The next day.
The tournament continued as scheduled.
The noble lords arrived early, their eyes fixed intently on a certain spot in the spectator stands.
They were waiting for the Targaryen dragon rider.
"Skree—!"
A streak of red cut through the sky like a bolt of searing lightning, racing at extreme speed across the shimmering surface of the Gods Eye.
Caraxes glided at a low altitude, its serpent-like body reflected on the lake's surface as the tip of its tail lightly stirred the water.
Daeron had discovered long ago that it loved soaring over water.
Just like the name Caraxes, which was derived from the Old Valyria for "God of the Sea."
Boom—
Caraxes circled exactly three times before landing at its rider's command, its massive body kicking up a great cloud of dust and grass.
Flanked by two members of the Kingsguard, Daeron walked straight to the spectator stands with his sword at his waist.
Composed! Noble!
Every word of praise seemed to belong to him by birthright.
The noble lords held their breath, their faces flushed with suppressed excitement.
The power of a dragon was soul-shaking, no matter how many times one saw it.
If not for their caution, they would have truly wanted to stand and cheer for Daeron Targaryen.
"It's still missing a little something."
Daeron looked ahead, yet he took everything in.
He was not Daenerys.
She had spent over a decade with her country lost and family dead; though she finally managed to hatch dragons, her army was composed of Dothraki and Unsullied, leading to her being rejected by most of the nobles in Westeros.
Right now, the Targaryen dynasty had not yet fallen, and he was a prince under the gaze of thousands.
A dragon-riding Targaryen.
It might cause temporary panic, but it would be followed by a surge in prestige, reminding the lords of the Seven Kingdoms of the stable environment the dragons had once brought them.
"Prince, as you expected, many people were looking for you last night."
Davos reported in a low voice.
Daeron understood: "Ignore them."
If the dragon was bait for the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, then the Life Frequency was a fatal temptation for all knights who had mastered Life Force.
He had to keep them dangling.
Daeron was always clear about his primary goal.
Using this tournament to expand his influence and bring dragons back into the eyes of the world.
Returning to his seat.
Just as Daeron sat down, a group of unexpected visitors came to his door.
A pack of Starks.
Led by the "Wild Wolf" Brandon, Ned, Lyanna, and Benjen—all four siblings had come.
There was also Howland of Greywater Watch.
"Prince," Howland greeted him joyfully.
First thing in the morning, he had encountered his own people, and it happened that House Stark was also looking for the Prince.
Daeron nodded slightly.
The Starks also bowed in greeting.
Lyanna stepped forward and said, "Prince Daeron, thank you for rescuing my father's vassal yesterday. House Stark remembers your kindness."
This was the first time the two had met.
Daeron looked her over.
Lyanna was beautiful, with smooth black hair; she wasn't wearing riding trousers, but a long blue dress in the Northern style, with a blue and white garland on her wrist.
She carried herself with poise without being impolite.
Beauty and wildness coexisted; she was a very typical Northern girl.
Daeron was neither warm nor cold as he said, "You're welcome."
"..."
"No, The North does not forget."
Lyanna shook her head, appearing very persistent about this.
Northerners were traditionally excluded by Southern nobles, so they highly valued friends who were willing to lend a hand.
Daeron didn't stand on ceremony either and smiled, "When today's competition is over, we can have a drink."
"No problem."
Lyanna didn't hesitate for a moment, showing a bold and uninhibited spirit rare among Southern girls.
Having reached an agreement, they bid farewell.
Lyanna suddenly turned around, took a careful look at Daeron, and said seriously, "Your dragon left a deep impression on us."
With that, she followed her brothers.
Daeron remained silent, observing the Starks.
"Northern girls are famously passionate, and it seems the rumors are true."
Barristan spoke up in praise.
It was just that the girl had a fiancé, so she wasn't suitable for the Prince to pursue.
Davos had a different view and whispered in his ear, "Prince, this group of Starks is very strange. The one in charge is actually a girl."
"..."
"You have a sharp nose, Davos."
Daeron chuckled.
He had noticed it too.
On the surface, this group of Starks was led by the "Wild Wolf" Brandon, but the one actually responsible for communication had been Lyanna all along.
Northerners didn't exactly have the virtue of humility.
They wouldn't give her the right to speak just because they doted on their sister.
The fact that Lyanna could speak for the Starks proved that both Brandon and Ned deferred to their sister.
"Truly a she-wolf."
Daeron had some new thoughts.
Given the boldness Lyanna displayed, in the False Spring, it was hard to say whether Rhaegar had abducted her or if she had abducted Rhaegar.
After all, his eldest brother Rhaegar had always been a repressed, brooding man who preferred being passive in his eyes.
In his previous life, he would be equivalent to a 22-year-old STEM graduate.
If he hadn't been forced by circumstances, he likely wouldn't have gone to Dorne and actively proposed to marry Elia.
