mane a tangled mess. Compared to the magnificent warhorses in the arena, it looked like an old donkey just dragged out of the corner of the stable.

His shabby appearance instantly amplified the murmurs from the stands. Mathos frowned. "Where did this poor knight come from? He doesn't even have a decent suit of armor, yet he dares to come to the Highgarden's arena?"

But the illegitimate son with the bruise on his left eye turned deathly pale the moment he saw the figure in black armor. His body trembled uncontrollably, and he nearly dropped his spear. He had a feeling that the figure's posture was strikingly similar to the one who had beaten him that morning.

The mysterious knight made no unnecessary movements, simply riding to the center of the arena. His iron helmet turned towards the bastard son with bruised eyes, and his voice, muffled as if wrapped in burlap, came through the helmet. "Round one, you."

The bastard son with bruised eyes was terrified and turned his horse to run away, but the mysterious knight was much faster. The black-armored figure suddenly bent down, and the spear in his hand shot out like a venomous snake, accurately piercing through the gap in the bastard son's armor. The spear tip, with a sharp sound of cutting through the air, plunged into the other's saddle and then suddenly flicked upwards!

"Bang!" The bastard screamed as the spear flung him off his horse. His body arced through the air before crashing heavily into the wooden wall at the edge of the arena. The spear pierced right through the wall, pinning him to it! Blood trickled down the wall, soaking the golden rose wreath hanging there. The bastard grimaced in pain, but couldn't even flinch.

The entire venue fell into a deathly silence.

The next second, cheers and gasps erupted simultaneously—this ruthless, almost arrogant entrance was practically a public slap in the face to Mathos Tyrell! The Reach lords in the stands exchanged glances: Earl Florent's hand holding his wine glass paused, but a barely perceptible smile crept onto his lips; House Peake Earl snorted coldly, his eyes filled with schadenfreude; the ladies of House Oakheart covered their mouths, but their eyes gleamed with excitement—everyone knew that Mathos's bastards had been running rampant in Highgarden and the Reach, robbing shops and bullying innocent people, long incurring the wrath of the masses. Now that someone had stood up for them, how could they not be secretly pleased?

"Insolence!" Mathos slammed his fist on the table, his round belly trembling with rage, his gold rose brooch nearly flying off. "Guards! Save my son! This madman dares to cause trouble in our Highgarden; he's got a death wish!"

He completely ignored the stares of those around him: Martyn Tyrell's face was ashen, and when he reached out to pull him away, he was pushed away; Lady Florence covered half her face with a silk handkerchief, her eyes filled with helplessness; Earl Redwyne (Mathos's brother-in-law) coughed lightly, trying to smooth things over. "Brother-in-law, there are rules to the tournament, and the Mysterious Knight can conceal his identity—" But Mathos wouldn't listen, and roared at the court attendants below the arena, "What are you all standing there for? Go!"

Three green-robed attendants immediately rushed into the arena, swords in hand, attempting to remove the spear pinning the bastard son. But the mysterious knight was faster. He leaped from his horse, snatched the oak spear the bastard son had left on the ground, and pointed the tip at the attendants. His black armor gleamed coldly in the sunlight. "Come any closer, and you'll be the next ones nailed to the wall."

The servants retreated, frightened by the coldness in his eyes, but the black-clad figure didn't stop. He turned to look at the other illegitimate children in the arena. They were holding weapons, their eyes filled with hatred and fear, but none of them dared to step forward first. "All at once, or one at a time?" The mysterious knight's voice was still deep, but every word was like an ice pick, piercing people's hearts with chills.

A tall, illegitimate son gritted his teeth and charged forward with his spear. "You dare hurt my brother, I'll kill you!" But as soon as he got close, the mysterious knight dodged to the side, his spear sweeping across and slamming heavily into the horse's leg. The horse reared up in shock, and the tall, illegitimate son screamed as he fell. Before he could get up, a spear was pressed against his throat.

Who else?

The remaining four illegitimate sons exchanged glances and actually charged forward together. But the mysterious knight's spear skills were astonishingly fast. He would sometimes knock away his opponents' spears, and sometimes smash the saddle with the butt of his spear. In just three breaths, he had knocked three of the illegitimate sons away with his spear. Two of them, like the first one, were pinned to the wooden wall in different directions. The remaining one fell to the ground, clutching his leg and wailing in pain.

The stands erupted in chaos! Broken armor lay scattered across the grass, frightened warhorses galloped wildly, fallen knights groaned, and the mysterious knight in black armor stood alone in the center of the arena, his lance pointed diagonally at the ground, blood dripping from the tip onto the grass. The scene was both terrifying and shocking— Mathos Tyrell's face was as red as a boiled lobster, even his ears were burning.

"I'm offering a bounty! Fifty gold dragons! No, a hundred!" Mathos suddenly roared, completely disregarding noble decorum. "Whoever captures this madman will not only receive gold dragons, but also the freedom to marry any daughter of House Tyrell! Even if she's just his mistress!"

These words caused an uproar! Even Mysaria frowned, Gael muttered under her breath, "How could His Highness say such a thing—." Martyn Tyrell trembled with anger, Lady Florence shook her head slightly, the Duchess glared at him, and Garlan Tyrell clenched his fists, his eyes filled with shame that the "Growing Strong" of the House Tyrell had been so humiliated by his father.

