Chapter 1: with translation of chapter title

King's Landing is one of the few large cities in Westeros; other places that can barely be called towns are merely a handful of market settlements named after towns, and they are all ports. What makes King's Landing unique is that it is a true city, entirely enclosed by walls, and to maintain order and defense, the rulers actually have to maintain a garrison of several thousand just for that purpose.

It also bears the distinctive air of a great city. From far outside the walls one can see its soaring towers; on a clear day they seem to pierce the heavens, inspiring awe and admiration, and leading one to imagine the bearing of the rulers who dwell within.

Wei Er had only become a member of the city's guard a few months prior. Clad in a golden robe, he felt imposing, and even his gait was different from before.

He straightened his back, gazing at the city he guarded, and the pride he once felt upon first taking the post had long since faded. Though he scorned it, he also cherished it deeply. It was obtained after he sold off all his dead father's assets for a few silver stags, with the help of friends.

His father had once been a successful merchant, running the spice trade between King's Landing and Braavos, but after a few failures he went into decline, and in the years before his death he sank further into drink and lust; for these vices they moved from a stone lavish estate to ordinary commoners' dwellings, and fortunately he died before they could squander their last possessions, in the brothel run by the current Minister of Finance.

He remembered what happened that day.

When the servant finally informed him of the bad news, he was polishing the long sword he had bought with dirty money. Upon hearing it, he had no choice but to set the sword down, hire a carriage, and have the body carried out from the brothel's rear courtyard.

People said he had seen the Holy Mother before he died, which is why he wore a fascinating smile. He knew this was just flattery from the brothel madam; what he actually wore was a revolting grin—both corners of his mouth pulled up high, his purple, fat lips flecked with strands of dried saliva. This was undoubtedly a symptom of overusing aphrodisiacs.

Perhaps what he truly saw before death was the Holy Mother, and two white rabbits bowed to him in salute.

After settling his father's affairs and taking inventory, Wei Er found that aside from a few trinkets, nothing remained. The Seven Gods say people come into the world naked and leave it the same way, yet the old man had calculated his estate down to this extent, and Wei Er could not help but admire him.

When he still lived in the lavish estate, he had once dreamed of one day following the king to become a knight, so that even when the prime minister addressed him, he would add the title 'Sir'. After being cast out of the mansion, he felt the world's chill. His winter was coming.

The Stark family is wise; having such a clan saying explains how they have endured for thousands of years without falling. The old man constantly muttered, 'All trash, trash, a bunch of trash!' This made him feel that his surname would likely die out within two generations, extinguished early in the next winter.

'Trash.' That is the clan saying he left behind.

Wei Er wanted to make those two words his epitaph, but he had no money to build a tomb, so he simply wrapped the body tightly and sank it into the Blackwater River, letting dust return to dust and earth to earth.

After his death, the old man's friends, whom he had called 'trash,' actually scraped together enough silver stags to buy Wei Er a golden robe. All they asked was that he stand guard at the city gate and smuggle in various meats from outside—since other gates did the same, feeding the starving populace of King's Landing was the top priority.

If one speaks of the golden robe, the person Wei Er should thank most is the butcher Pent. Of course he never slaughtered any living animal; he merely cut up and sold the carcasses of beasts that had died inside and outside the city to hungry folk. Although some accused him of often mixing human flesh into the normal meat, the smallfolk of King's Landing loved him.

Wei Er disliked him, and disliked the nickname he had given him, 'Little White Face'.

'You have a handsome face,' his other friend Sofite would often say, 'We ought to put him to good use.'

It was precisely this remark that opened the opportunity to raise money for his golden robe.

He thought Sofite would give him a task of seducing noblewomen, since he had succeeded before, but he felt it relied more on wit and tongue than on looks.

'We'll send you to the queen to bear the king a black-haired prince,' they joked.

Wei Er remembered their delusions.

'The father of Steward Flayer Jaehnos Sterling, just like Pent, is a butcher beloved by all—though I don't know if he ever mixes corpse meat into his pork—but now he has risen meteoric. Lord Starkox is dead, and a butcher's son has become commander of the Seven Kingdoms' capital guard. You say, if such people can become commanders, why can't our Little White Face become a handsome golden-robed guard?'

Another friend then fantasized, 'Lord Starkox is dead, leaving not only a widow, but a castle, and several unmarried daughters; if you don the golden robe and seize the opportunity to take the widow, who knows—you might become the next Sterling.'

If the golden robe could win Starkox's lady, then the Imperial Iron Guard could also get the queen pregnant.

'That robe is not easy to come by.'

'Ha, if Starkox were still around, it would naturally be immensely difficult, but times have changed—the Flayer Commander squeezes hard, making even the water-meat trade tough. I hear this steward has embezzled even his subordinates' wages; now officers lacking gold dragons can be found queuing from the Giant Dragon Gate all the way to the Shoemaker's Square. Believe me, for the sake of earning one more silver stag, they'll do anything.' Said another friend who made a living by pickpocketing.

Although he was a rat, he was adept at dealing with King's Landing's golden cats. Without rats, what use would a cat be?

Events moved too fast; he merely took a small pouch of silver stags to the captain of the Rotten Mud Gate's squad, and a week later he smoothly donned the golden robe.

At first everything was fine; he just hadn't expected the golden robe's pay to be so meager. After paying rent, he could barely scrape by—far worse than his illegal trade. The sole advantage of the change was that wearing this outfit truly made him imposing; for that he could only thank the Wandering Prince.

The downside of bearing an imposing presence is that a day on duty leaves one with sore back and waist. No wonder some golden-robed brothers like to beat the filthy fleas with sticks—it's just to stretch their muscles.

That is a barbarian's pastime; Lord Wei Er's enjoyment does not lie therein.

He wanted to watch King's Landing's tournament. As a golden-robed guard, it was much simpler—all he needed was to secure a duty post at the tourney. The fleas of King's Landing don't like to obey, but maintaining order at the tournament is simple and safe; still, that's just talk, for in past years golden-robed guards have had their skulls crushed by the crowd.

That's truly a poor unfortunate.

He not only wanted to watch the tourney, but also to take part. Who among men wouldn't want to? Unless he's a penniless wretch!

A penniless wretch cannot afford a full set of armor and warhorse, let alone the attendants, logistics staff, and possible lance repairs. Within the Seven Kingdoms there is plenty of luxurious gear. If one were fortunate enough to unhorse a king‑slayer, the redemption price for the armor and horse would be enough to keep a commoner fed and clothed for life.

Wei Er spent all his remaining copper stars to be able to stand duty inside the lists; his friends would never let him waste money on entering the tourney, for they believed only in his face.

It didn't matter; he had long understood that minstrels' songs would not sing his praises.

He wanted to be a tall Duncan, to meet his Prince Jaehaerys, and have the singers chant his great honor—but he had no great honor, only his great clan saying. And singers are merely the nobles' chamber pots; they sip the lords' urine and sing out fragrance.

The arena rang with constant howls, but only those who could howl in the true final rounds were either noble lords with their worldly-wise ladies, children, and servants, or wealthy merchants and rich men; it was absolutely impossible for a mud‑leg from the flea‑infested warrens.

This was merely the pre‑selection. There were far too many entrants for the tourney, so a pre‑selection was needed to weed out most of the unqualified. In the pre‑selection, most of the spectators were ordinary townsfolk.

Managing noble lords and wealthy merchants is simpler than handling mud‑legs; he knew early on that it sufficed to watch a few red‑eyed gamblers and restless youths with nowhere to vent their energy. Unfortunately, most here are young people, some unfortunately bearing multiple sensitive labels.

Some golden‑robed guards quietly taught him how to grope a noblewoman's rear while keeping order: if order was too perfect, one needed to create a little chaos, for chaos is the shortcut to scaling those peaks.

Too bad, there would be no noblewomen present at such a place.

'Silence!' the captain of the golden‑robed unit far off signaled with a whistle, and he began to shout along with his fellow golden‑robed brothers.

'Silence!'

The long whistle cast aside his inexplicable emotions; the clamor died down at once.

Nearly a thousand men entered the tourney, his captain told him; they were to winnow the field to seventy‑seven victors within four days, then determine the champion in the remaining three.

The guardians of love and beauty need not undergo the pre‑selection; they are seeded entrants. Thus, out of a thousand, only seventy would truly advance to the next round—the truly exciting part.

The miserable pre‑selection required fighting from dawn to dusk; if Lord Wei Er's math was sound, pairing off everyone would yield over nine hundred bouts, and after four rounds of promotion they would reduce a thousand to seventy. With only two lists, the next four days would be frantically busy.

At first he was willing to wait while wounded combatants slowly cleared the lists, but before long he began imitating the golden‑robed brothers, urging the defeated to leave the field or even dragging the howling contestants out by hand.

