The next day.
The Red Keep's tourney grounds, normally all but deserted, were now bustling.
Almost all the nobles in King's Landing had flocked here, waiting to watch this battle of the century.
The fiery sun hung in midair, pouring out its boundless energy, but even its scorching heat could not dampen the crowd's eagerness for a good show.
"Hey, Lord Tyrion."
Baelish stood among the crowd, waving incessantly at the Imp. Who knew how sharp his eyes were, to spot the Imp at a glance as he practically crawled beneath everyone's crotches.
"Oh, Lord Baelish."
The Imp greeted Baelish warmly as well. They looked like old friends reunited, stopping just short of a hearty embrace.
"Lord Tyrion, please sit beside me."
After driving away the reluctant person originally seated next to him, Baelish invited the Imp as warmly as a host:
"The view here is excellent. You'll be able to see your younger brother win his ultimate victory quite clearly."
"Hahaha!"
With a hearty laugh, the Imp plopped down without ceremony, swinging his short little legs with interest:
"So, Lord Baelish, you also think Arthas has a good chance of winning?"
"Naturally."
Lying without a moment's preparation had always been a basic qualification in this game of power. Baelish spoke with conviction:
"Lord Arthas is the bravest warrior I've ever seen. I believe in his abilities. He'll certainly win this splendid battle!"
Those were beautifully chosen words. Anyone who knew no better might have taken him for a diehard admirer of Arthas.
Everyone liked flattery. The Imp smiled and nodded, then showed a trace of worry:
"But I hear the odds for Arthas in your betting pool aren't very promising."
"It seems most of the nobles in King's Landing don't favor him."
The Imp stared at Baelish with wide, innocent eyes, looking utterly at a loss:
"As you know, I'm a dwarf. I know nothing about fighting, but even I know one against seven hardly has much of an advantage."
"Will it really be that hard for Arthas to win?"
"No, no, no..."
Seeing his distress, Baelish wore a genial expression as he calmly reassured the Imp:
"Lord Tyrion, I have great confidence in Lord Arthas."
"It's just that the nobles of King's Landing are accustomed to pampered lives and have little knowledge of the world. Naturally, they don't know how formidable Lord Arthas is."
"Besides, as you said, one against seven is astonishing to ordinary people. That's why Lord Arthas has those odds."
At those words, hope immediately shone in the Imp's eyes:
"You mean Arthas has a strong chance of winning?"
"Of course!"
Baelish's acting truly had reached perfection. He immediately thumped his chest and assured the Imp:
"Why else would I have bet five hundred Gold Dragons on Lord Arthas winning myself?"
It's your own betting pool. Whoever you bet on, the money ends up in your pocket anyway.
The Imp grumbled inwardly, but still put on the air of a wealthy fool:
"How could five hundred Gold Dragons be enough?"
"I'll wager ten thousand Gold Dragons, all on Arthas!"
Such outrageously extravagant words drew glances from those around him, but after seeing the golden lion badge on his chest and his distinctive stature, they looked away again, unsurprised.
"Oh, Lord Baelish."
Only after making that bold declaration did the Imp seem to come to his senses, asking with feigned casualness:
"What were the odds again?"
"One hundred and sixteen to one, Lord Tyrion."
Seeing another large sum of Gold Dragons about to come his way, Baelish was grinning so broadly he could barely close his mouth.
"So if Arthas wins, you'll pay me one million, one hundred and sixty thousand Gold Dragons!"
"Lord Baelish, I don't mean to underestimate you."
The Imp narrowed his eyes like a lion on the hunt:
"Can you afford that?"
His voice was neither loud nor soft, just enough for everyone nearby to hear.
"Lord Tyrion, what are you saying?"
With his business's integrity at stake, how could Baelish admit before so many people that he lacked the funds?
"If you dare place the bet, I can afford any payout."
"Surely you're not afraid the kingdom's own Master of Coin will run away after losing money?"
"Good!"
The Imp slapped his thigh and rose from his stool.
With his height, however, even standing on the stool would only put him roughly level with Baelish standing.
Of course, that did not stop those nearby from casting curious glances his way again.
"I, Tyrion Lannister."
The Imp shouted so loudly that even Robert and the others in the distance turned their attention toward him.
"Today, I am placing a wager of ten thousand Gold Dragons with Master of Coin Petyr Baelish, at odds of one hundred and sixteen to one, on my own younger brother, Arthas Lannister, to win."
"I ask all you noble lords of King's Landing to bear witness!"
"Of course, Imp!"
Although they thought betting on Arthas to win was utterly idiotic, the surrounding nobles were always happy to stir up more trouble for the spectacle. They immediately began calling out:
"We'll all bear witness!"
"As long as Arthas wins, Baelish will pay up. Otherwise, we'll all take it to King Robert!"
Satisfied with their answers, the Imp sat down and quietly waited for the battle to begin.
Yet for some reason, Baelish suddenly felt as though he had been set up.
Could Arthas really win?
He shook his head, putting that unrealistic thought out of his mind.
