Seven-Soldier Team Battle

When Joffrey first acquired the ability to see stars, he was quite satisfied with it.

But as they used it more, they became picky.

Why can I only see the present moment? Why can't I fast forward or rewind? Why can't I hear any sound?

He stared intently at Paisell and asked another "why".

"What exactly did the letter say?" Joffrey's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unyielding edge. "Why won't the Grand Secretary tell me?"

Paisell's withered fingers twirled his graying beard again, his eyes darting around beneath his droopy eyelids.

"Your Highness, how could I possibly know the contents of a letter sent by someone else..."

Joffrey wasn't buying it.

After the letter was sent, Cersei was in a great mood.

It's definitely in the Lannisters' favor.

"Political affairs? Military affairs? Or Lord Ed's domestic affairs?" Joffrey pressed on.

Beads of sweat appeared on Paisell's forehead. Seeing that he couldn't get past this hurdle, he finally relented.

"Your Highness, that's Feng Jiashu." He lowered his voice. "The man said that he recently saw a friend's falcon, which reminded him of the one he used to keep."

"I raised him for many years and thought we were very close. Who knew that as soon as I let him out, he pecked my finger and flew away immediately."

"And that made him stop trusting these hairy beasts."

Joffrey's gaze was like a needle.

"Is that really what it says in the letter?"

Paisell nodded hastily, then shook his head in a fluster.

"No, no, he said that to me in casual conversation."

"The letter was written and sealed long ago, and I sent it out as soon as it was handed to me. How would I know what was written inside?"

That means I know.

……

A foul wind swept across the river, and hundreds of blunt-bladed weapons exuded the smell of steel.

Robert's shouts echoed through the stands.

"Gunpoints must be blunt, hammers can't be pointed, and axes and armor-piercing swords are forbidden!"

"Seven Gods, what kind of martial arts competition is this?"

After all, both sides are just participating in the competition and trying to make a name for themselves.

I have no intention of losing my life because of this.

So, to save time, the blacksmiths in King's Landing quickly produced this large batch of safe weapons.

The rules of the competition are also very simple.

If you fall to the ground and don't get up for ten seconds, you're out.

Listening to Robert's rant, Eddard stood by expressionlessly and reminded him, "Your Majesty, you personally signed this document."

"Ned, you've picked up bad habits from these guys!" Robert pointed a finger at his nose. "You knew I wouldn't read it, yet you didn't utter a sound when you handed it to me."

"I'm only just realizing how the rules are!"

Joffrey ignored the argument and turned his gaze to the east side of the arena.

The Imperial Guards are making final preparations.

Barristan stood among his attendants, allowing them to wrap him up in layers of clothing.

The upper body was covered with glazed composite scales and was securely bound with leather straps.

The breastplate was forged from a single piece of steel, with the fish-scale steel plates gliding out from the gaps.

The curved arm guards covered the arms, the metallic discs protected the joints, and the intricately hinged elbow and knee guards were also fastened in succession.

The old knight took a deep breath, put on his neck brace and helmet, his white cloak remaining perfectly still behind him.

The other five Iron Guards were dressed in the same way.

Except for James.

He was still wearing that gilded armor and a lion helmet.

I don't know if they repaired the original roof or replaced it with a new one.

The equipment of the knights on the west side was of varying quality.

Soros was forced to wear full armor by the referee, but he secretly removed the armor from his legs, leaving only the skirt armor from his waist to his thighs.

The Hound was still wearing his plate armor, but with an additional breastplate over his chest.

At this moment, he was keeping a close eye on the red-robed monk, lest he secretly smear something on the sword again.

With the midday sun high in the sky, the participants took their positions on both sides.

The bugle sounded three times.

At the first sound, fourteen riders took the spears from their attendants.

The second sound came from the warhorse's impatient hooves, its exhaled white breath forming a thin mist.

Third tone —

"boom!"

The sound of horses' hooves rolled across the riverbank like muffled thunder.