After several days, he had seen many dead and maimed; they lost not only horses and armor, but sometimes arms, legs, even lives.

He thought most commoners came merely to gawk at the bloodshed and call it splendid. Frankly, it was nowhere near splendid enough to meet Lord Wei Er's standard—ordinary folk might indeed miss a fine match, but in the pre‑selection there will always be two strong contenders who happen to meet, a rare blessing that grows rarer the further along one goes.

The further on, the more coats of arms he could recognize, while nobles invariably rose above the mass of competitors. Perhaps the gods look favorably upon great surnames.

He saw the shield of House Blynde, a circle of a dozen or so birds; the double bridge of House Frey, slightly altered; and still more complex shields, differentiated by rank and bearing different houses' sigils—all to proclaim their true identities.

Lord Wei Er, when younger, would have been willing to learn these.

When these renowned knights appeared, the whole crowd would cheer for them.

The poor were eager, the knights eager, the king eager, even the prostitutes eager; but it seemed the only ones not particularly eager were the golden‑robed brothers tasked with keeping order.

Heh, no wonder a few copper stars could pave the way for this job.

His golden‑robed brothers, having seen enough tourneys in King's Landing, enough coats of arms from nobles across the realm, enough bright armor and tall steeds, had long since lost their zeal under the weight of their duties and the ever‑present dangers.

Perhaps after a few years I'll be just like that—a completely tamed tiger leaping from one ring to another, winning a bit of applause or a hearty meal.

Translate: "Perhaps after a few years, I'll be the same, like a completely tamed tiger jumping from circle to circle, earning a little applause or a full meal."

Perhaps after a few years I will be the same, like a completely tamed tiger jumping from circle to circle, winning a little applause or a full meal.

We must keep as single line.

【61】 Perhaps after a few years, I'll be the same, like a completely tamed tiger jumping from circle to circle, earning a little applause or a full meal.

No, I'm at most just a little cat; only the commander is qualified to jump through the hoops the big shots set for him. A dead tiger is useless and gets devoured, but a cat—when it dies, it simply rots in the gutter.

Translate: "No, I'm at most just a small cat; only the commander has the right to jump through the circles the big shots draw for him. A dead tiger is useless and will be torn apart. A cat won't be; a dead cat will rot in the gutter."

Only the commander has the right to jump through the circles the big shots draw for him.

【62】 No, I'm at most just a small cat; only the commander has the right to jump through the circles the big shots draw for him. A dead tiger is useless and will be torn apart. A cat won't be; a dead cat will rot in the gutter.

"Mysterious Knight!" the crowd cheered.

Translate: "\"Mysterious Knight! \" the audience cheered."

【63】 "Mysterious Knight!" the audience cheered.

Lord Wil looked over at the cheering.

Translate: "Lord Weier looked over as the cheers rose."

【64】 Lord Weier looked over as the cheers rose.

Like any competing knight, the Mysterious Knight wore full armor; his breastplate bore a clearly painted emblem, like a prank, and the shield displayed the same symbol. On close inspection it looked roughly like a side view of a red dog's head on a white background, whiskers and hair bristling. He had never understood how a dog's head could look so formidable—like a blazing flame—and the Seven Kingdoms certainly had no such emblem.

Translate: "Like any competing knight, the Mysterious Knight wore full armor, with a clearly painted emblem on the breastplate, like a prank. The shield bore the same emblem; upon close inspection, it appeared to be a side profile of a red dog's head on a white background, bristling with whiskers and hair. He had never known how a dog's head could look so formidable, like a blazing flame. The Seven Kingdoms certainly had no such emblem."

Like any competing knight, the mysterious knight wore full armor; on the breastplate was a clearly painted emblem, like a prank, and the shield bore the same emblem. Upon close inspection, it was roughly a side view of a red dog's head on a white background, whiskers and hair all bristling. He had never known how a dog's head could look so formidable, like a blazing flame. The Seven Kingdoms certainly had no such emblem.

【65】 Like any competing knight, the Mysterious Knight wore full armor, with a clearly painted emblem on the breastplate, like a prank. The shield bore the same emblem; upon close inspection, it appeared to be a side profile of a red dog's head on a white background, bristling with whiskers and hair. He had never known how a dog's head could look so formidable, like a blazing flame. The Seven Kingdoms certainly had no such emblem.

"Mysterious Knight versus the Honorable Grey Iron from the Academy City, Lord Gals Haitar!" the temporary referee shouted loudly.

Translate: "\"Mysterious Knight versus the Honorable Grey Iron from the Academy City, Lord Gals Haitar! \" the temporary referee shouted loudly."

The Honorable Grey Iron from the Academy City, Lord Gals Haitar, the temporary referee, shouted loudly.

【66】 "Mysterious Knight versus the Honorable Grey Iron from the Academy City, Lord Gals Haitar!" the temporary referee shouted loudly.

"Mysterious Knight!" the crowd cheered.

Same as 【63】.

【67】 "Mysterious Knight!" the audience cheered.

Whether commoner or noble, the Mysterious Knight always draws more attention; the crowd eagerly awaits the unveiling of his identity after the fight, a spectacle the Seven Kingdoms love to witness.

Translate: "Whether commoner or noble, the Mysterious Knight always draws more attention. The audience awaits the reveal of his identity after the battle, a spectacle the Seven Kingdoms love to see."

【68】 Whether commoner or noble, the Mysterious Knight always draws more attention. The audience awaits the reveal of his identity after the battle, a spectacle the Seven Kingdoms love to see.

The Mysterious Knight has left behind countless legends and songs, some of whose heroes are still alive today.

Translate: "The Mysterious Knight has left behind too many legends and ballads in history, some of whose protagonists are still alive today."

【69】 The Mysterious Knight has left behind too many legends and ballads in history, some of whose protagonists are still alive today.

On Gals Haitar's shield, the upper left and lower right each bear a black tower, symbolizing his status as the family's second son; the upper right shows a red‑gold fox, the crest of the Florent family of Brightwater City, representing his maternal line.

Translate: "Gals Haitar's shield bears a black tower in the upper left and lower right, symbolizing his status as the family's second son; the upper right shows a red-gold fox, the crest of the Florent family of Brightwater City, representing his maternal line."

Brightwater City, the Florent family.

【70】 Gals Haitar's shield bears a black tower in the upper left and lower right, symbolizing his status as the family's second son; the upper right shows a red-gold fox, the crest of the Florent family of Brightwater City, representing his maternal line.

"Grey Iron!" the crowd cheered.

Translate: "\"Grey Iron! \" the audience cheered."

【71】 "Grey Iron!" the audience cheered.

This could be a match worth watching: the Mysterious Knight versus a famed noble.

Translate: "This might be a match worth watching, the Mysterious Knight versus a renowned noble."

【72】 This might be a match worth watching, the Mysterious Knight versus a renowned noble.

Maybe the crowd favors the Mysterious Knight, but he is slight and a bit short, his horse, though strong, lacks spirit, his armor is rough and undecorated—hard to call it fine—and even his squire is just a child; it's doubtful he could withstand a lance joust.

Translate: "Perhaps the audience favors the Mysterious Knight, but he is slight of build, overall a bit short, his warhorse strong yet lacking spirit, his armor rough and undecorated, hard to call excellent; even his squire is just a child, it's truly doubtful whether he can sustain a lance joust."

【73】 Perhaps the audience favors the Mysterious Knight, but he is slight of build, overall a bit short, his warhorse strong yet lacking spirit, his armor rough and undecorated, hard to call excellent; even his squire is just a child, it's truly doubtful whether he can sustain a lance joust.

On the other side, Grey Iron has everything a great noble should have: well‑fitted plate armor, a cloak embroidered with a tower motif on a green background, a helmet that is tower‑shaped yet aesthetically pleasing, a perfectly fitted shield—everything is immaculate and valuable. If the Mysterious Knight could hold out a little longer, just this one bout would satisfy everyone.

Translate: "On the other side, Grey Iron has everything a great noble should have: meticulously crafted plate armor, a cape embroidered with tower motifs on a green field, a helmet that is tower-shaped yet aesthetically pleasing overall, a perfectly fitted shield—everything is impeccable and valuable. If the Mysterious Knight could merely hold out a little, just this bout would satisfy everyone."

【74】 On the other side, Grey Iron has everything a great noble should have: meticulously crafted plate armor, a cape embroidered with tower motifs on a green field, a helmet that is tower-shaped yet aesthetically pleasing overall, a perfectly fitted shield—everything is impeccable and valuable. If the Mysterious Knight could merely hold out a little, just this bout would satisfy everyone.

If the Mysterious Knight wins, his armor could fetch a ransom of ten gold dragons, and the Haitar family never lacks gold dragons. Any poor knight would love to joust against such a noble, but luck fell on this Mysterious Knight.

