The aftermath returns

On the way to the archery range, Joffrey leaned close to the hound and asked thoughtfully.

"Have you decided how to spend the 20,000 gold coins you won?"

The hound had changed into a red wool sweater embroidered with a leather dog's head, and seemed still immersed in the subtle feelings brought to him by the awards ceremony.

Upon hearing the question, his eye beneath the scar cautiously glanced at Joffrey.

"What?" the hound grumbled. "You guys have more money than you can spend."

"So you're actually trying to take advantage of others?"

"I'm just helping you do the math," Joffrey said, putting his arm around his shoulder. "This amount of money is enough to buy a decent property, or even a manor."

"Don't tell me you're planning to use it all for drinking."

The hound scoffed and turned its head away.

Judging from his appearance, he seems to really have this plan.

A moment later, the hound turned its face back: "Don't worry, I won't leave."

"I will not rest until Gregor is dead."

Sansa and Arya followed behind, listening to their conversation with great interest.

After the match, because Duke Ed had urgent business to attend to, he did not have time to take his daughters home.

After searching high and low, they finally entrusted the two of them to Joffrey, asking him to take them to see the next game.

Along the way, Sansa seemed to have a lot to say.

But after looking at the hound's face, he hesitated to speak.

"Just ask whatever you want to know, the dog won't eat you," Joffrey encouraged.

Sansa carefully chose her words and began to flatter.

"Sir Sandor, you were truly valiant today."

"He's exactly like the knight in the story."

Upon hearing this, the hunting dog spat out a loud spit.

He started repeating the same phrase he'd said a thousand times over.

"Little sister, all of you, don't yell..."

"Don't call him anything like 'Sir'!" Arya blurted out with a grin.

Sansa looked puzzled again.

“The Hound’s brother is a proper knight,” Joffrey had to explain again, “but did you see what kind of state the Mountain is in today?”

"He wasn't really going to fight; he was aiming to kill."

"And this is what he was bestowed the title upon himself by the late Prince Rhaegar of the Targaryen family?" he said sarcastically.

"As for the bad things he's done, I'm afraid no one has told you about them."

"All the Dornish people want to twist his head off."

Joffrey avoided mentioning anything inappropriate for children in front of the two girls.

He glanced at the hound: "But my grandfather always protected the Demon Mountain."

"You saw it too? He was so disrespectful to the king, yet he was allowed to go."

"However, I suspect my father might take this opportunity to extort a few hundred thousand gold dragons from Duke Tywin."

Joffrey laughed.

But the hound didn't laugh.

He kept his eyes fixed on the two girls.

Then he looked around, bent down, and lifted the hair that was covering his left cheek, completely revealing the burned half of his face.

He seemed somewhat annoyed.

"Look, look, hurry up and look!"

"You two have been peeking the whole way!"

The hound's skin on that side was as hard as leather, covered with pockmarks and pits, as well as reddish cracks that would appear if it were pulled.

His left ear was completely burned away, leaving only a black hole; his eye, though not blind, was surrounded by twisted scars.

As for the charred part of the chin, the bone can be vaguely seen.

"Oh!" Sansa instinctively looked away.

But then he realized that this seemed even more impolite, so he quickly turned his head back.

Arya was much bolder, staring intently at him.

After all, she had been incredibly curious for a long time.

"How did you do this?" she asked immediately.

Sansa quickly covered her mouth.

"Arya! That's so rude!"

"Lord Sandor... my sister didn't mean it," Sansa said apologetically.

The hound remained silent.

"He wouldn't even tell me, so how could he possibly tell you two?" Joffrey replied.

"But actually, I already knew the reason."

The hound turned its head in shock.

Joffrey started spouting nonsense with a straight face: "It was from dragon breath."

"My uncle, the short one, the little devil. He told me himself."

The girls were amused.

The hound snorted.

"You actually believe that? That little brat is just a smug idiot."

But in the end, the real reason was never revealed.

After all, he wasn't drunk, and there were a lot of people here.

When I was a child, my older brother forced my head into a brazier and burned it. It's something that's really hard to talk about.

After dropping them off at the archery range, the hound turned and left.

"Aren't you watching the game?" Joffrey asked.

"I'm not interested in this kind of girly stuff." He walked away without looking back.

The archery range was set up on a wide grassland on the banks of the Blackwater River, with targets set up at a distance of thirty, fifty, and seventy paces.

There were quite a few participants, but aside from some knights who had been trained in archery.

The rest were mostly ordinary citizens of King's Landing, who were there to fill the numbers and gamble on their luck.

Halfway through the match, Joffrey caught a glimpse of Duke Eddard.

Instead of staying in his reserved seat, he called Little Finger to the edge of the court and whispered something to him.

The two appeared to be in an ordinary posture.

Ed's tense shoulders contrasted sharply with Littlefinger's overly relaxed smile.

Unfortunately, there were too many people present, and Joffrey still couldn't hear what they were saying.

In the end, the archery competition was won by a boy named Angay.

In the final, Joffrey could only see a tiny dot on the target that was a hundred paces away.

But all seven of his arrows hit the bullseye.

The boy was so overwhelmed by the big prize that he rejected all offers of help.

But Joffrey didn't insist.

With a reward of five thousand golden dragons, he would definitely stay in Junlin until he finished spending it before leaving.

It will probably all be supplied to the little finger.

The ensuing group combat competition was as bloody as ever.

The grounds were littered with countless severed limbs and broken fingers, yet there were still hired knights and newly commissioned squires who were lamenting their failure to join the ranks.

Soros was the last one standing in the arena.

Even without the flaming sword, his martial arts skills were still quite good.

But Joffrey was very curious.

How will the two of them coordinate for the Seven Sons team battle tomorrow afternoon?

Robert was eventually persuaded to give up and stopped worrying about participating in the competition.

But perhaps out of spite, the king forced all the Kingsguard to participate and form a side against the knights who had been selected from elsewhere.

As a result, the number of available spots became extremely limited.

However, one of the four finalists who were about to compete was injured and another left, leaving two vacancies.

This resulted in a large number of knights staying an extra day, eagerly preparing for the selection matches the following morning.

Duke Eddard remained absent during the banquet.

But the Queen was unusually happy, and even ignored Robert.

Abnormal, extremely abnormal.

In addition, Joffrey had just used Stargazing to check on Duke Eddard's movements.

So after the meal, he went to the Tower of Scholars.

"Did someone ask you to deliver a letter this afternoon?"

Looking at the horrified Paisell, Joffrey suddenly felt a little worried.

If I keep scaring him like this, will the Grand Secretary retire early?

However, it is still necessary to ask the necessary questions to clarify them.

"Sent to Winterfell? Yes and no!"