"So, speak. What matter is worth interrupting my lesson?"
Daemon Sand stood in the center of the room, about ten paces away from Oberyn.
His gaze swept quickly across the room. The windows were tightly shut, the heavy velvet curtains drawn firmly, with only the side door leading to the small chamber where the handmaidens had retreated.
And at the edge of the couch, that famous Dornish spear leaned casually against the wall.
The shaft was made of polished ash wood, and the spearhead was crafted from fine steel, shaped like the Fang of a viper, shimmering with a faint blue luster under the candlelight. Beside it lay a Dornish curved blade.
The weapons were within easy reach, but Oberyn only had a wine bottle at hand now.
Daemon Sand took two steps forward.
"It is a more urgent matter, Your Highness." He lowered his voice, his eyes revealing just the right amount of concern. "It concerns... House Yronwood."
At these words, the languor on Oberyn's face instantly faded somewhat.
He slowly sat up straight, the thin silk blanket sliding down to his waist, revealing his firm abdominal muscles and V-taper.
Ellaria also set aside her nonchalant expression and sat up, unaware that her gauze gown had slipped halfway off her shoulder.
"House Yronwood?" Oberyn repeated, a hint of coldness entering his voice. "What does that fellow Anders want to do now? Is he up to some small tricks at the Stone Way again?"
Daemon Sand did not answer directly, but instead took another step forward without changing his expression.
"No, Your Highness, it is not the Stone Way." He licked his lips, a subtle movement that made him look somewhat nervous. "It is about... about the matter of Count Edgar all those years ago."
As the words fell, the room went silent for a moment.
Oberyn's eyes narrowed slightly. Regarding that duel years ago which led to the death of Count Edgar Yronwood from a festering wound, heaven is his witness, he had not poisoned his blade.
Old Edgar's death was purely a matter of bad luck; after all, the man was already over sixty at the time, and the probability of infection from a wound that was not properly treated was very high.
But facing the finger-pointing of the Dornish lords, Oberyn chose not to explain. After all, given his "good reputation" in Dorne, no one would believe him even if he talked until his lips were worn thin. Moreover, Oberyn could not be bothered to explain; he had his own pride.
However, this had also caused Oberyn to bear the infamy for so many years.
"Continue." Oberyn's voice was calm.
Upon hearing this, Daemon Sand took a deep breath. "I received news from our informant in House Yronwood. Some say Count Anders has been frequently summoning family knights and confidants for secret meetings."
"They... seem to be discussing revenge."
"Revenge?" At these words, Oberyn scoffed disdainfully and leaned back against the cushions, but this time, there was no languor in his posture, only a tenseness like a coiled spring. "For Edgar?"
"How many years has it been? If Anders truly wanted revenge, he should have acted long ago. Why wait until now?"
"Because the timing is right now, Your Highness." Daemon Sand took another step forward. "They perhaps think that you are currently in King's Landing, not Dorne."
"Here, you have fewer than twenty guards by your side, and House Yronwood..."
He paused, lowering his voice further. "They seem to have contacted certain allies in King's Landing."
Allies? Oberyn frowned slightly, his fingers slowly stroking the rim of his wine glass. His black eyes stared at Daemon Sand, as if scrutinizing him, or perhaps thinking.
The candlelight cast dancing shadows on his face, making his handsome features look somewhat mercurial.
Who could it be? Tywin? It is possible.
His reaction was not large, but Ellaria beside him was somewhat uneasy. Her gauze gown slipped off completely, but she did not pull it up, only worriedly reminded him: "Oberyn, perhaps we should..."
"Should what?" Oberyn interrupted her, a cold smile curling his lips. "Should be afraid?"
"My dear, I am Prince Oberyn Martell, The Red Viper of Dorne. In my dictionary, the word 'afraid' does not exist."
As he spoke, he tilted his head back and drained the wine in his cup, then slammed the glass onto the tea table.
"Daemon Sand." He looked at the young knight he had personally knighted. "Your news is timely, and I am grateful."
"But telling me this now, what do you hope I do? Flee back to Sunspear immediately?"
"Or go to the Tower of the Hand and cry to Tywin Lannister, saying that I am afraid of the retaliation of House Yronwood?"
His tone carried obvious sarcasm, but Daemon Sand did not flinch.
"No, Your Highness." Daemon Sand shook his head, an earnest expression on his face. "I only want to remind you to be careful."
"Especially these few days, before the trial by combat begins... I fear they will seize the opportunity to strike."
"Trial by combat—" Oberyn murmured, a complex look flashing in his eyes.
In that very instant... Daemon Sand moved.
At the very moment Oberyn was distracted thinking about the "trial by combat," Daemon Sand's body, like a fully drawn bowstring suddenly released, lunged forward!