Translate: "If the Mysterious Knight wins, his armor could fetch a ransom of ten gold dragons, and the Haitar family is never short of gold dragons. Any poor knight would want to joust against such a noble, but luck fell on this Mysterious Knight."

【75】 If the Mysterious Knight wins, his armor could fetch a ransom of ten gold dragons, and the Haitar family is never short of gold dragons. Any poor knight would want to joust against such a noble, but luck fell on this Mysterious Knight.

"Begin!" the temporary referee shouted, not even waiting for the combatants to signal readiness.

Translate: "\"Begin! \" the temporary referee didn't even wait for both sides to signal readiness."

【76】 "Begin!" the temporary referee didn't even wait for both sides to signal readiness.

The Mysterious Knight is slight; Wil doesn't know how he manages to lift his lance, yet he holds it steady without apparent strain. Grey Iron, meanwhile, is a seasoned regular on the lists, mature and steady. If Lord Wil had the money, he'd surely stake his fortune on Grey Iron—he's long past believing in miracles.

Translate: "The Mysterious Knight is slight; Lord Weier didn't know how he managed to lift his lance, but he held it steady without apparent strain. Grey Iron, meanwhile, is a seasoned tournament regular, mature and steady. If Lord Weier had money, he'd surely stake his fortune on Grey Iron—he's long past the age of believing in miracles."

【77】 The Mysterious Knight is slight; Lord Weier didn't know how he managed to lift his lance, but he held it steady without apparent strain. Grey Iron, meanwhile, is a seasoned tournament regular, mature and steady. If Lord Weier had money, he'd surely stake his fortune on Grey Iron—he's long past the age of believing in miracles.

"Unseat him!" the crowd cheered for Grey Iron.

Translate: "\"Unseat him! \" the crowd cheered for Grey Iron."

【78】 "Unseat him!" the crowd cheered for Grey Iron.

"Stand back!" Lord Wil shoved the surging spectators to clear a sliver of view and to protect the important knight—being torn apart is not an uncommon fate for famous knights.

Translate: "\"Step back! \" Lord Weier shoved the spectators trying to surge forward, buying himself a sliver of time to keep his view and to protect the important knight's safety. Knights torn apart are not uncommon."

【79】 "Step back!" Lord Weier shoved the spectators trying to surge forward, buying himself a sliver of time to keep his view and to protect the important knight's safety. Knights torn apart are not uncommon.

The two warhorses clashed; Wil couldn't see clearly, but the Mysterious Knight's lance had shattered completely, yet it struck squarely on Lord Haitar's shield. Grey Iron's blow missed, but he recovered from the immense impact, shifted to the other side, and swapped lances. The Mysterious Knight's armor may be lacking, but his horse is surely excellent, making his slight frame look all the more handsome and spirited. The recent thudding sound represented a matchless force of impact.

Translate: "The two warhorses clashed; Lord Weier couldn't see clearly, but the Mysterious Knight's lance had shattered completely, yet it stuck fast in Lord Haitar's shield. Grey Iron's blow came to nothing; he steadied himself from the huge impact and calmly moved to the other side to change lances. The Mysterious Knight's armor might be inadequate, but his horse is surely excellent, making him look all the more handsome despite his slight frame, and transforming his demeanor. The recent thudding sound represented an unstoppable force of impact."

【80】 The two warhorses clashed; Lord Weier couldn't see clearly, but the Mysterious Knight's lance had shattered completely, yet it stuck fast in Lord Haitar's shield. Grey Iron's blow came to nothing; he steadied himself from the huge impact and calmly moved to the other side to change lances. The Mysterious Knight's armor might be inadequate, but his horse is surely excellent, making him look all the more handsome despite his slight frame, and transforming his demeanor. The recent thudding sound represented an unstoppable force of impact.

"Mysterious Knight!" the crowd shouted. Lord Wil had to shove them back to where they belonged.

Translate: "\"Mysterious Knight! \" the crowd shouted. Lord Weier had no choice but to shove them back to where they belonged."

【81】 "Mysterious Knight!" the crowd shouted. Lord Weier had no choice but to shove them back to where they belonged.

"Second lance, begin!"

Translate: "\"Second lance, begin! \""

【82】 "Second lance, begin!"

The Grey Iron knight struck first, lance steady on his arm, charging at full gallop. The Mysterious Knight, as if aided by divine help, instantly deflected the lance, Grey Iron's blow hitting nothing; in the next instant, the Mysterious Knight's lance, though late‑coming, struck true at the shield's center, shattering on impact, while Grey Iron lurched sideways on his horse, drew a breath, and fell to the ground.

Translate: "Grey Iron's knight struck first, lance steady on his arm, horse charging. The Mysterious Knight, as if aided by divine help, instantly deflected the lance, Grey Iron striking empty air; in the next instant, the Mysterious Knight's lance arrived first despite being launched later, striking dead center of the shield, the lance shattering on impact, while Grey Iron lurched sideways on his horse, drew a breath, and fell to the ground."

【83】 Grey Iron's knight struck first, lance steady on his arm, horse charging. The Mysterious Knight, as if aided by divine help, instantly deflected the lance, Grey Iron striking empty air; in the next instant, the Mysterious Knight's lance arrived first despite being launched later, striking dead center of the shield, the lance shattering on impact, while Grey Iron lurched sideways on his horse, drew a breath, and fell to the ground.

The arena fell silent, then instantly erupted with a roar of "Mysterious Knight!"

Translate: "The fell silent, then instantly erupted in a wave of \"Mysterious Knight! \""

【84】 The field fell silent, then instantly erupted in a wave of "Mysterious Knight!".

Lord Wil saw Lord Haitar struggle to his feet, cursed, and departed with his squire and the deputy judge.

Translate: "Lord Weier saw Lord Haitar struggle to rise, cursed him, and departed with his squire and the deputy referee."

【85】 Lord Weier saw Lord Haitar struggle to rise, cursed him, and departed with his squire and the deputy referee.

He lost cleanly and did not request a ground fight.

Translate: "He lost cleanly and swiftly, without requesting a ground fight."

【86】 He lost cleanly and swiftly, without requesting a ground fight.

By the second day, after one qualifying round that eliminated some clearly mismatched competitors and unlucky sorts like Haitar, the remaining bouts were noticeably exciting.

Translate: "By the second day, after one qualifying round that eliminated some obviously mismatched competitors and unlucky fellows like Haitar, the remaining bouts were noticeably more exciting."

【87】 By the second day, after one qualifying round that eliminated some obviously mismatched competitors and unlucky fellows like Haitar, the remaining bouts were noticeably more exciting.

An unnamed knight fell hard from his horse, breaking his leg and in too much pain to cry out loudly. A thin, acne‑covered squire could barely lift him, so Wil helped drag the knight to a tent outside the lists; the victor rode his horse, holding the fallen helmet, waiting to claim the horse and the rest of the armor.

Translate: "An unnamed knight fell hard from his horse, breaking his leg, in too much pain to cry out loud. A thin squire covered in acne could hardly lift him, so Lord Weier helped drag the knight to a tent outside the field; the victor sat on his horse, holding the fallen helmet, waiting to receive the horse and the rest of the armor."

【88】 An unnamed knight fell hard from his horse, breaking his leg, in too much pain to cry out loud. A thin squire covered in acne could hardly lift him, so Lord Weier helped drag the knight to a tent outside the field; the victor sat on his horse, holding the fallen helmet, waiting to receive the horse and the rest of the armor.

He won't survive the night. The squire might strip off his jacket, cut his throat when no one is looking, and throw the knight into the Blackwater River, letting the current carry him to the elegant Blackwater Bay.

Translate: "He wouldn't survive the night. His squire might strip off his wallet, slit his throat when no one's around, then toss the knight into the Blackwater River to drift into the elegant Blackwater Bay."

【89】 He wouldn't survive the night. His squire might strip off his wallet, slit his throat when no one's around, then toss the knight into the Blackwater River to drift into the elegant Blackwater Bay.

By the second day, after one qualifying round that eliminated some clearly mismatched competitors and unlucky sorts like Haitar, the remaining bouts were noticeably exciting.

Outside the lists, he saw the Mysterious Knight again—still the same as before, with a crimson wolf's head, whiskers and hair bristling like flames. He had won his second qualifying match, and Lord Wil saw him receive five gold dragons as ransom.

Outside the arena, he saw the mysterious knight again, who still looked as before: a red wolf's head with bristling whiskers and hair, like flames. He had already won the second qualifying match, and Lord Wil saw that he had received a refund of five gold dragons.

Yes.

So translate 【90】: "Outside the field, he saw the Mysterious Knight again, looking just as before: a crimson wolf's head, whiskers and hair bristling like flames. He had won his second qualifying bout, and Lord Weier saw him receive five gold dragons as ransom."

