While waiting to enter the lists, Lancelot checked Loras's stats.
> Name: Loras Tyrell
> Identity: Third son of Mace Tyrell, Warden of the South.
> Class: Knight
> Strength: 15
> Speed: 15
> Intelligence: 15
> Spirit: 15
> Mana: 4
> Talent: Mad for Love. When a loved one is injured or killed, combat power can explode to three times its normal level.
Seeing Loras's stats, especially that final "Mad for Love" talent, Lancelot could only utter a choice expletive.
"If Loras goes berserk, he might just pull an Arthur Dayne—cutting down four or five opponents while taking a leak."
Lancelot remembered Jaime saying that the Sword of the Morning could slay five of the current Kingsguard with his left hand while taking a piss with his right (figuratively speaking, of course, though Jaime and Barristan were the exceptions).
In the original story, after Renly's death, Loras flew into a rage and cut down three or four of his own Rainbow Guard one after another. It was safe to say a berserk Loras reached the standard power level of the Sword of the Morning.
Lancelot wanted to check Barristan's stats too, but the old knight had already ridden out to compete. Suddenly, the translucent panel before Lancelot's eyes flashed white.
"Why is the signal gone? Can I not see the stats if the distance is too great, even if I spend Popularity Points?" Lancelot thought angrily. He had already paid the points to view Barristan's data, only to get this glitch.
"Looks like my plan to spend points to check Drogo and Daenerys's stats is impossible for now."
Barristan was incredibly valiant. Lancelot was right; the old man was aging but unbroken. It took only three charges for him to knock his opponent from his horse.
Next up were Jaime, Loras, the Hound, and the others.
Lancelot also took the field several times.
The tourney was scheduled to last seven days in honor of the Seven Gods: three days of jousting, three days of the melee, and one day of archery.
Since Lancelot's "Liquid Luck" potion only lasted three days, he only entered the joust.
Riding a wave of luck, Lancelot advanced all the way to the grand finals. His opponent wasn't Barristan—the old veteran had lost in the semi-finals. The one meeting Lancelot in the final tilt was the Knight of Flowers, Loras Tyrell.
Watching the two young men, Lancelot and Loras, on the field, King Robert laughed heartily. He then turned to his son, Joffrey.
"Both of them are young heroes! Joff, next year I want you doing the same! Loras is only three years older than you, and Lancelot is your age."
King Robert lectured Joffrey.
"Yes, Father. If today weren't my nameday, I would have been down there already. I train with Lancelot all the time; we're evenly matched," Joffrey lied without even blushing.
King Robert nodded, saying no more.
---
In the stands, Tyrion reminded Baelish again not to forget their wager.
"I didn't expect Lancelot to be so skilled, actually making it to the finals. And to think Ser Jaime was defeated by Loras!" Baelish chuckled.
Tywin sat beside them, expressionless, his gaze fixed on Lancelot.
"Tyrion, I heard you made a bet with Baelish. You bet on Lancelot to win?" Lord Renly Baratheon came over to join them. He had been eliminated in the first round, and while his martial skill was lacking, his popularity was high.
"Why, do you want to place a bet too, Lord Renly?" Baelish asked with a smile.
Renly nodded.
"An unclaimed village in the Stormlands says Ser Loras wins!"
Although Renly was young—only twenty—he was already a Lord Paramount, making him the most eligible bachelor in the eyes of many.
"I'll take—"
Before Tyrion could finish, a voice devoid of emotion cut in.
"One year of mining rights for the Dragonstone obsidian mines says Lancelot wins! Renly, I'll take that bet!" Stannis said abruptly.
Although Stannis had been sitting right next to them, he had barely spoken a word.
But hearing Renly wager Stormlands territory made Stannis furious, so he jumped in.
"Brother! What use are obsidian mines on Dragonstone?" Renly laughed.
"Why? Are you afraid to bet? Renly, my brother!" Stannis said coldly.
Seeing the tension rising between the brothers, Baelish and Tyrion, never ones to shy away from drama, started stirring the pot.
"I'll bet too. A stretch of beach on the Fingers says Ser Loras wins!" Baelish announced.
"Hmph, a place where birds don't even shit! What's the use of that? Father, what are we betting?" Tyrion looked at Tywin Lannister.
Tywin Lannister's emerald eyes swept over the group before he spoke.
"Ten thousand Gold Dragons! On Lancelot."
Tywin, with his immense wealth, casually dropped ten thousand dragons. Considering the prize for the jousting champion was only ten thousand dragons, betting that amount on Lancelot was a massive statement.
Lancelot had no idea he had become a plaything in the games of the powerful.
He was currently facing the charge of Ser Loras Tyrell.
His Strength, Speed, Intelligence, and Spirit were all inferior to Loras's. Only his Mana was higher.
But Lancelot didn't know how to use magic!
"Wait! I think I saw a low-level spell in the Grimoire of Shadowbinding. It doesn't require much Mana—ten points should be enough to activate it. I remember it was called 'Visual Displacement.' It uses shadows to make oneself look flatter! Almost like a two-dimensional figure in a painting."
Lancelot poured all of his remaining ten Mana points into activating "Visual Displacement" and charged toward Ser Loras.
Loras charged at Lancelot as well. As the distance between them closed, both riders adjusted the angles of their lances.
But in Loras's eyes, Lancelot suddenly seemed flatter, thinner. It looked as if Lancelot had walked right out of a painting. Loras couldn't tell where to aim his lance!
Confused inside his helm, Loras desperately tried to ensure a hit by turning his lance sideways at the last second to sweep Lancelot. This mistake allowed Lancelot's lance to strike Loras first.
As they passed each other, Loras's lance snapped, and he was thrown from his horse.
Lancelot let out a sigh of relief. His Mana was completely drained. He took off his cat mask and tossed it into the stands.
Many noble ladies and maidens fought over the mask.
"It's mine! It's mine!"
"Lancelot's mask is mine!"
"Lancelot, I love you! I want to bear your little lions!"
Hearing the predatory cries of some of the noble ladies, Lancelot shivered. He was just a child!
Lancelot was declared the champion. By tradition, he accepted the Crown of Love and Beauty and rode toward the royal box.
Many thought he would place the crown on Myrcella's head, but Lancelot rode right past her.
Everyone looked stunned. Myrcella froze as if turned to stone.
To everyone's astonishment, Lancelot placed the Crown of Love and Beauty on Joffrey's head.
Joffrey's face instantly turned red with anger. He thought Lancelot was humiliating him.
But Lancelot's next words turned his rage into delight.
"Today is the nameday of our Prince Joffrey! He is the brightest star of the day! Let us cheer for Joffrey! Joffrey!"
"Joffrey! Joffrey!"
"Long live Prince Joffrey!"
Led by Lancelot, the audience began to chant Joffrey's name. Joffrey was ecstatic, frantically waving the Crown of Love and Beauty to acknowledge the crowd.
After all, showing off was Joffrey's favorite pastime. Today, he had stolen the show completely. Hearing so many people shouting his name, for a moment, Joffrey truly felt loved by his people.