But he did not lunge toward Oberyn. He lunged toward that Dornish spear at the edge of the couch!
This movement was too sudden, too unexpected. Oberyn did not have time to react, but his pupils contracted sharply, his body instinctively leaning backward as he reached out to grab the wine glass on the low table.
But Daemon Sand was faster; his hand had already gripped the shaft of the spear.
"Daemon Sand!" Oberyn roared, his voice filled with shock and anger. "You..."
Before he could finish, the door to the room was slammed open with a "bang."
The heavy oak door crashed inward, the hinges emitting a harsh snapping sound, and a figure fully covered in armor, wearing a great barrel helm, charged into the room like an out-of-control warhorse!
It was Andre.
He held a two-handed longsword in his hand, the blade still stained with fresh blood. Although his armor was heavy, his movements were incredibly fast, the momentum of his charge carrying the sound of wind, with the sword tip pointing directly at Oberyn on the couch!
A trap. This was a meticulously designed trap! In this instant, Oberyn understood everything.
"Ha!" But he was Prince Oberyn Martell, he was The Red Viper of Dorne, a warrior who had traversed The Seven Kingdoms for over twenty years without a single defeat. Even after being drunk and debauched, he could still explode with terrifying combat instincts, and even stronger!
In the instant before Andre's longsword was about to pierce him, Oberyn's body contorted at a nearly impossible angle.
His upper body, which had been leaning back, rolled fiercely to the left, while his right hand grabbed the wine bottle from the low table and smashed it hard against Andre's faceplate!
Bang! The wine bottle exploded against the iron helmet, sending scarlet wine and glass shards splattering everywhere.
This strike did not cause substantial damage, but it successfully disrupted Andre's vision and rhythm.
Oberyn took the opportunity to roll off the other side of the couch. His naked body rolled twice on the carpet, and when he rose, he already held that Dornish curved blade in his hand.
The blade was unsheathed. A cold light flashed.
"Daemon Sand!" Oberyn's voice was icy and bone-chilling, devoid of any languor or drunkenness. "You ungrateful dog!"
Daemon Sand had already retreated to the other side of the room, holding the spear in his hand.
He did not answer, only pointing the spearhead at Oberyn, his eyes complex, with a trace of guilt, but more so, determination.
"I am sorry, Your Highness." He finally spoke, his voice dry. "But I have reasons that I must do this."
"Reasons?" Oberyn sneered. "How many gold dragons did House Yronwood give you? Or did they promise you the territory of Sandstone?"
Upon hearing this, Daemon Sand's lips pressed into a thin line, and he did not answer.
Andre had already adjusted his posture and launched another attack. This time, his sword technique was even sharper, each strike aiming directly for vital points. The sword wind whistled, causing the candlelight to sway violently, casting twisted, dancing shadows on the walls.
Oberyn parried with his blade. Clang! Blade and sword collided, sparks flying.
Oberyn let out a muffled groan and retreated three steps, his hand tingling.
He was secretly shocked; this fellow's strength was surprisingly great, not at all like an ordinary knight. Furthermore, his sword technique was ruthless and precise; every move was a practical skill honed from life-and-death combat on the battlefield, without any flashiness.
What was more troublesome was that he was almost naked, without armor. Andre, however, was fully armored, with only the gaps in his joints and faceplate as weaknesses.
"Ellaria, you go first!" Oberyn shouted while parrying.
Ellaria had recovered from her shock. She did not have time to pull up her gauze gown to cover her body, nor did she leave immediately, but instead grabbed the candlestick from the low table—a heavy brass object that could serve as a weapon.
But Andre's sword had already struck again. This time it was a sweep, targeting Oberyn's waist and abdomen.
Oberyn leaped backward, the blade grazing his abdomen and leaving a shallow bloodstain. The stinging pain made him gasp.
"Oberyn!" Ellaria wanted to rush over to help.
"Go!" Oberyn roared. "Find someone! Call the guards!"
Ellaria gritted her teeth and finally turned to rush toward the side door, but at the very moment Ellaria was about to step out of the side door, Daemon Sand moved.
He did not attack Oberyn, but threw the spear in his hand! The target was not Oberyn, but the direction of the side door!
The spear, like a grey lightning bolt, flew past Ellaria's shoulder and, with a "thud," drove deeply into the door frame, blocking her path.
Ellaria screamed and was forced to stop.
"None of you can leave." Daemon Sand said coldly, drawing a slender rapier from his waist. "What happened here tonight must absolutely not get out. No one can know about Count Anders's plan for revenge!"
At these words, Oberyn's heart sank instantly.
He understood completely now. Daemon Sand must have been instructed by House Yronwood to come today, and he would not leave a single living soul behind.
Moreover, the opponent had chosen the time when he was at the brothel, with only two guards watching the door, and had turned his most trusted subordinate against him. It was simply... a perfect plan to silence them.