【90】 Outside the field, he saw the Mysterious Knight again, looking just as before: a crimson wolf's head, whiskers and hair bristling like flames. He had won his second qualifying bout, and Lord Weier saw him receive five gold dragons as ransom.

The Mysterious Knight also noticed the knight with the broken leg nearby. The injured man groaned softly, his teeth chattering, sweat covering his face. Wil had meant to return to his post, but he slowed his steps to see what the man intended to do.

Translate: "The Mysterious Knight also noticed the knight with the broken leg nearby. The knight groaned softly, teeth chattering, face slick with sweat. Lord Weier had meant to return to his post, but he eased his steps to see what the knight intended."

【91】 The Mysterious Knight also noticed the knight with the broken leg nearby. The knight groaned softly, teeth chattering, face slick with sweat. Lord Weier had meant to return to his post, but he eased his steps to see what the knight intended.

The Mysterious Knight wore his helmet and armor, showing no intention of revealing his identity; Wil peered through the visor's slit and saw that the face was also wrapped in cloth, clearly guarding his identity closely, not letting Wil succeed.

Translate: "Wearing helmet and armor with no intention of revealing his identity, the Mysterious Knight had his face wrapped in cloth visible through the helmet's gap—clearly guarding his identity closely, not letting Lord Weier succeed."

【92】 Wearing helmet and armor with no intention of revealing his identity, the Mysterious Knight had his face wrapped in cloth visible through the helmet's gap—clearly guarding his identity closely, not letting Lord Weier succeed.

"At least it's lucky he didn't lose his neck," Wil said, pretending to be completely accustomed to everything.

Translate: "\"At least it's lucky he didn't lose his neck, \" Lord Weier pretended, acting as if he were used to everything."

【93】 "At least it's lucky he didn't lose his neck," Lord Weier pretended, acting as if he were used to everything.

"Mm, it's certainly lucky—this leg might still recover normally. Knight, what's your name?" The badly wounded knight, hearing this, stifled a groan.

Translate: "\"Mm, it really is lucky; this leg can still recover normal function. Knight, what's your name? \" The gravely injured knight, hearing this, held back his groan."

【94】 "Mm, it really is lucky; this leg can still recover normal function. Knight, what's your name?" The gravely injured knight, hearing this, held back his groan.

The Mysterious Knight's voice sounded like that of a boy in the midst of his voice change.

Translate: "The Mysterious Knight's voice sounded like that of a boy in his voice‑breaking years."

【95】 The Mysterious Knight's voice sounded like that of a boy in his voice‑breaking years.

"Aeboe Aegret. I have no money." The second half drained whatever strength remained in the first.

Translate: "\"Aibo Aiget. I have no money. \" The latter sentence exhausted whatever strength remained in the first."

【96】 "Aibo Aiget. I have no money." The latter sentence exhausted whatever strength remained in the first.

"Cole, wait until he's asleep, then use a stretcher to carry him back to the inn, find him a room, and hire a couple of mercenaries to look after him—he'll need to lie on the stretcher for a while, ah, how pitiful." The Mysterious Knight became even more mysterious.

Translate: "\"Cole, once he's asleep, use a stretcher to take him back to the inn, find him a room, uh, hire two mercenaries to look after him—he'll need to lie on the stretcher for a while, ah, how pitiful. \" The Mysterious Knight became even more enigmatic."

Cole, the inn's mercenaries.

【97】 "Cole, once he's asleep, use a stretcher to take him back to the inn, find him a room, uh, hire two mercenaries to look after him—he'll need to lie on the stretcher for a while, ah, how pitiful." The Mysterious Knight became even more enigmatic.

"Kid, you're kind after all," Wil laughed, feeling pleased.

Translate: "\"Kid, you're kind after all, \" Lord Weier laughed, feeling pleased."

【98】 "Kid, you're kind after all," Lord Weier laughed, feeling pleased.

"You're just as kind, sir!"

Translate: "\"You're just as kind, my lord! \""

【99】 "You're just as kind, my lord!"

Lord Wil turned and left; he still had work to do.

Translate: "Lord Weier turned and left; he still had work to do."

【100】 Lord Weier turned and left; he still had work to do.

That night he told a few fair‑weather friends that the Mysterious Knight was a youth, perhaps only eleven or twelve years old.

That night he told a few fair‑weather friends that the Mysterious Knight was a youth, perhaps only eleven or twelve years old.

【101】 That night he told a few fair‑weather friends that the Mysterious Knight was a youth, perhaps only eleven or twelve years old.

"Oh ho, wouldn't that be another Barristan, with blond hair? Maybe it's our Prince Joffrey!" Pengte burst out laughing, "If he is, singers will sing of him for a thousand years, and he'll become an emperor of the ages; if so, I'll rename my meat cleaver 'Joffrey's Mercy'."

Barristan Prince Joffrey Pengte

"\"Oh ho, that'd make him another Barristan, with blond hair, wouldn't it? Maybe he's our Prince Joffrey! \" Pengte burst out laughing, \"If he is, singers will sing of him for a thousand years, and he'll also become an emperor of the ages; if so, from now on my meat‑cleaver will be renamed 'Joffrey's Mercy'. \""

We need to keep the quotation marks and exclamation.

【102】 "Oh ho, that'd make him another Barristan, with blond hair, wouldn't it? Maybe he's our Prince Joffrey!" Pengte burst out laughing, "If he is, singers will sing of him for a thousand years, and he'll also become an emperor of the ages; if so, from now on my meat‑cleaver will be renamed 'Joffrey's Mercy'."

"That's awful—I just called him 'kid' today, and I don't know if he'll use Joffrey's Mercy to cut out my tongue."

Translate: "\"That's awful; I just called him 'kid' today, I don't know if he'll have my tongue cut out with Joffrey's Mercy. \""

【103】 "That's awful; I just called him 'kid' today, I don't know if he'll have my tongue cut out with Joffrey's Mercy."

"No tongue—that would be bad, but Pengte could help you sell off the rest." Philinte is always so cruel.

Translate: "\"No tongue, that's no good, but Pengte can help you sell the rest together. \" Feilinte is always so cruel."

【104】 "No tongue, that's no good, but Pengte can help you sell the rest together." Feilinte is always so cruel.

"I only sell good meat," Pengte muttered.

Translate: "\"I only sell good meat. \" Pengte grumbled."

【105】 "I only sell good meat." Pengte grumbled.

"How could this gold robe not be good meat?"

Translate: "\"How could this gold robe not be good meat? \""

【106】 "How could this gold robe not be good meat?"

"It's precisely the gold robe that makes the meat bad!" the butcher complained.

Translate: "\"It's precisely the gold robe that makes the meat bad, \" the butcher complained."

【107】 "It's precisely the gold robe that makes the meat bad," the butcher complained.

"Wil only wears the gold robe for a little while."

Translate: "\"Lord Weier only wears the gold robe for a little while. \""

【108】 "Lord Weier only wears the gold robe for a little while."

"He was rotten from birth."

Translate: "\"He's been rotten since birth. \""

【109】 "He's been rotten since birth."

Wil laughed loudly, and his fair‑weather friends joined in.

Translate: "Lord Weier laughed, and his fair‑weather friends laughed along."

【110】 Lord Weier laughed, and his fair‑weather friends laughed along.

Having left the butcher Pengte behind, it was already wolf hour; far off, the Red Fort on Yinggeng Gaoqiu still glittered with lights, where kings and queens reside. Here,

Translate: "Having left the butcher Pengte behind, it was already wolf‑hour; far off, the Red Fort on Yinggeng Gaoqiu still glimmered with lights, where there were kings and queens. Here, the mud‑street fleapit also glimmered with lights, filled with curses and laughter, as well as wails and screams."

Yinggeng Gaoqiu, Red Fort, mud‑street fleapit.

【111】 Having left the butcher Pengte behind, it was already wolf‑hour; far off, the Red Fort on Yinggeng Gaoqiu still glimmered with lights, where there were kings and queens. Here, the mud‑street fleapit also glimmered with lights, filled with curses and laughter, as well as wails and screams.

He wore a gold robe, feeling reasonably safe, right?

Translate: "He wore the gold robe, feeling reasonably safe. Should be, right?"

【112】 He wore the gold robe, feeling reasonably safe. Should be, right?

Summer had lasted seven years; such a long summer was, to his knowledge, rare. Yet even with such a long summer, the fleapit still had fleas fighting over scraps of food nonstop.

Translate: "Summer had lasted seven years; such a prolonged summer was, to his knowledge, rare. Yet even this endless summer, the fleapit still teemed with fleas fighting over every scrap of food."

【113】 Summer had lasted seven years; such a prolonged summer was, to his knowledge, rare. Yet even this endless summer, the fleapit still teemed with fleas fighting over every scrap of food.

