The scene of the semi-finals was even more spectacular than the morning.
The duel between the Knight of Flowers and the Sword of the Morning—a match dripping with hype and anticipation even before it began—had drawn most of the inhabitants of the Torrentine to the tourney grounds.
Those who couldn't find a spot to watch lingered outside, unwilling to leave, desperate to hear the results first.
As Arthur rode into the arena, cheers surged like a tide—"Shield Breaker!", "Sword of the Morning!", "Warrior Incarnate!"
Violet held her head high, her mane shimmering with a smoky purple sheen in the sunlight, hooves thudding heavily on the packed earth.
Arthur could feel the mare's excitement beneath him as she snorted and pawed the ground.
Loras was already waiting on the field.
Unlike the morning, he had changed into an even more magnificent suit of scale armor. Each scale was carved with a rose pattern, flashing gold and red in the sun.
Atop his helm sat a golden rose that could open and close—an ingenious mechanism that snapped shut when he lowered his visor.
During the pre-match lap, Loras uncharacteristically didn't smile or throw flowers to the crowd.
"I've been waiting for this moment since I set out for Starfall," Loras announced solemnly.
"Ser Arthur, Sword of the Morning, I will unhorse you!"
Arthur patted Violet's neck gently, feeling the tension in the horse's muscles.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Then you should ride home and find a bed that helps you sleep quickly."
He could see the overflowing battle lust in Loras's golden eyes. "Because unhorsing me is something you can only achieve in your dreams."
Loras laughed loudly. "Ser, I specialize in making dreams come true!"
With that, Loras slammed his visor down. The golden rose snapped shut with a crisp click.
The two horses passed each other. Arthur rode under the hanging Sword and Falling Star banner to his starting position.
"The Sword of the Morning of House Dayne versus the Knight of Flowers of House Tyrell!" the herald's voice was slightly shrill with excitement. "May the Warrior guide a just duel!"
As the herald's voice faded, silence fell over the tourney grounds. The crowd held its breath, eyes fixed on the two knights standing ready with their lances.
Even the wind seemed to stop, afraid to disturb this historic moment.
Arthur felt the weight of countless gazes. He took a deep breath and lowered his visor.
The world was instantly restricted to two narrow slits, his breathing loud within the enclosed helm.
Thrummm—
The horn sounded exceptionally loud in the quiet.
Violet, unable to wait any longer, pushed off the ground with powerful hooves and launched forward instantly.
Having studied Loras's lance technique, Arthur knew Loras liked to lower his lance and then raise it at the last moment to spook the opponent's horse into slowing down, creating an opening.
However, this trick was useless against the fiery-tempered Violet. Facing the lance pointed at her, she showed no fear, her speed undiminished from start to finish.
Arthur could feel Violet's determination. She was like a purple lightning bolt, charging straight into the cluster of golden roses.
CRASH!
Two horses met; lance and shield collided violently!
In this moment, time seemed to freeze.
Arthur felt a massive impact travel through his shield, numbing his arm.
The sheer force of the collision shattered both lances instantly, sending splinters flying.
Arthur gripped the horse's belly tightly with his legs, expending great effort to absorb the force from the shield and stabilize himself.
By then, Violet had carried him to the other end of the lists.
Listening to the cheers from all directions, Arthur flexed his numbed shield arm.
In the first charge, neither had probed; both had gone all out from the start.
The second charge was the same, except Loras, seeing Violet's speed didn't falter, didn't lower his lance but held it level.
He also adjusted the angle of his shield to avoid following in Desmond Redwyne's footsteps.
Seeing Loras's rapid adjustment, Arthur nodded inwardly. In terms of jousting skill, the Knight of Flowers was absolutely top-tier.
And so, after breaking five lances consecutively, Arthur was soaked in sweat, his padding sticking to his skin. But he had figured out Loras's pattern.
In the sixth round, Loras's lance didn't thrust straight but curved at the last moment, attempting to bypass Arthur's shield defense.
