The two knights on the field were ready and gave the master of ceremonies a slight nod.
Seeing this, the master of ceremonies shouted, "Begin!"
The moment the words left his mouth, both knights lashed their reins. Their warhorses gave long whinnies and surged forward, making the ground tremble faintly.
The nobles in the stands and the commoners below held their breath, their eyes fixed on the two warhorses on the field. Only the pounding of hooves and the beating of hearts remained.
As the two knights neared the center, they slowly lowered their upright lances at the same time, aiming the tips at each other's chests.
The instant the riders crossed, two sharp cracks rang out. The two figures flashed past each other, and both lances snapped into several pieces, sending splinters flying.
One knight took the full force of a lance square in the chest. He tumbled straight off his horse and struck the ground with a heavy thud!
Worse still, one of his feet remained caught in the stirrup!
His warhorse did not stop. It ran another dozen or so meters before gradually coming to a halt at the attendants' shouts!
Dragged along behind it, the knight lost consciousness.
The other knight fared little better. The impact had thrown his whole body backward, leaving him lying across his horse's back, unable to sit upright for quite some time!
Only after a long while did he manage to prop himself up and settle firmly in the saddle.
He raised a hand to remove his helmet and waved to the spectators in the stands, his face filled with the joy of victory. Thunderous cheers and shouts instantly erupted throughout the grounds.
"Whoa-"
Cries of amazement rose from the spectators one after another!
Davion could not help giving a slight nod as well, thinking to himself:
I have to admit, this kind of raw, direct confrontation really does have its appeal!
Violent and barbaric-that blood-pumping thrill isn't something you can experience in everyday life.
The original Davion had also trained with a lance on horseback at Harrenhal.
However, he had only faced stationary wooden posts and straw dummies, practicing the basics of applying force and aiming. He had never faced a real opponent.
But Davion was not nervous. He trusted the dragon's strength within him. As the saying went, strength overcame skill. Before absolute strength, every fancy technique was nothing but empty talk.
The next few matches proceeded smoothly, with almost all of them decided in a single pass.
The pace was brisk, and the spectators cried out in delight.
Soon, it was Davion's turn to face the Knight of House Leygood.
Before entering the field, the Knight of House Leygood shot Davion another vicious glare and said arrogantly:
"Just you wait. That equipment of yours will soon belong to me. No matter how much you offer in ransom, I'll refuse it. I'll make you leave the field naked!"
With that, he snapped his visor shut and, without looking at Davion again, rode into the field first.
After entering, he deliberately made his warhorse rear, drawing a few cheers from the stands.
Davion rubbed his chin as he watched the knight's arrogant figure ride away. A cold smile curled his lips, and he murmured:
"Your warhorse isn't bad either!"
Clack!
He closed his visor and lightly nudged his horse's belly with his heels. The warhorse snorted and carried him slowly onto the field.
As usual, the two made a circuit of the field.
In the stands, the Riverlands nobles on good terms with House Leygood rose to applaud and cheer, calling out the Leygood knight's name.
"Kalen! Come on!"
This prompted some of the common spectators to join in.
But when Davion made his appearance, the nobles in the stands gave no response, their faces cold.
A few Riverlands nobles even showed undisguised contempt when they saw House Whent's sigil on Davion's shield.
Half that contempt stemmed from House Whent's long decline into ruin, leaving Davion alone, with no power to rely on.
The other half was because House Whent had chosen to support the Targaryen Dynasty during the War of the Usurper.
An old saying circulated throughout the Seven Kingdoms:
"My vassal's vassal is not my vassal; my liege's liege is not my liege."
It meant that a vassal owed allegiance only to his immediate liege and had no direct relationship of fealty with a king higher up the hierarchy.
In the eyes of the Riverlands nobles, House Whent's choice back then had been a betrayal of the liege of the Riverlands.
But in truth, quite a few houses in the Riverlands had favored the Targaryen Dynasty at the time.
Those houses, however, had either been destroyed during the war or cleared their names in time after it, attaching themselves to the victors.
Only House Whent had continued its downward slide, reduced by the present day to a fallen house anyone could bully.
Ultimately, House Whent was simply too weak now-so weak that any noble could trample on it.
Davion paid no heed to these nobles' contempt.
His eyes were slightly lowered and his expression calm. He had only one thought: he would personally repay every slight and humiliation, one by one.
After completing their circuit, the two riders met before the main stand and turned their horses to face King Robert on his throne.
Then they removed their helmets and inclined their heads to the king in a knightly salute.
At that moment, the master of ceremonies raised an enormous speaking horn and announced loudly:
"My lords, honored spectators, allow me to introduce our next pair of competing knights!"
"On my left is Ser Kalen Leygood of House Leygood in the Riverlands!"
Kalen Leygood immediately raised his hand and pounded his breastplate with his gauntlet, producing a series of heavy thuds, before waving to the spectators around him.
This somewhat ostentatious display sent the spectators in the stands howling with excitement, and cheers rang out once more.
"On my right, also from the Riverlands, is the lord of House Whent, Davion Whent!"
Davion waved casually, making no further gestures.
The commoners below obligingly continued to clap and shout.
But the nobles in the stands remained cold-faced. Some even gave faint, derisive laughs, their contempt deepening.
Even King Robert, seated on his throne, frowned.
Any mention of House Whent reminded him of the Hand's Tourney at Harrenhal all those years ago—the beginning of all the strife!
Had the Hand's Tourney never taken place, Rhaegar would never have abducted Lyanna Stark, and the Seven Kingdoms might have looked very different today.
Just then, Tyrion, sitting in the same place he had occupied that morning, suddenly gave a little hop and stood on his stool.
Ignoring the strange looks from the nobles around him, he waved to Davion and shouted:
"Davion, come on! Don't lose too badly!"
In the past, Tyrion would never have done anything so conspicuous, let alone in public before the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms and the king.
But after spending two days together at the brothel, he already considered Davion a friend.
Though they were hardly confidants who would entrust each other with their lives, their friendship was far more sincere than his false pleasantries with people like Littlefinger and Varys.
Seeing Tyrion standing on his stool, Davion could not help smiling and waving back.
A faint touch of warmth stirred in his heart.
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