"How thoughtful." Oberyn licked his lips, flames of madness burning in his eyes. "But have you forgotten one thing?"
As he spoke, he slowly assumed a stance, his curved blade pointing diagonally at the floor, his naked body like a warrior statue under the candlelight.
"I, Prince Oberyn Martell, have never... been killed by anyone!"
The moment his words fell, he actually chose to initiate an attack! Not rushing toward Andre, but rushing toward Daemon Sand!
Andre was fully armored, his sword technique seasoned; he was clearly an elite knight.
While Daemon Sand had high talent in swordsmanship, he was young after all and lacked experience. Most importantly, Oberyn knew Daemon Sand's sword technique better than anyone!
Oberyn's movements were fast. The curved blade thrust directly at Daemon Sand's throat. Daemon Sand raised his sword to parry, but Oberyn's blade changed moves halfway, turning to slash horizontally at his sword-wielding wrist.
Daemon Sand was forced to retreat, his rapier waving a silver light, attempting to force Oberyn back. But Oberyn did not retreat; instead, he advanced.
He ignored the threat of the rapier, his body almost brushing against the blade as he cut into Daemon Sand's guard, his left elbow slamming hard into Daemon Sand's chest!
Bang! Daemon Sand let out a muffled groan and stumbled back, the rapier flying out of his hand. Oberyn was about to deliver a finishing blow... when the sound of wind breaking came from behind his head.
Andre's sword had arrived. Oberyn had to abandon his pursuit and dive into a roll.
The longsword grazed his back, cutting off a few strands of black hair. He rolled on the ground twice, and when he rose, he grabbed the rapier that Daemon Sand had dropped earlier.
Now he had weapons in both hands: a curved blade in his right and a rapier in his left.
"Come on." Oberyn grinned, his teeth looking ghastly white in the candlelight. "Let me see how well the dog raised by House Yronwood can bite."
However, Andre did not waste words, but silently chose to attack again.
This time, because the opponent was wearing heavy full-body armor, Oberyn chose not to meet him head-on. He used the furniture in the room as cover, retreating while fighting.
The tea table was overturned, wine bottles shattered, the soft chair was cleaved open, and the filling feathers flew everywhere.
The battle moved from the side of the couch to the center of the room, and then to the window.
Oberyn's breathing began to become rapid. After all, he was a middle-aged man in his forties; despite how much he bragged, two consecutive days of debauchery and alcohol consumption had ultimately affected his stamina.
Furthermore, he had no armor, and the wound on his waist and abdomen from earlier was still bleeding, each movement bringing a stinging pain.
What was even more fatal was that Daemon Sand had already retrieved the spear that had been nailed to the door frame, and together with Andre, one in front and one behind, they began to pincer him.
The spear pinned him from mid-range, while the two-handed longsword pressed the attack at close range. Oberyn gradually fell into a disadvantage.
"Very impressive, Daemon Sand." Oberyn parried a heavy strike from Andre, panting as he said, "I remember that I taught you your swordsmanship hand-in-hand."
He parried another thrust from Daemon Sand. "It seems you learned well."
Daemon Sand's face was somewhat pale, but his hand holding the spear was very steady. "Everything I learned was for this day, Your Highness."
"To kill me?" Oberyn sneered. "Why? Give me a reason, at least let me die knowing why."
This time, Daemon Sand was silent for even longer. Then he raised his head and spoke slowly: "Count Yronwood promised to marry his daughter to me."
??? Upon hearing this, Oberyn seemed to be shocked by this reason, his movements slowing for an instant.
Taking advantage of this opportunity, Andre swung the long spear to break through Oberyn's defense, slashing hard at his left shoulder!
Squelch! Flesh tore, and Oberyn let out a miserable scream, the rapier in his left hand flying out of his hand.
The wound was deep enough to see the bone, blood gushing out like a spring, instantly staining half his body red. The excruciating pain almost made him faint.
But he gritted his teeth, backhanded a slash to force Andre back, and stumbled backward, colliding with the wall by the window.
"You motherf..." Oberyn gasped, his face rapidly turning pale from blood loss. "You actually betrayed me for a woman? She is not the eldest daughter; even if you marry her, you cannot inherit House Yronwood!"
Upon hearing this, Daemon Sand's eyes became even more complex, but he did not stop. The spear thrust out again, and he roared loudly: "The one I want to marry... is his eldest daughter!"
At these words, Oberyn was clearly stunned for another moment, though he managed to react, using his curved blade to parry the spear tip, but his strength was far less than before.
The spear tip grazed his ribs, adding another wound.
However, Oberyn still did not forget to roar at Daemon Sand: "Are you out of your fucking mind? Anders's eldest daughter, Ynys Yronwood???? That motherfucker is... your father's wife!"