But Arthur was prepared—he turned slightly, blocking the tricky attack with the upper edge of his shield while his own lance struck Loras's breastplate squarely.
"Good!" Cheers erupted from the stands.
Arthur could hear Allyria and Edric's voices mixed in, crisp and excited.
Loras seemed angered by the failure of the previous round. His charge became even fiercer.
The moment the horses met, Arthur saw the chance for victory. He made a risky decision—he abandoned full defense, lowering his shield slightly to reveal an opening, while aiming his lance straight at the upper right corner of Loras's shield.
BANG!
After a massive collision, Arthur's right arm went numb—his lance slid off Loras's dented shield and struck the upper part of Loras's helm.
The lance shattered instantly. The golden rose on Loras's helm was blasted open, several metal petals flying off.
Literally, this strike made the Knight of Flowers' head bloom.
Screams erupted from the ladies in the high stands.
Margaery Tyrell's face went pale, her eyes filled with worry, her hands gripping her embroidered handkerchief until her knuckles turned white.
Arthur wheeled his horse around. He was surprised to see Loras slumped over his horse's neck, trying repeatedly to straighten up.
Although Arthur had held back slightly and most of the force had been absorbed by the golden rose ornament, the concussion was significant. It was at least a mild concussion.
That Loras could still stay in the saddle and even struggle to continue fighting... Arthur hadn't expected that.
Such tenacious willpower commanded Arthur's respect.
Seeing Loras's squires hesitating on the sidelines, Arthur lifted his visor and shouted, "Idiots, help your master!"
By then, the herald had come down from the high stand. After the squires helped Loras off his horse and confirmed his semi-conscious state, the herald announced, his voice cracking:
"The Sword of the Morning of House Dayne has once again demonstrated precise lance technique! Ser Arthur Snow advances to the finals!"
The other semi-final was between Gerold Dayne and Rolland Storm.
Ser Rolland Storm, the bastard of House Caron, fought with fearless ferocity.
"Darkstar" Gerold Dayne, however, excelled in precision and technique.
The two fought to a standstill for six rounds.
Finally, Gerold seized upon a mistake by Rolland—charging too aggressively in his eagerness to win—and unhorsed the Stormlands bastard with a single lance thrust.
When Rolland hit the ground heavily, Lord Bryce Caron leaped up from the stands and ran down to check on his half-brother's injuries.
The Nightingale banner of House Caron was slowly lowered, leaving only two Sword and Falling Star banners on purple fields swaying gently in the breeze.
This signaled the final: Snow with Dawn versus Dayne without Dawn.
During the rest period before the final, Arthur was surprised when Gerold, fresh from a fierce battle, came to find him.
Gerold's armor still bore the marks of combat, several dents clearly visible.
"Dawn has been inherited by another Ser Arthur. Now you, too, have a great sword." Gerold gulped down several mouthfuls of unsweetened lemon water, his voice sour.
"When you performed the sword-drawing ceremony, I, a Dayne, was not present. Otherwise, there wouldn't be this tourney celebrating the birth of a new Sword of the Morning today!"
Arthur could hear the unwillingness in Gerold's voice.
When Arthur met Gerold in Sunspear, Darkstar had already expressed dissatisfaction with the previous Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne.
He believed Arthur Dayne's greatness was remembered and sung only because he had a great sword.
Arthur thought for a moment. "Since the gods have let us meet in the final, it must be to make up for your absence."
His voice was calm and firm. "Let our final match serve as the supplement to the sword-drawing ceremony."
"Are you serious?" Surprise flashed in Gerold's eyes. "If you lose, you must return Dawn to the Palestone Sword Tower!"
Arthur sensed the surroundings fall silent. Squires stopped their work, straining their ears to listen.
He smiled slightly. "And if I win?"
Gerold said solemnly, "Darkstar will swear eternal loyalty to the Sword of the Morning!"
His voice was resolute, as if he had considered this decision for a long time.
Arthur nodded and extended his hand. "Then I will see you in the lists."
