The sunlight gradually dimmed.
Inside the tent, "The Hound," Sandor Clegane, silently polished the sword across his knees.
It calmed him.
Whenever he was not serving at the prince's side, he never knew what else he could do.
Ever since leaving House Clegane more than a decade ago to join the Lannisters, the Hound had served as Prince Joffrey's guard.
Through countless days and nights, he had watched the prince personally, seeing him slowly become what he was today.
He had become Joffrey's most loyal dog.
No matter how foolish or willful the prince's orders and actions were, he simply carried them out.
He let Prince Joffrey rule his body while allowing "The Mountain," Gregor Clegane, to sear his soul.
Gregor Clegane!
The hideous burn scar on his left cheek constantly reminded him of what "The Mountain" had done. His father, his sister, his family—Gregor had destroyed everything!
The Hound had feared fire ever since.
Behind the flames lay those unbearable memories, and The Mountain!
The Hound had sworn to kill Gregor with his own hands.
But he feared that monster too.
Rage, grief, hatred, and fear tormented him day after day.
Only when carrying out the prince's orders could he temporarily forget everything and catch his breath for a moment.
This time should have been the same.
The Hound once again found himself recalling what had happened yesterday.
In the silent Kingswood.
He had heard the prince say with his own ears, "Sandor Clegane."
It was such an unfamiliar name.
Usually, he was called only "The Hound" or "Dog."
He heard the word "Clegane" only when people compared him with that bastard The Mountain.
Gregor Clegane.
Hmph! A man like that could become a knight who anointed himself with holy oil?!
Compared to being a knight, I'd rather be a dog!
The dog had heard an order.
"At tomorrow's tournament, you will win the championship. I need those ten thousand gold dragons."
That was no small sum.
Even if the dog drank the finest Golden Wine from the Arbor every day until he died of old age, he might not be able to spend it all.
The dog had been about to agree.
But unexpectedly, this time there was a great bone attached.
The prince wore a confident smile. "I know about that matter. The Mountain isn't anything to fear. You can defeat him and kill him."
The dog realized that the prince seemed to have grown up in an instant.
"Don't worry. Once I become king, The Mountain won't be a problem at all."
Joffrey was going to help him kill Gregor?
The Hound felt as though he were dreaming.
But he thought that if Joffrey truly wanted to do it, Lord Tywin probably would not keep protecting Gregor forever.
Strangely, the dog was not particularly happy.
Prince Joffrey and The Mountain, the two most important people in his life, had become connected in a way he never could have imagined.
What would he do after killing Gregor?
The Hound had not figured that out yet.
But at this moment, he was here polishing his sword, thinking of nothing, waiting only to enter the lists and defeat one knight after another.
The tent flap suddenly lifted. Pale yellow light fell across the blade, scattering golden radiance.
"Hound, it's your turn. Your opponent is Dickon Tarly."
Sandor Clegane sheathed his sword.
"Whoever he is, I'm going to win the championship!"
He shoved the man aside and charged off through the crowd...
After more than half a day of eliminations, only five competitors remained in the Jousting Tournament.
"Knight of Flowers," Loras Tyrell.
"Barristan the Bold," Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Barristan Selmy.
The Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, who had received a bye this round.
"The Hound," Sandor Clegane.
The new heir to Horn Hill, Dickon Tarly.
Four more bouts would decide who would claim the ten thousand gold dragons.
"Fifth round of the Jousting Tournament, first match: Ser Dickon Tarly versus Sandor Clegane!"
Dickon Tarly sat astride a tall warhorse, his entire body enclosed in full plate armor. The armor's style was plain, but highly practical.
As usual, the Hound wore smoke-gray armor. With the visor of his hound-shaped helm closed, he rode his mount, Stranger, into battle.
The two faced each other from west and east, more than a hundred paces apart, shields raised on their left arms and lances held in their right hands.
The Hound was on the eastern side, and the evening sunlight had become his opponent too.
But it did not matter. He knew he would win.
The red flag in the center of the lists swept down, and both men kicked their horses forward at the same time.
Stranger and his opponent shot forward, accelerating again and again as they challenged their limits.
The Hound silently counted.
One, two, three, four.
Stranger had reached a steady full gallop. The Hound began adjusting his posture, raising his shield and setting his lance.
Five, six.
The two sides had drawn close enough to see each other's posture. The Hound searched for his opponent's opening.
Seven, eight.
If he held his shield too tightly, he would not be able to react in time.
Nine.
The Hound suddenly bent low. Dickon Tarly, however, remained utterly still.
Ten.
Crack, crack, bang.
The two lances broke with crisp snaps almost simultaneously.
Dickon Tarly's lance struck the Hound's small shield with pinpoint accuracy, but his own shield failed to block the Hound's attack.
Amid a chorus of gasps, Dickon staggered to his feet.
A dent in the upper left of his breastplate explained his defeat. With a target in such a position, it was no wonder he had been knocked out in one blow.
