As Euron's convoy approached the vast city of tents, a carefully arranged spectacle appeared before them. The densely packed tents seemed to possess a life of their own, automatically parting to the sides to create a path wide enough for two horses to pass side by side.
Even more astounding was that the sides of the path were ingeniously lined with bottles of the Iron Islands' "Kraken" series red wine—white, blue, purple, and gold. They were stacked to form a colorful, unique makeshift guardrail, glittering dazzlingly under the sunlight like a brilliant corridor of gems.
At intervals, a beautiful young woman dressed in uniform attire stood gracefully. They held exquisite trays on which four goblets filled with wines of different colors sat steadily, corresponding to the four varieties of "Kraken" wine. With charming smiles, they elegantly offered the cups to every newly arrived guest for free tasting.
While the guests tasted, the women would use gentle, pleasant voices loud enough for those around to hear, delivering advertisements at just the right moment: "Honored guests, welcome to Harrenhal! All banquet wines for this tourney are generously sponsored by House Greyjoy of the Iron Islands!"
"White Kraken: fresh and crisp! Blue Kraken: mellow and lingering! Purple Kraken: deep and complex! Golden Kraken: exclusive collection! — There is always a Kraken that can conquer your noble taste buds!"
At the end of this luxurious promotional corridor, Maester Qyburn, clad in grey robes, had been waiting for a long time. Standing quietly, his gaze passed over the noisy crowd and locked precisely onto the approaching Euron Greyjoy, like a steward awaiting his master's inspection of extraordinary results.
Euron nodded with satisfaction at the scene Qyburn had meticulously arranged, praising, "Very well done. Hard work."
Qyburn bowed slightly with humility, his voice steady and respectful. "Everything was done according to My Lord's instructions. Not disappointing My Lord is the best result." He then stepped aside, making a guiding gesture. "My Lord, please follow me. King Quellon and Lord Balon have been waiting for you at the Iron Islands' quarters for some time."
Just as Euron, Balf, Dagmer, and the other elite Ironborn were about to follow Qyburn into the castle, an untimely voice filled with jealousy and anger rang out abruptly from the side: "Why do these Ironborn get to swagger into the castle while we Karstarks have to eat dust and wind out here?!"
Euron's steps paused. His cold gaze swept toward the speaker, quickly identifying the other's sigil—a white sunburst on a black field. The corner of his mouth curled into an arc devoid of warmth. His voice, clear and chilling, instantly suppressed the surrounding noise. "The reason is simple. Because House Greyjoy are Kings of the Iron Islands, while you Karstarks are neither Starks nor Kings of the North."
The young noble named Torrhen Karstark was thoroughly enraged by these words. He burst into a fit of furious laughter. "Haha! A pirate living by plunder dares to arrogantly call himself king before us Northern nobles?! If this were the North, you krakens would have frozen to death on the ice plains long ago! With that frame of yours," he looked Euron up and down contemptuously, waving a thick arm, "I could take you down with one hand!"
Balf and Dagmer glared instantly, ready to step forward and teach this insolent Northerner a lesson, but Euron stopped them with a simple gesture. Euron didn't get angry. Instead, he turned his head and asked Qyburn beside him, "Qyburn, around Harrenhal these days, if a fight breaks out or someone is accidentally killed, how is it usually handled?"
Qyburn immediately understood the implication. A strange smile appeared on his usually expressionless face. He shrugged, his tone relaxed. "Answering My Lord: in this place nowadays, if there aren't eight or ten fights a day, or seven or eight deaths, it simply doesn't count as a complete day. Lord Whent's men are too busy just clearing the grounds; they have no time to investigate deeply."
Only then did Euron turn slowly toward Torrhen Karstark, who stood nearly two meters tall and was built like a bear.
He stopped in front of the man, calmly looked up to meet the angry gaze, and said faintly, "Come, try it. I am very curious how you plan to take me down with one hand."
[Tekkai] (Iron Body)
Seeing that Euron was just over 1.8 meters tall and far from burly, a hideous sneer appeared on Torrhen's face. He reached out with a large hand, grabbing Euron's collar fiercely, intending to lift him easily like a chicken and throw him out. However, when he exerted force, he found the opponent was like an iron statue rooted to the ground, motionless! He couldn't shake him even a fraction! The smile on his face froze instantly, turning into astonishment.
[Fish-Man Karate: Skillful Force]
In the instant of Torrhen's shock, Euron's hand had clamped onto his wrist like lightning. Seemingly without much force, just following the momentum with a twist and a pull, leveraging the opponent's strength, a clean shoulder throw sent the giant's massive body flying into the air—
BANG!
The heavy body smashed onto the hard ground three meters away, kicking up a cloud of dust.
When had Torrhen Karstark ever suffered such humiliation? Spitting out the sand in his mouth, he let out a roar of rage, leaped up from the ground, and pounced again like an enraged wild bull!
[Triple Kick] followed by [Rankyaku] (Tempest Kick)
Euron's eyes sharpened. Instead of retreating, he advanced. Swift as the wind, three consecutive low kicks struck Torrhen's knees and shins precisely, dismantling his momentum while causing severe pain and instability in his lower body. Immediately following, in the instant the opponent lost balance and leaned forward, Euron twisted his waist and whipped out a fierce Rankyaku like a blade, kicking directly into his chest and ribs!
THUD!
With a muffled sound, Torrhen Karstark's massive body, over two meters tall and weighing more than two hundred pounds, was kicked flying backward by the invisible impact force. He crashed heavily onto the ground again, several bloody teeth flying out. He lay on the ground, left with only painful groans.
Seeing Torrhen instantly defeated, the Northerners were immediately filled with indignation. With a clamor, they surrounded Euron and the Ironborn behind him, the atmosphere instantly becoming volatile.
Euron remained composed. His cold gaze swept over the surrounding Northerners, his voice steady but carrying undeniable oppression. "What, lost a duel and planning to swarm us?"
Just as conflict was about to erupt, a steady voice rang out from outside the crowd: "Make way!"
Hearing the voice, the Northern warriors subconsciously parted a path. Eddard Stark pushed through the crowd and strode in. His tall, upright figure carried a convincing majesty. Frowning slightly, his gaze swept over the scene, and he asked in a deep voice, "What happened here?"
Euron spat on the ground and jerked his chin upward. "You should ask that Karstark still lying on the ground."
At this moment, Torrhen Karstark, struggling to sit up, had a face flushed red from both pain and shame. He shouted gruffly to his liege lord, "Ned! This has nothing to do with you all, stay out of it! I provoked him first. The duel... I lost. Let them go!" He still retained some of the Northerner's toughness, admitting defeat when beaten.
Eddard looked down at Torrhen, his tone serious and admonishing. "Remember who you are, Torrhen. Do not bring shame to the North here. If you want to prove your courage, there will be plenty of time for you to bleed at the tourney."
Then, Eddard turned to Euron, his attitude frank and fair. "Lord Greyjoy, I apologize for his rude provocation. The Karstarks... are just like this, their voices move faster than their brains."
Euron accepted the apology. He nodded, his tone indifferent. "It doesn't matter. He has received the lesson he deserved. Lord Eddard, see you at the tourney." With that, he entered the castle.
After watching Euron enter the castle, Eddard paused, lowering his voice but ensuring those around him could hear. "His swordsmanship is better. Even Jaime Lannister was once defeated by his hand. If you're unconvinced, fight him in the arena!"
The Northerners watched Euron's retreating figure, hoping to defeat him in the arena to wash away this shame.
---
read more inpat***
CaveLeather
please vote..