The gold robe would eventually be devoured by a bunch of madmen; his squad leader had complained about that before.

Translate: "The gold robe will sooner or later be devoured by a bunch of madmen; his squad leader had complained about it before."

【114】 The gold robe will sooner or later be devoured by a bunch of madmen; his squad leader had complained about it before.

We should clear out the fleapit, round up all the homeless refugees, sell them as slaves or prostitutes, or whatever they're suited for; otherwise we could dump them all into Blackwater Bay to feed the fish, for who knows when they'll start cutting us up and eating us.

Translate: "\"We should clear out the fleapit, round up all the homeless refugees, and sell them off as slaves, prostitutes, or whatever they're suited for; otherwise we could just dump them all into Blackwater Bay to feed the fish, for who knows when they'll start carving us up and eating us. \""

【115】 "We should clear out the fleapit, round up all the homeless refugees, and sell them off as slaves, prostitutes, or whatever they're suited for; otherwise we could just dump them all into Blackwater Bay to feed the fish, for who knows when they'll start carving us up and eating us."

"I guess it's when they're hungry," Wil recalled having replied.

Translate: "\"I guess it's when they're hungry, \" Lord Weier recalled having replied."

【116】 "I guess it's when they're hungry," Lord Weier recalled having replied.

"Where would we get enough food to feed them? Even if we could, how many days would it last? And if they're full, they'll just spread their legs and breed more, each one a blight on the city."

Translate: "\"Where would we get enough food to feed them? Even if we did, how many days could we last? And if they're full, they'll just spread their legs and breed more—each one a tumor on the city. \""

【117】 "Where would we get enough food to feed them? Even if we did, how many days could we last? And if they're full, they'll just spread their legs and breed more—each one a tumor on the city."

And yet we rely on them for our livelihood, but Wil couldn't bring himself to say it.

Translate: "And yet we rely on them to sustain us—Lord Weier couldn't bring himself to say it."

【118】 And yet we rely on them to sustain us—Lord Weier couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Do you know how many people can fit under one tent in the fleapit? Good gods, men, women, old and young—there are over thirty, all in that one patch of ground, more than the sheep in my pen." He gestured to show the tent's size.

Translate: "\"Do you know how many people can fit under one tent in the fleapit? Good gods, men, women, elders, children—there are over thirty, all in this one patch, more than the sheep in my pen. \" He gestured to show the tent's size."

【119】 "Do you know how many people can fit under one tent in the fleapit? Good gods, men, women, elders, children—there are over thirty, all in this one patch, more than the sheep in my pen." He gestured to show the tent's size.

"Do you know how many people can fit under a single tent in a flea‑infested nest? Seven gods, men, women, elders, children—there are over thirty, all crammed into this one patch of ground, more than the sheep in my family's pen." He gestured with his hand to indicate the size of the tent.

He returned to his own dwelling; it was dark and cramped, but already much better than the flea-ridden hovel, at least this nest had only him in it.

He took off the gold robe and leather armor he was wearing on duty, removed his long sword and dagger, threw off his boots, took off his long robe and underwear, and fetched clean water to wash.

If it stayed overcast for two days straight, he would pray that his clothes wouldn't get too damp, since he didn't have many spare clothes.

He felt that if he couldn't make some money from his post, he couldn't support himself; if he occasionally drank with disreputable friends, he'd need to make more; if he hired a laundress to look after his life, he'd need even more; and if he were to carry on the family name and language, he'd probably have to do something utterly unconscionable, but even then it wouldn't be his turn to die.

He gently kneaded the clothes; in the dim light, he didn't know what he had kneaded out of them, but the clothes kneaded in his hands were exactly like his fate, like trash.

On the afternoon of the third day of the martial arts tournament, the final round of preliminaries began; at that point 129 people remained, and they had to determine the final 70 in that afternoon.

According to the rule set by the big-bearded referee, 116 of them were paired off for 58 bouts, leaving 13 with byes; if after those 58 rounds all 58 winners could advance to the finals, then from the 13 a lucky one would need to be picked, who could freely choose an opponent from the remaining pool.

If any of the winners cannot participate in the finals, the chief referee must promptly inform the substitute referee, cancel some of the pairings so that both sides of those matches get byes and advance directly.

Getting a bye is common, and this is also where the marshal of the lists can often pull strings; a fair referee will consider the competitors' strength and let the more combat-capable knights get a bye.

In his final promotion, he saw many more familiar coats of arms: an orange field covered with runes, a pile of stones in the center—the Royse family; the golden lion representing House Lannister; the crescent falcon representing the Vale of Arryn; the jeweled stag representing the crown; the flower bouquet representing the Reach; the red‑heart raven representing Gulltown; the cluster of longbow arrows representing the Longbow Hall; the red castle representing the Red Keep; the acorn representing the Acorn Hall; the black raven representing the Raven's Roost; the red‑and‑green apple representing House Fossoway; the red fox representing Brightwater Keep; the golden tree of House Rowan; and, besides these, he also saw a spear piercing the sun from Dorne.

In the tournament, who could contend with these great houses? The shield‑bearing knights only display white heraldry, yet they too come from the various great houses.

The marshal tried to keep these great houses' contestants apart as much as possible, and also tried to prevent them from fighting each other in the preliminaries. Will could not tell whether this was favoritism toward the nobles or protection of ordinary knights; no one questioned it. But both the marshal and the judges disliked the mystery knight.

Will here again saw the mystery knight, small in stature, with a spiritless horse, rough yet neat and unadorned armor, a crooked red wolf‑head graffito. The opposing knight bore on his shield the emblem of a merman holding a trident; the shield was strapped tightly to his left arm.

Although he was a Mandrake, his build looked like yet seemed to be an Amber. It was another asymmetrical bout, but unexpectedly he thought the mystery knight would win the match.

"Mystery Knight versus the knight from White Harbor, begin!" the temporary judge saw the White Harbor knight signal readiness, then immediately ordered the start.

"Mystery Knight!" the crowd shouted loudly.

The mystery knight raised his lance and spurred his horse forward. The shouting drowned everything out; Will could not even turn his head to watch the match, and he signaled the brothers in red robes beside him to together push the crowd back to where they should be.

He did not want to miss the instant when the two knights' lances crossed, but the crowd surged forward; he could only turn sideways to block it, keeping his sight on the knights.

He knew there must be thieves like his friend Duncan creating chaos and crowding, but he no longer cared; he only wanted to stare at the field, not at potential thieves.

The warhorses galloped across the field.

According to Will's knowledge, the field was built at great expense; every inch of its soil was repeatedly tamped with huge stone blocks to form a solid roadbed, then a layer of loose sand was laid on it, neither too thin nor too thick, and finally layers of pine twigs and grass clippings were spread over the sand so that hooves could run as freely as possible and knights could fall from their mounts without injury.

This is the dreamland where knights gallop, enough to make any knight in the world proud and his blood boil.

The Mandrake knight, like any well‑trained knight, held his lance steady and advanced toward the petite mystery knight. Again wood chips flew; the mystery knight's lance thrust steadily against the opponent's shield, the White Harbor knight listed sideways and his horse lost balance. A fine knight at this moment would pray his feet could slip free of the stirrups and quickly get clear of the charging mount.

The White Harbor knight fell hard on his back, and his horse fortunately fell forward, avoiding being crushed.

The White Harbor knight refused the squire's help, rose quickly and steadied himself.

He had the right to demand a duel on foot.

"Draw sword!" the White Harbor knight shouted loudly.

"The knight from White Harbor requests a foot combat!"

Foot combat is often the bloodiest, yet the crowd loves it; when Will was a child he once vomited from the gore, and a fractured head troubled him for a long time.

The White Harbor knight was fully armed, tall and mighty, suppressing the scrawny mystery knight; his chances were high. In the final stage of the preliminaries, if he let the mystery knight advance to the finals, he would surely be mocked. Requesting foot combat was to defend his own honor, and also to defend the honor of other knights.

At that moment, Will completely forgot the pushing crowd; his eyes, like those of several thousand others, were fixed on the field.

The White Harbor knight immediately drew his sword and advanced, like a war god. The mystery knight also drew his sword to meet him; the blade was short and narrow, merely an ordinary one‑handed sword, making him look much more agile.

The great knight swung his sword with both hands, hacking horizontally and vertically, but the mystery knight dodged each strike.

Will, together with the red‑robed brothers, again shoved the overstepping spectators back. Turning his head, he saw the great knight of White Harbor with one knee on the ground, his huge sword flung far away, and the mystery knight struck the White Harbor knight hard on the back of the head with the pommel of his sword; this blow made him stagger.

No miracle would occur. A second blow knocked the White Harbor knight's helm off, sending it flying beside his greatsword.