The Hound had won.
Those who had bet on the winner cheered, while those who had lost cursed and lamented even louder. The Hound cared about none of it.
The matches continued.
The old "Barristan the Bold" ultimately lost to the young "Knight of Flowers," as though the cycle had come full circle.
The semifinals.
The Hound received a bye.
Loras Tyrell and Jaime Lannister faced each other.
The spectators' expectations reached their peak.
The "Knight of Flowers" and the "Kingslayer" were like the two faces of a gold dragon coin, evenly matched.
In terms of birth, both had the support of powerful ducal liege-lord houses behind them.
Among the Seven Kingdoms under the Iron Throne, the western lands of the Lannister family were rich and prosperous, producing abundant gold, while the Reach of House Tyrell had thriving agriculture and the largest population.
Both were powerful forces capable of competing for first or second place among the Seven Kingdoms.
In martial skill and appearance, Loras and Jaime were both renowned knights of the Seven Kingdoms, the dream lovers of countless young women.
The opposition between their reputations only made the duel more exciting.
The sun-kissed "Knight of Flowers" and the "Kingslayer," reviled for betraying his oath, were practically destined opponents.
Even if one favored one side emotionally, no one could determine the victor before the very end.
Joffrey could not be completely certain either.
Although Jaime had been defeated by Loras in the original plot, Tyrion had also thrown his state of mind into disarray last night.
But when it came to battle, nothing was ever one hundred percent certain.
Bang. A figure tumbled from his horse.
Amid the tumultuous roar, Joffrey could still clearly hear King Robert's hearty laughter.
The "Kingslayer" had actually been defeated in a single round.
Joffrey felt nothing inside.
It did not matter which of the two won. He only wanted to make money.
The next few months would be crucial. He needed a large sum of money acquired reasonably and discreetly.
The tournament prize was the best opportunity: its source was clear and legitimate, it would cause no trouble, and most importantly, the amount was enormous.
At the same time, it would not attract the king's attention.
Looking at his generous and magnanimous "father," Joffrey's feelings were complicated.
In all his plans, Robert was practically the greatest obstacle. Simply because—he was not King Robert's son.
Joffrey Baratheon was the offspring of the Queen and her twin brother, the "Kingslayer," and this was no longer a secret.
Those who knew included, but were not limited to, the Lannister faction, Hand of the King Arryn, Lord Stannis Baratheon, Varys the Eunuch, and Master of Coin Littlefinger.
Because of this, Joffrey could not use the same method he had used against Tyrion to persuade the king to support his actions.
Any information helpful to persuading the king could drastically alter the future and increase his strength and chances of survival.
That would clearly be aiding the enemy.
For the same reason, he could not display anything unusual about himself, especially not become intelligent and rational.
Once his changes aroused the suspicion or unease of anyone who knew the secret, and they chose to expose it...
Joffrey did not know what would happen then, but it certainly would not benefit him.
He and Robert, father and son in name only, were destined to be unable to coexist.
Yet the peace of the Seven Kingdoms currently depended entirely on the king's authority. Before he was prepared to face the chaos, removing the king would do more harm than good.
Under these circumstances, he could only lie low for the time being and wait patiently for his opportunity.
A sudden burst of cheers and exclamations pulled Joffrey back from his thoughts to reality.
The final had ended.
He focused his eyes, then sprang to his feet, clapping and cheering. "Good dog! Well done!"
Ten thousand gold dragons were his.
Amid his happiness, Joffrey could not help marveling at King Robert's extravagance.
Ten thousand gold dragons for the champion of the mounted Jousting Tournament, five thousand for the runner-up, five thousand for the champion of the melee, plus the expenses for the feast and everything else.
More than twenty thousand gold dragons.
Using staple food prices as a benchmark, one Copper Star was worth about sixteen yuan. One Gold Dragon equaled 210 Silver Stags, or 1,470 Copper Stars, which came to 23,520 yuan.
A peasant household anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms might not possess even one gold dragon after decades of savings.
The Royal Treasury took in only two or three million gold dragons a year.
Now a single tournament had spent one percent of the realm's revenue, and it was being paid in his name. Uh...
He could not feel happy anymore.
My money! They take twenty thousand while I get ten thousand. What a terrible loss!
Thinking of the Royal Treasury's enormous debts and then looking at the extravagant scene around him, Joffrey suddenly lost all interest.
The sun sank lower and lower.
When the red sun was almost hidden behind the distant mountains, the melee between thirty or forty men finally produced a victor—the Earl of Runestone in the Vale, "Bronze Yohn," Yohn Royce.
Joffrey sat behind the king, absentmindedly sipping the golden wine.
Yohn Royce stepped forward to thank the king.
In that instant.
Beyond his five senses, Joffrey suddenly sensed something indescribable, something that tugged at the soul.
He stared blankly at Yohn.
Within the crimson world, a faint blue glimmer seemed to emerge.
Before you continue