Daeron clicked his tongue: "Interesting."
In a corner he couldn't see.
Rhaegar was comforting his wife Elia when he happened to glance aside and saw the group of Starks.
Lyanna's black hair reached her waist, and that blue dress showcased a different style.
"Ice and Fire—"
Rhaegar stared blankly until he was called back by his wife Elia.
The tournament continued as one knight after another engaged in duels.
Lord Haran was very scheming.
Noticing that the duel between the two Kingsguard members was exceptionally exciting, he temporarily replaced the group melee with one-on-one duels.
After the most popular jousting, the duels began.
After two rounds of warm-ups, the audience's enthusiasm was thoroughly piqued.
Clang, clang, clang!
The referee struck the gong, announcing that the next one to take the field would be a member of the Kingsguard.
"Here it comes."
Daeron sat up straight.
Soon, Oswell in silver armor and a white cloak took the field, challenging one of his nephews.
There was a set of unwritten rules for the tournament.
The host's daughter was the "Queen of Love and Beauty," and her brothers or uncles would serve as champion knights to defend her crown.
A challenger who defeated the champion knight could take the crown.
In a typical tournament, no one would issue a challenge on the first day.
Usually, the winner of the tournament would return the crown to the host's daughter or give it to the woman of their choice.
Oswell entering the field was the signal that challenges could be made.
"Prince, I'll go challenge him."
Ser Jon wanted to take the field.
Daeron stopped him, looked at his father whose mind was wandering, and decided to take the field himself.
If he wanted fame, he would make it resound completely.
Without delay, he went down to put on his armor.
On the tournament field.
Oswell quickly ended the battle, defeating his nephew and becoming the defender, waiting for the next challenger.
Clang, clang, clang!
The referee was excited, shouting while striking the gong: "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our next contestant, the dragon-riding Prince Daeron Targaryen!"
Every time a Targaryen took the field, it caused a stir.
And a dragon-riding Targaryen would be a legend that swept the Seven Kingdoms.
Oswell was stunned, not expecting his next opponent to be Prince Daeron.
Clang, clang, clang!
Accompanied by a series of intense gong strikes, Daeron, dressed in purple and silver and holding two swords, slowly walked in from the sidelines.
"Prince, I won't show any mercy."
Oswell's tone was heavy; he couldn't forget the tragic death of his friend Connington.
Daeron said calmly, "Just use your full strength."
The battle was triggered at once.
Oswell gave a roar and charged with his sword.
Clang!
Daeron drew his obsidian blade and easily blocked his opponent's unstoppable strike.
Immediately, thunderous applause rang out from the sidelines.
Westeros highly revered individual heroism and held knights with high martial skills in high esteem.
"How is this possible?"
Oswell's strike failed; he pressed down with disbelief but couldn't move him even a fraction.
Even someone as strong as Ser Arthur Dayne wouldn't dare say he could take his full-strength strike head-on.
The corners of Daeron's mouth curled up as he pulled out his second standard longsword with his other hand, slashing at his opponent's waist with a step.
Oswell quickly retreated.
"Hooked."
Daeron turned quickly, his right-hand obsidian blade swinging down in a vertical chop.
Oswell raised his sword to parry, but it was snapped with a 'crack,' and even the webbing of his thumb was split by the immense force.
Daeron took a large step forward with the momentum, his second sword pressed against his opponent's throat.
"You've lost, Ser."
Oswell was speechless, looking at his broken sword, his mind in a daze.
Why?
Without waiting for an answer, the stands erupted in thunderous applause and intense cheering.
What did they just see?
Prince Daeron, dual-wielding longswords, had defeated a member of the Kingsguard in two moves.
No one suspected the match was fixed.
The Kingsguard upheld their honor and would not tarnish the white cloak on their backs.
And that longsword, which had just defeated a young Haran, was snapped in one blow by Prince Daeron's strange sword made of obsidian.
This couldn't be faked.
Oswell couldn't figure it out and said urgently, "Prince, you—"
He wanted to find out the truth.
Daeron ignored him completely, turning toward where Rhaegar was seated and shouting loudly, "Next!"
In the stands.
Rhaegar's brow furrowed slightly as he suspected, "It's that strange weapon again."
Ser Arthur informed him.
Yesterday, Barristan, who had dueled him, held a strange weapon.
The material was unrecognizable, and its sharpness and toughness seemed insufficient, yet it wouldn't break no matter how it was struck.
In a head-on collision, even the greatsword "Dawn" would suffer a disadvantage.
Prince Lewyn crossed his arms and asked, "Prince, have you ever seen an obsidian weapon that can shatter a steel sword?"
Other nobles might not have seen it.
But as a member of the Kingsguard who spent the year in the Red Keep and Dragonstone, how could he not recognize obsidian?
This crystal produced near volcanoes was rare, but its value wasn't high.
Finely polished by stonemasons, obsidian weapons were extremely sharp and could easily cut through leather.