The great knight's mouth was full of blood, his hands braced his body, his neck completely exposed. At this moment he had entrusted his life entirely to the mystery knight; if the mystery knight swung his sword and cut down, he would surely win the field—he was the Count of White Harbor, and even the Seven Gods could not grant justice to his precious life.

On the heated field, people are irrational; even in a joust, exposing such a wide weakness almost invites the enemy to strike a killing blow.

The mystery knight did not deal a killing blow; he kicked the great knight aside, who fell backward, able to plainly see the mystery knight and the single‑handed long sword thrust at his throat.

"I yield!" the great knight shouted helplessly, "Twenty gold dragons are enough to ransom my horse, armor, and weapons! Mystery knight, good luck!"

The great knight brushed aside his squire's assistance, rose to his feet sound and whole, leaving his squire to gather the greatsword and helm and to lead the wounded warhorse.

"Mystery Knight! Mystery Knight!" several thousand people shouted in unison.

How many years had it been since anyone saw a mystery knight reach the finals? The mystery knight leapt onto his horse, repeatedly cantering around the lists, raising his longsword to cheer the crowd. Lord Will envied him, yet he had to exert all his strength to shove the surging spectators clear of the thoroughfare.

Could the commander of the red cloaks really have no other way to stop them from colliding? What a complete fool.

He feared that thugs would draw their daggers and, in the chaos, commit murder and cause bloody clashes.

The cheers on the field continued; only under the loud suppression of the temporary judge did the mystery knight finally leave the lists. Everyone wanted to know his identity, yet at the same time they wished to protect it from being exposed by other means.

"Mystery Knight! Mystery Knight!" the field had already been drowned in cheers.

This was the most exhausting duty of maintaining order. He also hoped to take on guard duty for the finals, to watch the match face‑on and have his fill, and preferably to look forward to a spot better than the king's.

The sun had not yet set, and the seventy‑seven knights who had made the finals were already determined. But his duty as field marshal was over; tomorrow he would follow his regular assignment, patrolling the gates, the walls, the streets, or, according to the orders of the company or squad leader, go after this thief or that bandit. As shift ended, he learned of tomorrow's work: his squad leader had assigned him to guard the perimeter outside the finals and keep order. That meant he would not be able to see any of the splendid matches.

At least he was close enough to the finals field.

As long as the crowd's shouts are loud enough, I too can know what's happening in the field and find out right away who wins or loses. Perhaps I could even take off my helmet to dispel the summer heat. Everyone's attention is on the field; no one notices how a little red‑cloaked fellow outside makes himself comfortable.

The next morning he arrived at his appointed spot. Here he could only watch nobles, wealthy folk and their children and servants enter the lists, watch senior ministers of the Hand escorted in by the red‑cloaked brothers, and see the fat king ride up to the queen's carriage.

After these notables had entered, he took off his helmet and held it to his chest. The other red‑cloaked brothers also relaxed, either laying down their bets or cupping an ear to hear who won or lost inside.

The atmosphere in the lists began to heat up gradually after the king entered.

Although the cheers inside the lists thundered, the herald could still project his voice like a great bell, carrying it steadily across the noisy field to the corners and into his ears.

One bright name after another, again and again the call "Begin!"

He silently counted the rounds of the knights' lance jousts; at most he heard the herald loudly proclaim "Seventh lance, begin!"—perhaps it was the Knight of Flowers, perhaps Lannister, perhaps the Mountain—he never caught the call for the eighth lance; after the seventh, there was only the crowd's cheering. The nobles' cheers were just as fervent, not much different from those in the flea‑infested den.

He heard one giant‑like name after another: "Barristan," "Lannister," "the Mountain," "brave Gallan," "the Eagle"; then shortly he heard a louder acclaim: "the Mystery Knight."

The field grew even noisier; he could no longer hear the herald's voice—perhaps his shouting had already strained his throat. He must feel as helpless as I do. He tried to make out who was jousting against the mystery knight, but failed; he did not want to go back to the red‑cloaked brothers to listen to their dull wagers and predictions.

He shifted his stance, cradling his helmet, lifted his gaze to the sky, and turned his ear toward that wall, like a straight column paying respect to the distance. The clamor belonged to the king and the nobles, to the knights, not to the red cloaks. He thought sadly.

Not long after, a red‑cloaked officer darted out from the inner city lists, his eyes swiftly scanning the gathered red‑cloaked men, fixing on Will, who held his helmet and gazed afar at the field, feeling neither joy nor sorrow.

Besides him, several gold-robed men came out, carrying a limp corpse and dumping it on the ground. Wil stepped closer and saw the corpse's chest caved in with a large hole, as if both sides' lances had pierced it; his face was reddish-purple, swollen like a balloon, blood spraying over his face and eyes.

Wil never imagined a person could die like this; it was truly gruesome.

This was a gold-robed man who died in the arena.

The gold-robed brothers gathered together rushed over to help, but they could do nothing; this brother was already dead.

"Come here, follow me, and keep order at the arena!" the officer summoned Wil directly, "Take his place, don't stand there foolishly, don't startle the horses, most importantly, don't get trampled to death by a horse!"

Wil admitted that he had never been happier than at this moment.

He could go to the finals arena to watch.

Although he didn't see it from start to finish, it was enough to see the most exciting part, and more importantly, his position was indeed better than the king's. His spot was right in the center of the arena, where the two sides fought. He had no doubt why that unlucky fellow died in the arena.

His task was simple: direct the attendants of the knights on both sides; when someone on either side was wounded, quickly lift the wounded out of the arena and instruct the attendants to plant their heraldic banners in suitable spots.

It's a simple task, as long as he isn't trampled by a horse.

The host was almost directly opposite him. Now he knew how rich and deep the other's voice was. Such a voice was worth the king paying for, worth the nobles present listening to him give honorary introductions and regulate the battle's pace according to his arrangement.

"Third lance, begin battle!" the pure-white-armored Imperial Forest Iron Guard faced the second son of the Riverbay Dual Rose Regiment, Garland. Seeing the banner, he needed no further introduction.

Up close he felt the thunderous sound of both sides' warhorses kicking; the two warhorses were like thousands. This position was excellent; he could clearly see both sides almost simultaneously touch their lances to the opponent's shield, the lances almost simultaneously breaking.

The attendants nearby quickly tossed the larger fallen wood pieces aside, while other attendants replaced the knights' lances with new ones.

Two knights, under the tremendous impact, leaned back on their horses, but on the other side both sides had already readjusted their posture. No need for more talk; a fourth lance was needed. Under the fourth lance, the white-robed knight was directly knocked off his horse, and the arena's lords and ladies gasped, especially the ladies.

The white-robed knight who had fallen struggled to rise but lacked the strength; his attendant quickly stepped forward, helped him up, and led him out of the arena.

Garland's lance was steadier; the white-robed knight had already run out of stamina earlier, or perhaps his arm was injured.

Garland, lance in hand, ran a lap around the arena, receiving the crowd's blessings. He stopped beneath the king's seat, lifted his visor, and faced the throne: "Garland Tili'er of High Garden, thank you Princess Misesla for your favor; your garland doubles my courage!" After speaking, he nodded courteously, his graceful bearing eliciting cheers from the ladies. The little princess blushed a smile. Garland Tili'er then rode off handsomely.

The next match was between Jaime Lannister and the young son of the Earl of Hunt from Heart's Rest City, Harlan Hunt.

Jaime of the Imperial Forest Iron Guard won handsomely, unseating Harlan Hunt with a single lance; Hunt lacked the courage to request a ground fight and left the field with his attendants' help.

"Kingslayer!" the king shouted from the table, unsure whether praising his valor or mocking him, but Jaime never looked toward the high platform, marching straight out of the arena.

The joust ended as the crowd shouted "King Robert!"; King Robert rode off first, followed by his guard, then the senior ministers of the court, and the dignitaries.

Wil had to wait for everyone to leave, then supervise workers in cleaning the arena anew, carefully checking that no splintered wood or bloody debris that could injure someone remained.

Standing beside him was an unfamiliar gold-robed man, but his aura was stronger; he was no petty lackey like Wil.

"How's your take today, kid?" the tone was unpleasant.

"As little as a bishop's hair, sir."

From his armor one could tell he was at least a high-ranking officer in the guard; Wil thought it best not to provoke him.

"Did you see Hadewen's corpse? The one with a big hole in his chest—he's the adult, the captain of the Dragon Gate Guard. He could have won dozens of gold dragons, but he was unlucky, killed by the crow's horse—heh, it snatched his heart."

"Well, he invented a new way for gold-robed men to die; quite impressive." Upon hearing this, the other laughed.

"Hahaha, right. But he's clearly not the most innocent; to win gold dragons he fed the crow's horse drugs, not expecting the horse to trample him to death." The gold-robed man pulled out his money bag, repeatedly counting the few silver stags left, "You don't seem interested?"