What a joke. The Sword of the Morning was strong enough, wasn't he?
At the battle of the Tower of Joy, three men fought fiercely against Eddard Stark and his six companions, and hadn't he still been finished off by a surprise strike?
A fourteen-year-old brat taking on seven men alone?
Dream on!
Only after dismissing every possible way Arthas could win did Baelish feel completely reassured. He too sat down quietly to wait patiently for the king's command.
"That dwarf brother of yours really is a fool!"
His face flushed, King Robert laughed loudly and happily to Cersei beside him:
"Spending a full ten thousand Gold Dragons on an outcome that's completely impossible."
"I'd say he's not just defective in body. The Seven must have knocked his brains loose too!"
"Hahahaha!"
Ever since Cersei had told him yesterday that Arthas wanted to fight seven men alone, he had agreed without hesitation.
He had even sent the Gold Cloaks out overnight to notify the nobles of King's Landing, making sure they arrived on time for this fine spectacle.
After all, ever since he had become king, no one had fought him again, nor had anyone dared.
With nothing to do all day, he could only hunt whores and fuck boars... at least, that was how Jaime put it.
That was how he released the energy he had nowhere else to vent.
More than ten years as king had left this once-valiant warrior, the dream lover of marriageable maidens throughout the Seven Kingdoms, unable to lift his own warhammer, swollen into his present piglike shape.
For a warmonger, nothing set the blood boiling like a battle, especially when both sides included the Lannisters he hated most!
Listening to Robert's mockery, Cersei merely rolled her eyes at him, not even bothering to answer.
In the years since she had married Robert, her Lannister identity had left her spending nearly every night alone. She had long since become utterly disappointed in a husband who would rather visit whores than touch her.
Had Jaime not been there to keep her company whenever she needed him, she probably would have been unable to bear the loneliness long ago and returned to live alone at Casterly Rock.
"All right, for the Seven's sake!"
Unable to contain his eagerness to watch the Lannisters kill one another any longer, Robert lifted his enormous backside from his seat and shouted toward the field:
"Get the fighting started! Our audience is already growing impatient!"
Hard as it was to imagine, Robert now resembled a common lout more than a king.
"Whoooo!"
With the king having spoken, the nobles of King's Landing obligingly erupted in thunderous cheers.
At the order, the guards hurried to open the gates to the tourney grounds, and the fully armed warriors on both sides began filing slowly inside.
With a white helmet cradled in his arm, Barristan wore white robes and white armor, leading the Kingsguard as their captain.
As the seven identically dressed Kingsguard entered in lockstep, every spectator felt a murderous air sweep toward them. First they held their breath, then, seconds later, the entire grounds erupted in deafening cheers.
"That's Barristan the Bold!"
A middle-aged man who looked like a knight shouted, pulling aside the leather armor over his chest to reveal a gruesome scar:
"I fought him when I was young. I've carried this scar for more than twenty years!"
At his words, everyone nearby cast admiring looks his way.
Surviving an encounter with Barristan was enough to boast about for a lifetime!
"Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer! He's so handsome."
A noblewoman with half her ample breasts exposed and desire in her eyes shrieked, actually stripping off her undergarment in public and throwing it toward Jaime on the field.
There was no helping it. That was simply how uninhibited Westeros was.
Just as the spectators were cheering on their favorite Kingsguard, a figure in red armor slowly entered the field from the other side.
The golden lion on his chest gleamed in the sunlight, and his pure golden hair reflected a dazzling radiance.
Arthas likewise had not put on his helmet, instead carrying it casually in his left hand, letting it sway with his arm.
His right hand dragged Frostmourne, its sharp tip scraping the ground with a piercing shriek. The blade looked an even deeper blue beneath the sunlight, as though it would swallow all the light in the world.
An overpowering presence, like death itself descending, instantly made everyone present hold their breath. Even Robert, who had been loudly clamoring all along, fell silent.
Everyone watched quietly as Arthas walked slowly to the very center of the field. It was so quiet that the scrape of his blade against the ground was clearly audible.
"Arthas, surrender while you can. You have no chance of winning!"
Jaime regarded his arrogant younger brother with a complicated expression. After much hesitation, he finally spoke up to dissuade him.
Though deeply jealous of Cersei's affection for him, Jaime had always valued family and could not bear to watch a boy of only fourteen throw his life away like this.
Even though that boy had already defeated him the previous year.
"Jaime, my dear brother."
Facing what could almost be called the strongest squad of knights in Westeros, Arthas showed no fear.
He smiled, making his already extraordinarily handsome face look even gentler, instantly captivating countless noblewomen from King's Landing in the stands.
Then he took his helmet in both hands and slowly lowered it onto his head, looking at the seven men opposite him through a narrow eye slit.
He raised Frostmourne level before him, pointing it at his opponents in apparent provocation. A chill flowed from the blade into his body, and beneath his helmet, his golden pupils turned almost entirely silver.
Parting his somewhat pale lips, the Death Knight's whisper rang out across the continent of Westeros for the first time!
"The ones who should surrender."
"Are you."
Before you continue