Sure enough, a dozen or so brave knights in variegated armor rushed out from the crowd at the generous reward. Most of them were unknown "gamblers" who only had their eyes on the golden dragon and the daughter of House Tyrell and didn't care about knightly honor at all.

But these people were no match for the mysterious knight: some were knocked off their horses by lances as soon as they rushed into the arena, while others fell flat on their faces without even touching the hem of their opponent's clothes. In less than a quarter of an hour, more than a dozen figures fell to the ground. The black armor was splattered with mud, but it only made it look more intimidating.

Finally, only the Mysterious Knight remained in the arena, along with a group of knights gathered on the east side— Celtigar 'Colin silver armor stained with grass clippings, Rupert Crabb gripping his longsword, Lyonel Corbray's silver sword sheathed, and several Reach knights and lords, including Thaddeus Rowan, Lucas Tyrell, Alyn Redwyne, and Mace Florent.

They looked at the mysterious knight with admiration for his strength, but also with concern. After several fierce battles, his stamina must be greatly depleted. Challenging him now might seem like taking advantage of his vulnerability.

But the mysterious knight paid no attention to any of this. He walked up to a brown horse that had been abandoned by its owner. Although the horse was not as magnificent as Colin's white horse, it was still quite strong. He mounted the horse, picked up a well-preserved oak lance, and turned to the knights on the east side, clearly intending to challenge them to a duel.

This competition, however, was completely different from the previous ones.

Facing Alyn Redwyne, the Mysterious Knight did not rush to attack. Instead, he slowed down and gently pointed at his posture with the butt of his gun, as if to say, "Sink your shoulders a little more and don't let the tip of your gun wobble."

So when Alyn Redwyne was easily knocked off his horse by him, he wasn't angry at all. Instead, he got up and bowed, saying, "Thank you for your guidance!"

Facing Earl Thaddeus Rowan, the mysterious knight deliberately reduced the force of his charge, even reaching out to help the old Earl, who was about to fall from his horse, as if to say, "Your marksmanship is still excellent, it was just my good fortune." Earl Rowan smiled and nodded, "A formidable young man indeed!"

The defeated noble knights all voluntarily withdrew from the arena. The mysterious knight did not stop him; his actions were no longer ruthless, but instead exuded a rare elegance and gentleness, as if the madman who had just pinned someone to the wall was a different person.

The atmosphere in the stands gradually eased, but Mathos's face remained grim. He stared at Garlan, his tone carrying an unquestionable command, "Garlan! You go! The House Tyrell ' reputation cannot be lost like this!"

Garlan frowned. He knew his father's request was absurd, but the honor of House Tyrell could not be trampled on any longer.

He took a deep breath, mounted his horse, his silver-green armor gleaming in the sunlight, and pointed his lance at the mysterious knight. "Please enlighten me."

The two horses charged simultaneously, the clanging of their lances making one's eardrums vibrate.

Garlan's marksmanship carried the elegance of Reach Knight, each move displaying the steadiness of well-trained skill;

But the mysterious knight's marksmanship was superior, sometimes as fast as lightning, sometimes as steady as a mountain. In just three rounds, Garlan felt his wrist go numb, and his spear was firmly suppressed by his opponent. In a second, the tip of the mysterious knight's spear was pressed against his neck.

Garlan didn't struggle, but stared at the black armor, his voice filled with doubt. "Who are you? Why are you targeting House Tyrell?"

The mysterious knight remained silent for a moment, then a familiar yet unfamiliar voice came from beneath his helmet, deep yet clear. "You shouldn't have attacked me. In a sense, I'm fighting for you."

These words left Garlan stunned, while Lucas Tyrell, the nephew of Mathos had just left the arena and had been knocked off his horse by Daemon at the tournament in King's Landing's Landing last year, and mocked by the Reach for a year, suddenly felt a jolt. The mysterious knight's move—precisely dodging the opponent's spear tip and then lightly tapping the saddle with the butt of the spear—was exactly the same as the move Daemon Blackfyre had used to knock him off at the tournament in King's Landing's Landing last year!

"You are—you are Daemon Highness Damon!" Lucas was so excited he almost shouted, but the words were interrupted by the commotion in the arena. A mysterious knight slowly raised his hand and removed the iron helmet from his head, causing gasps from the crowd. The men marveled at his identity, and the women were amazed by his appearance. The group of dukes' illegitimate sons were terrified and wanted to run away.

The golden rays of the setting sun shone down, and her long, silvery-gold hair cascaded down like molten gold and silver, gleaming with a soft yet dazzling light.

Those deep purple eyes were as captivating as the night sky, and his handsome face was expressionless, yet it exuded the majesty of a true dragon.

The black three-headed dragon brand on Daemon's right shoulder glowed slightly in the setting sun, as if echoing something in the distance. Garlan Tyrell's pupils suddenly contracted, and he instinctively uttered the name: "Your Highness Daemon?"

Just then, a deafening dragon roar suddenly echoed from the sky!

The Glutton's black figure swept across the Rose Field like a dark cloud, its enormous dragon wings obscuring half the setting sun. Its pitch-black dragon eyes swept across the arena, and the white breath it exhaled carried a scorching heat, causing everyone present to instinctively hold their breath. The Black Dragon circled above Daemon, roaring angrily, as if announcing the arrival of its master.

The arena was deathly silent, save for the Glutton's dragon roar echoing across Rose Field. The golden rays of the setting sun fell on Daemon's silver hair, making the Dragon Mark on his right shoulder even clearer. Garlan's grip on his spear loosened unconsciously.