"Yes, but what came out was something else:" "Sir, you're sure to say what you intend to say."

"What makes you think I'd know about this, right?" The gold-robed man put away his money bag, smiling at Wil; Wil felt uneasy under that smile, having no desire to get involved, so he didn't answer.

"I'm one of his subordinates. A few days ago, Lord Hadewen secretly told me that in this lance tournament he would surely make a fortune. I didn't believe it, but seeing his confidence, I knew Lord Hadewen was up to some scheming. So I sent someone—haha, actually it was me myself—secretly following him. And… you know what happened next: he indeed succeeded and indeed achieved his goal."

"Sir, his death—could it be?" Wil wanted to know more; perhaps this was the gold-robed's secret.

"His death was seen by the king, the king's ministers, and the city's lords; his death is not the problem. The problem is what he actually did." He muttered to himself, as if showing off his knowledge: "He is a relative of Sir Lin'en Keburui; their mothers are said to be sisters, and one of his sisters married a cousin of Sir Keburui. Based on that relation, he set his sights on the crow, and the crow took his heart, just as the Keburui coat of arms does."

"Did Sir Keburui not win?" Wil grew more puzzled.

"Sir Keburui certainly didn't. His horse went out of control and trampled his own relative." Wil remained quite puzzled.

"If a person is so wicked as to profit by harming his own kin, the gods will not let him off." The gold-robed man gave him a sideways grin and walked away, "And the one who profits will be one of his subordinates, like me."

Isn't that natural?

The next day Wil arrived early at the jousting field, but after waiting a long time he still didn't see yesterday's gold-robed man. Keburui, Hadewen—let them go to hell. Afterwards, a new gold-robed man appeared at that bastard's guard post.

Just as yesterday, the fat king entered the arena last.

"Silence! Please welcome our beloved king! King of the Andals, the Loyans, and the First Men, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm, Robert Baratheon the First!" the announcer's voice boomed like a bell.

"I know many of you have come from all over the kingdom to take part in this tournament, but I know you won't leave disappointed; here gather the kingdom's finest warriors, a peerless company. May the Seven Gods' good fortune fall upon all competitors, and they will surely give you a splendid display. Finally, let us jointly wish: may the long summer accompany us, and most importantly, may my dear daughter, may you princesses, have a happy naming day for the fifth of Misesla, and everlasting health!" The king's voice was equally loud.

The crowd roared, the joust not yet begun but already at its peak.

"First round, the valiant Garland from High Garden, Garland Tili'er, versus the mysterious knight. Will the valiant Garland be able to lift the mysterious knight's helm? Let's wait and see! Know that in the past century no mysterious knight has reached the finals." The host gestured for the crowd to cheer.

Wil saw the king laughing heartily; the appearance of a mysterious knight on the field made him genuinely glad.

The mysterious knight was as usual.

Garland Tili'er, like his house's sigil, was a cluster of blossoms; his cape was intricate and bright, his armor refined and elegant, the fine porcelain gleaming in the sunlight, exuding a hardy and graceful aura; his helm was even more luxurious, made with openwork casting, revealing no flaw, ensuring lightness while catering to visual light, altogether resembling a budding flower full of vigorous life.

If a man bears martial vigor, Wil would think he should be like this Garland, not the slender mysterious knight.

"Begin!" With the host's call, the horses charged. Turf and dirt flew up, giving the horses stable thrust. The lances pointed straight at each other; at top speed each struck the opponent's shield, then the lances shattered simultaneously. The tremendous impact made both lean back, yet they fully absorbed the shock, quickly adjusted, and immediately resumed combat.

"Second lance!"

Garland Tili'er changed lances, gripping it firmly; even as his horse galloped, he remained steady. Most of the women in the field cheered for him. The mysterious knight held his lance steady, not giving an inch. The horses clashed, lances broke, and under the huge impact the mysterious knight was nearly thrown from his mount, but his right foot stayed hooked on the horse's back, and with his left hand he swung his shield at the central rail, instantly reseating himself firmly on the horse—his bodily control astonishing.

His armor might not be as good as Tili'er's, but his horse is no worse.

On the other side, Garland leaned far back, taking a moment to recover.

"Third lance!" Garland held his lance steadier, aiming for the mysterious knight. But the mysterious knight gave him no chance for a fourth lance, lunging forward almost to jump from his horse and striking Garland's double-rose shield with precision and courtesy, no tricks—this undoubtedly displayed his superb horsemanship and bold tactics.

Garland Tili'er fell straight from his horse. In the lance duel, he lost perfectly.

The king also rose from his seat and clapped, celebrating the splendid fight.

If there were a stool to sit on, Wil would also stand up. Who can stay upright on a horse using only his legs and deliver a perfect lance? Without doubt, this mysterious knight is an excellent rider, a centaur.

"The mysterious knight wins. Sir Garland Tili'er forgoes the foot combat! It seems we need two of the remaining three to unveil his visor. Frankly, I worry for our beautiful Princess Misesla's 'Crown of Love and Beauty,' but I have confidence in our white knight; let me anticipate the forthcoming bout!" The host loudly announced the result.

"Mysterious knight, mysterious knight!" The cries filled the arena. Robert also sat high and laughed loudly.

Mysterious Knight galloped across the arena, amid the cheers of the crowd, yielding the arena.

Will felt the subsequent contests were no longer exciting, but Bronze Royce's remarks were interesting.

"Fearless Lord Barristan, if I am fortunate enough to lose to you, how about this armor being worth five gold dragons? It must not be lost." Barristan, familiar with this routine, nodded in agreement.

The Count of Fu Stone City was broad-shouldered; this set of bronze armor famed across the Seven Kingdoms could barely be fitted on him, its dull copper hue unremarkable, showing neither magic nor luster, only intricate patterns, yet it was undoubtedly the sturdiest armor in the Seven Kingdoms, magic keeping it unblemished for a thousand years.

The Count and Sir Selyse jousted five rounds, with no victor decided; the King thought Barristan scored more hits against Bronze Royce, so he declared him the winner. Thus, the guardians of the Love and Beauty floral crown were only Jaime and Barristan, while the challenger was solely the Mysterious Knight.

If the Mysterious Knight were to seize the floral crown, he would need to defeat both opponents one after another. Moreover, as this is the final, there is no possibility of resting and fighting again the next day. Either of the two renowned white knights, even if defeated, would not leave him much stamina. As the Mysterious Knight, even in defeat there is honor.

"We have seen that the Mysterious Knight refuses to lift his visor to reveal his identity, insisting on being a thief on the field, seizing the wreath belonging to our princess. He is an ambitious, confident, and powerful contestant," he said with a teasing tone, hosting, "Let us pray that the two White Cloak Guardians can see through this thief's identity for the Iron Throne, catch this troublemaker on the field, let us pray that the two White Cloak Guardians can exert their strength, defend the honor of the White Cloak, defend the royal family's great strength. But most importantly, we must cheer for all contestants, for great battles, for this historic moment, for 'Love and Beauty,' for all knights, for all striving warriors, for all the kingdom's brave souls, for the kingdom's prosperity and peace, for the endless long summer."

Will was immersed in the host's speech, forgetting to signal the servants to tidy the arena, but they were well versed and needed no arrangement from him.

He could not say what he felt. He both wanted the White Cloak Iron Guard to fell the Mysterious Knight and secretly hoped the Mysterious Knight would ultimately seize the wreath.

What he heard was the crowd's cheers; what he saw was the audience waving their arms, usually restrained ladies raising their voices, shouting desperately, like old women scolding soldiers.

On the throne, the king's smile could not be hidden; a Mysterious Knight had brought him too much joy and anticipation, and even the queen beside him showed a faint smile. If the lord of the nation is in such good spirits, then his subjects below can completely relax, whispering to each other or cheering and leaping.

The Mysterious Knight who had entered the finals had not been seen for a century.

Perhaps after the battle, the Mysterious Knight's ballad will be sung from King's Landing to the Great Wall. From now on, sung until the end of time.

Let me see, is everything around you trash? Let me see, do you want to change your dialect?

"Mysterious Knight!"

"Unmask him!"

People wanted to keep the secret until the very last moment. This is the meaning of the Mysterious Knight. This is also the meaning of waiting and anticipation.

The Mysterious Knight's opponent was the Kingslayer Jaime Lannister. Jaime wore white-cloak gold armor, bearing the distinctive white emblem of the Iron Guard.

The nobles on the field whispered to each other, servants bustling back and forth. Will knew they were placing bets.

"Mysterious Knight versus Palace Iron Guard Sir Jaime Lannister! Begin!"

Lannister rode forth spirited, lance in hand. The Mysterious Knight likewise held his lance steady.