Fourteen warhorses sprang to life at the same time, kicking up mud from behind their hooves and leaving trails of yellowish-brown in the air.

The stands fell silent instantly, all the spectators leaned forward, their slightly open mouths uttering not a sound.

The distance between the two groups of people was rapidly shortening.

On the left wing, Manden Moore's white horse was as fast as a silver arrow, and his lance was as steady as if it were tied to his hand.

On the right wing, Baron Swin's brown horse's hooves were almost off the ground, and his black and white cloak fluttered behind him.

Thirty yards. Boros Braun breathed heavily behind his visor.

Twenty yards. Patrick Mellist held his shield to his chin.

Ten yards.

"Bang--!"

Fourteen spearheads exploded simultaneously, splintering wood like bursting yellow flowers.

Beryl Dondelion's spear tip struck the center of Alex Olickland's shield.

The round shield dented inward, creating a bowl-sized crater. The Imperial Guard screamed and fell backward, but the stirrups remained firmly dangling from his legs.

He was dragged along by the warhorse, which plowed a crooked trail through the mud.

Almost simultaneously, Jaime's spear pierced Jalabar Thal's shoulder armor.

With a muffled thud, the fallen prince was sent flying on the spot.

The charge ended in an instant.

Of the three who fell, two were dragged away, while only "Bronze" Yorn struggled to his feet and remained on the sidelines to await the next foot fight.

After the second wave of the assault

Seven against seven became five against four.

The men dismounted and drew their weapons, engaging in close combat.

The Imperial Guards tightened their formation in perfect unison.

Barristan and James were at the forefront, with three other white-robed figures protecting their flanks.

The Knights appeared very relaxed.

Despite being one person short, they formed an encirclement.

Battle is imminent.

The hound swung its two-handed greatsword in a perfectly round arc.

"clang--!"

Beros's shield was cleaved inwards by the blow.

Marin Tran seized the opportunity to stab the Hound in the ribs, but the plate armor that turned to meet him blocked the attack.

With a tearing sound of leather, the hound grunted, but used the momentum to spin around, slashing the greatsword upwards from below.

Marin flew backward like a puppet with its strings cut, and lay motionless on the ground.

Upon seeing this, Peros hesitated for half a second.

The hound lunged forward in an instant, its sword aimed straight at his chest.

He then used a downward slash to bait out the opponent's block, and then struck him hard on the head with a backhand.

Finally, he lunged forward and slammed the weighted ball hard into the opponent's face.

Berlusconi fell to the ground.

Amidst the smoke and mud, the situation on the field settled down.

Soros's flaming sword was no match for Barristan's, and he was cleaved in two by Barristan's blows before crouching down in defeat.

Just as Berry finished off Manden Moore, he was knocked to the ground by James, who had arrived at the scene.

The hounds gradually lost ground in the next round of attacks.

The sounds of panting and the clanging of steel gradually faded away.

The outcome is decided!

Robert's shout drowned out the noise in the arena.

The three Imperial Guards were the last to stand.

Robert slumped back in his chair, his breath reeking of alcohol as he whispered in Joffrey's ear, "See? I still have a good eye."

"A ragtag team, no matter how fiercely they play, can't beat the people I personally picked."

Joffrey nodded in agreement.

Although two of those three were left behind by the Mad King.

There's another one who stayed from beginning to end, from the start to the finish.

Even now, he still doesn't know the guy's full name, only that his last name seems to be Greenfield.

Sunlight pierced through the clouds, illuminating the traces of the fierce battle on the field, making them look like scars.

Those who could stand up helped each other leave, while those who were lying down were hurriedly carried away by their servants.

Lan Li chuckled again.

"Luckily I didn't go this time, otherwise I would definitely be one of those lying down."

Robert clapped his hands, stood up, and shouted.

"I hereby declare the martial arts tournament officially over!"

Joffrey wiped the sweat from his palms.

Another meeting is about to begin.

It's time to invite Lord Ed over for a drink.