But obsidian was ultimately stone; it would shatter almost as soon as it was dropped.
"Now isn't the time to think about that special weapon; the opponent is issuing a challenge."
Rhaegar was very calm, analyzing, "I noticed that when Daeron was dueling just now, he held his breath the entire time, only taking a breath after he won."
Ser Arthur had a keen eye: "It's a new way of using Life Frequency. Barristan and I resonate the frequency onto the weapon, while Prince Daeron retracts the frequency within his body."
"Can it be countered?"
Prince Lewyn went straight to the point.
Last night, they had all tried to use the greatsword "Dawn" to follow the Life Frequency, but with little success.
The greatsword "Dawn" would not accept anyone other than Ser Arthur.
Ser Arthur shook his head: "Life Frequency requires achieving resonance with the weapon. After completing that, attaching the Life Force of the entire body to the weapon is simple, but trying to retract the frequency into the body is very dangerous."
At its core, Life Force was a person's life compressed.
Simulating a new frequency with Life Force and attaching it to a weapon was using it on an external object; the consumed Life Force could be replenished.
But retracting the Life Frequency into the body fundamentally changed the rules of how life operated.
With the slightest error, one's bones and muscles would be shattered, and they would die from internal explosion.
Ser Arthur was no fool; he immediately realized that the one who first discovered the Life Frequency was not Barristan, but Prince Daeron, who used it so maturely.
"I'll go test his depth."
Prince Lewyn picked up his sword, deciding to take the field for a battle.
Rhaegar reminded him: "Watch out for his sword."
"Don't worry, I won't make the same mistake as Oswell."
Prince Lewyn was not boastful; he just had full confidence in his own abilities.
Clang, clang, clang!
The referee struck the gong, passionately announcing the next Kingsguard member to take the field.
Daeron saw who was coming and smiled: "Prince Lewyn, we meet again."
"I didn't expect you would actively issue a challenge to provoke Prince Rhaegar's authority."
Prince Lewyn held himself in high regard.
Oswell was just a fool who was careless and underestimated the enemy; it didn't mean the opponent posed a threat.
Daeron's smile faded as he said, "Then let's try."
As soon as he finished speaking, a noisy commotion came from outside the field.
"Skree—!"
Caraxes, lying on the stone piles by the shore of the Gods Eye, felt the emotional fluctuations of its rider; it slowly pulled itself up and climbed the high hill, its molten gold vertical pupils locking onto the small insect in the field.
Prince Lewyn:!!
For the first time, the terrifying feeling of being stared at by a dragon clearly emerged.
His hair stood on end, and his scalp felt cold.
"A dragon!"
"It's Prince Daeron's dragon—"
The dragon's movements immediately triggered panic among the noble lords, fearing they would be caught in the crossfire.
Daeron didn't look away, his obsidian blade pointing at Prince Lewyn: "You don't ride a horse, and I won't ride a dragon."
He paused and said half-jokingly, "Unless, of course, you want me to."
Prince Lewyn's face turned shades of blue and purple, feeling that he was in a difficult position.
Only someone who didn't want to live would want you to ride a dragon while I fight.
It was an outright threat.
Clang, clang, clang!
The gong sounded, and the duel began.
Prince Lewyn took a firm stance; he didn't choose to charge blindly, but instead compared swordsmanship with steady and sure moves.
Prince Rhaegar's analysis was very clear.
Daeron held his breath while fighting, which meant this method of Life Frequency was suited for bursts rather than all situations.
By not giving the opponent a chance for an instant kill, he could pull the duel back to the same starting line.
No, with his accumulation of Life Force, he would only have more of an advantage than a young boy like Daeron.
Clang! Clang!
Daeron held his right hand in a forward grip and his left in a reverse grip, swinging his dual swords like a whirlwind; his offensive was like an encroaching fire, continuous and finding every opening.
Just over ten seconds later.
While Prince Lewyn could still manage to parry, his ornate longsword made of heavy gold was the first to snap.
The moment the broken sword flew out, the light reflected by the fragments flashed in his eyes; his mind went blank, leaving only muscle memory to feebly swing his sword.
Immediately, a cold blade was pressed against his neck.
"You've lost, Prince."
The same situation and the same words; Daeron's eyes were playful, and before Prince Lewyn could recover, he raised his foot and kicked him in the shin.
"Ah!"
Prince Lewyn let out a muffled groan and knelt down uncontrollably.
Daeron performed a smooth combo, raising his elbow to smash into his face; the moment he looked up and fell back, Daeron mobilized his Life Force into his leg and kicked him hard.
Prince Lewyn soared into the air, flying four or five meters away before crashing heavily onto the muddy track.
His body twitched twice, and he landed face-down in the mud.
"Whew, that felt good."
Daeron turned his back, unable to suppress the grin on the corners of his mouth.
He had wanted to hit this guy for a long time.
>