Lannister's lance was deflected and gouged, the burning wolf-head paint on his shield ripped, while the Mysterious Knight's lance, as before, landed steadily on Lannister's shield.

There are advantages to being frail.

"Second lance, begin!" Rather than saying the host controlled the pace of the duel, it was the combatants who guided the host's rhythm. Both sides halted, swapped lances in one fluid motion—Will had never seen such a smooth contest.

The lance shattered again; Lannister steadied by leaning sideways, the Mysterious Knight clenched his legs around the horse's belly. Ultimately, the Mysterious Knight lacked sufficient weight.

Still, it had to continue. Lannister seemed resolved to end it there; Will saw him lean forward, determined to land a decisive blow. He had sensed the opponent's weakness. Would the Mysterious Knight again perform a perfect mounted leap? Will did not think this trick could be repeated. But in a joust, insufficient weight means insufficient strength.

The Mysterious Knight contracted his body, hiding most of himself behind the shield. Sliding past, Jaime Lannister's lance shattered, and only then did the Mysterious Knight's lance arrive.

This was a counter-strike, requiring high confidence, quick reflexes, and bodily coordination—Will understood.

The Kingslayer was unhorsed by accident.

The arena fell silent, then erupted in loud cheers again.

Jaime Lannister's attendants rushed to where he fell, one controlling the bolting horse, three flanking left and right to check for injury and prepare swords for melee combat.

Will saw Jaime struggling, but already understood that this round, too, the Mysterious Knight had won.

With several people supporting him, Jaime stumbled off the field, abandoning the melee. It was a relief that he had not been trampled by horse hooves.

After the noisy discussion subsided, the arena shouted again.

The cheers are truly fervent; later, your ballad will be sung until our ears grow calluses.

Will stood on the arena, completely detached, unsure what to do. He stood like a wooden post; as long as he stood straight, others would say he had done his task well.

What else can I do? I am merely a petty gold-robed, maintaining my health by beating passersby, paying off debts by stealing from the Iron Throne, improving my life through extortion, and finding solace in others' epics to ease my petty emptiness.

Seven Gods, you truly deserve to die.

"The Mysterious Knight has won! Now I worry more about our princess's floral crown. Will our fearless Barristan be able to thwart the nimble thief, the floral-crown robber? Let us wait and see!"

"Mysterious Knight!"

"Mysterious Knight!" the crowd shouted.

On the throne platform, the king was elated, cheering and uplifted, as if he himself wore the mysterious armor, defeating opponents one after another, even capturing the championship and seizing the floral crown. Beside him, senior ministers and noble guests either laughed heartily or looked glum, the bets' outcomes clear.

The Mysterious Knight left the arena. The host continued with his usual booming voice, narrating the event; Will listened to his rambling talk, deeply impressed.

You damn well are the king.

Will saw two gold-robed brothers lift the tribute table from the throne platform's height and set down fork-shaped gold implements. Moreover, two noble maidens placed wreaths woven from various flowers onto the implements.

Everyone in the arena could see this floral crown symbolizing "Love and Beauty." The crown came in red, blue, gold, and other colors, with roses and other flowers Will could not name, but regardless of what flowers were inside, he knew it was no longer ordinary.

Placing the arena's floral crown on the wrong person's head would cause the royal crown to fall, would bring suffering to the populace, would reduce the nobility to dust, and the kingdom had long known such tales.

Sir Barristan, already prepared, stood on the arena, silently awaiting his opponent, listening to the fervent cries around him.

The host continued to exert his ability, fully mobilizing emotions during the wait of thousands. Even the king awaited with an open heart, without the slightest impatience.

Will waited in his seat, craning his neck.

You are the fire in people's hearts.

The Mysterious Knight reappeared amid the arena's anticipation; this time his armor was somewhat animated, no longer a hastily scrawled doodle but a distinct sideways wolf's head.

Red beard and hair all bristling, it was blazing flame.

He looked neater, more supple. He had made his preparations.

"As the host, I am honored to witness this joust together with the king, the queen, the prince, the princess, the ministers, and all of you. Let us begin!"

The arena instantly thundered with cheers, then swiftly fell silent.

Fearless Barristan held his lance level, spurred his horse, accelerating smoothly like flowing clouds and water. The Mysterious Knight did the same as before.

Both lances shattered. Both recoiled simultaneously. Exchanging lances, they shattered again. Exchanging lances again, they shattered again.

Barristan would never point his lance tip outside the shield, and the Mysterious Knight shared the same understanding. An old man, a youth—whoever had better horsemanship, whoever had greater stamina, would prevail; but the Mysterious Knight had fought one more round today.

Fourth lance, Selyse was unhorsed in disarray, but he immediately rose, his experience rich, knowing how to fall from a horse.

The mysterious knight leaned back again, his legs already over the horse's back, but after a slight adjustment he remained seated firmly.

"Mysterious Knight, if it were a jousting match I would naturally yield, but today it is both a match and the honor of guarding Princess Miserla, I will not yield midway. Bring your sword! (Sword!)" Sir Selmy shouted loudly, hoping the mysterious knight at the far end of the field could hear.

Everyone in the arena could hear clearly.

"Foot combat!"

"Foot combat!" the crowd had already gone mad.

Will felt he himself had gone mad too, and he actually shouted along with the gold‑robed brothers beside him, following the crowd.

I am not a spectator, oh, I am a spectator.

"Fearless Sir Barristan Selmy, to defend the princess's garland, I request foot combat!" the announcer exclaimed with all his strength, as if it were the last words of his life.

The attendant quickly moved, presenting him with a long sword. Sir Selmy drew his steel sword with flair and strode toward the center of the field. The mysterious knight likewise drew his steel sword in the attendant's embrace. They both walked toward Will's direction.

Will stepped back three paces, giving them enough space for the contest area.

If I were cut down by a single sword, I would probably become part of a ballad sung for a thousand years, wouldn't I?

Selmy has both strength and skill. The mysterious knight has skill; as a youth he might be more agile, but his experience falls short of the white knight's.

Will thought, if the frail mysterious knight won, it could only mean that Sir Barristan had just fallen from his horse and been injured!

The two clashed head‑on without any feint.

Will's vision blurred; he had seen jousts before, but to hear weapons clanged like this, producing a sound that devoured ears, was a first. The mysterious knight looked much slighter than the white knight, perhaps weaker in strength, yet he showed none of it. No matter how Sir Selmy chopped and slashed, he resisted with all his might, never dodging, occasionally countering on the rebound, displaying a stubborn determination not to fall behind.

Did he intend to win the championship with absolute strength? The mysterious knight also wielded a long sword capable of chopping and slashing.

Sir Selmy wore the heavy armor of the joust, but this mysterious knight had just come from mounted combat, naturally also in heavy armor. Two fully armored humans swinging heavy swords to chop and slash might look dull to outsiders, but to Will it was heart‑pounding. In such armor no one could swing long, yet neither spared their strength.

This fighting style made King Robert lean on the barrier, waving his arms and legs, shouting loudly.

He also liked this style.

Will suddenly noticed the mysterious knight drew his sword faster, his dodges merely to enable more strikes. Thus everyone realized that the fearless Sir Barristan was actually at a disadvantage. The mysterious knight pressed on, as if expending his last strength, driving Barristan into the middle barrier of the spear fight.

In the final roar, the champion was born.

The mysterious knight delivered a diagonal chop, breaking the barrier Barristan leaned on; his whole body lost balance with the barrier, then was struck in the chest armor by a long sword and fell backward, whereupon another blow knocked the sword from his grasp. Thousands saw the mysterious knight's long sword aimed at Barristan's neck. The crowd stood frozen for a few seconds over the outcome.

Barristan weakly pushed aside the long sword pointed at him.

"You won, mysterious knight, congratulations!"

The mysterious knight nodded, sheathed his long sword, slowly returned to one end of the field, mounted his tall warhorse, and amid the cheers raised his sword to signal for even greater, louder applause.

His Benz warhorse repeatedly circled the field, each half‑lap prompting him to gesture for louder cheers, like a youth who can't get enough of riding.

Damn it, hurry up and lift that damned helmet.

Will looked at the king, who was still grinning broadly and laughing, joining the crowd in cheering. Everyone felt convinced that the mysterious knight had honorably and outright won the match. Everyone knew the mysterious knight was favored today by the Seven Gods. They gladly followed the god‑blessed to watch him run his horse over and over, accompanied by the crowd's chant of "Mysterious Knight!" This might be the first time in history.

Finally he stopped before the "Crown of Love and Beauty" and lifted the garland with his long sword.

He held the garland in one hand, tossed away his sword with the other, removed his helmet. Under the gaze of all, he loosened his hair, held the wreath with both hands, and placed it upon his head, like a coronation.

Seven Gods, this is a woman.