Two gloved hands clasped in the air. In that moment, Arthur seemed to see the wheel of fate turning.
When the setting sun dyed the high stands of the tourney grounds a golden red, the final began.
The entire arena was packed. Arthur rode Violet slowly onto the field, surrounded by cheers like a mountain tsunami.
The sunset bathed his armor in gold and gilded his purple cloak.
He could feel the weight of countless gazes—expectant, questioning, admiring, jealous.
Opposite him, Gerold Dayne was ready. His black armor looked like burning charcoal in the sunset, standing still, poised to strike.
The banner embroidered with the sword and falling star fluttered behind him—identical to Arthur's, yet entirely different.
"The Civil War of Starfall!" the herald's voice trembled with excitement. "Sword of the Morning versus Darkstar! The winner will claim the Crown of the Queen of Love and Beauty!"
The horn sounded.
Two warhorses charged toward each other like thunder under identical banners.
For six rounds, Arthur and Gerold broke six lances simultaneously.
Gerold displayed tenacious will and superb jousting technique.
In the seventh charge, Arthur not only used his full strength but also activated [Kill].
However, the massive impact on the lance didn't send Gerold flying; instead, it shocked his horse into rearing up on its hind legs.
Gerold adjusted, leaped from his horse to avoid being crushed, discarded his shield, and drew his sword.
Seeing this, Arthur dropped his shattered lance, rolled out of his saddle, and drew Dawn from his back. The pale, glass-like greatsword appeared before the world once again.
The blade glowed with a strange, gentle light in the sunset. Even through his gauntlets, Arthur could feel the warmth from the hilt.
If Gerold could go toe-to-toe with Arthur in the joust, then in a sword fight where Arthur wielded Dawn and Zhanlu (triggering [Dual Wield]), the gap in strength became a crushing dominance.
Arthur's black and white swords danced, a blur of motion. Initially, Gerold managed a few counterattacks.
But as the fight progressed, Arthur's offense became increasingly fierce and relentless, like a smith hammering iron, leaving Gerold only able to parry.
After a dozen more strikes, Arthur saw Gerold, exhausted but still struggling to hold on. He leaned in and used the flat of Dawn to knock away Gerold's sword, which was already notched and battered.
Gerold stared at his trembling hands, realizing he couldn't even raise them to signal surrender to the herald.
"I have given my all." A bitter smile appeared on Gerold's face as sweat ran down his cheeks.
"You win, Ser Arthur Snow, Sword of the Morning."
The arena was silent for a second, then erupted in deafening cheers.
The sound waves nearly collapsed the high stands.
"Champion! Ser Arthur Snow is the Champion!" The herald's voice was almost drowned out.
As Arthur removed his helm and took a victory lap, flowers and ribbons rained down.
It wasn't until the herald announced, "Please, Champion, choose the Queen of Love and Beauty," that the arena quieted down.
By tradition, the champion would place a crown of roses on the head of the woman he admired or respected—a choice often laden with complex political implications.
Arthur felt the weight of thousands of eyes, filled with speculation and anticipation.
He took the crown made of golden roses and pearls, caught it on the tip of his lance, and scanned the stands.
Margaery's face was expressionless, as if she didn't care about the crown, but her hands tightly gripping her skirt betrayed her inner thoughts.
The "low-branch roses" beside Margaery were less reserved, waving and cheering at Arthur.
Several Dornish noblewomen also struck elegant poses.
Allyria waved her hand at him, signaling him not to give the crown to her.
Privately, she had told him their relationship didn't need such formalities, and since Arthur was of age to be betrothed, he shouldn't waste this opportunity.
Giving the crown to a girl one admired and declaring love was a time-honored tradition of the tourney.
However, Arthur still stopped his horse under the Sword and Falling Star banner.
"Allyria, you deserve this."
Arthur raised the crown high with his lance, his voice clear in the silent arena.
"Allow me to dedicate the honor of the Queen of Love and Beauty to you, as an expression of my respect."