At the tournament in King's Landing, the boisterous crowd, the neighing steeds, the knights charging with lances, the waving banners, and the thunderous war drums—all these elements combined, instantly igniting the long-dormant heart of His Majesty the King, Robert Baratheon. He held a goblet in his left hand, while his right hand was clenched and raised high as he shouted.
This boisterous display annoyed Queen Cersei Lannister, who was sitting to his left, so much that she rolled her eyes at Robert and walked away.
Seeing Cersei turn and leave, Robert seemed even more excited; he pulled Eddard Stark, who was sitting not far away, over to sit in the Queen's seat.
Eddard Stark looked awkward, but finding it hard to refuse his good brother Robert, he could only sit there helplessly.
Robert was acting as if he were his queen...
By the time Eddard Stark parted ways with Varys, the tournament was already drawing to a close.
Only two knights remained on the field: one was the infamous "The Mountain" Ser Gregor Clegane, and the other was the mysterious knight rhllor, whom no one had been able to defeat since the tournament began.
The tournament, already filled with murderous intent, became even more tense after the two locked eyes.
"The Mountain" Gregor Clegane glared with murderous intent, let out a terrifying war cry, and charged toward his opponent, longsword in hand. His massive body stirred up chaotic winds, and the iron plates on his blood-stained armor clattered against each other as he advanced, producing crisp, metallic sounds.
Joffrey watched Gregor Clegane charging toward him like a small mountain, not terrified, but delighted. He gripped his war hammer tightly and charged forward to meet the opponent's momentum.
As they closed the distance, Joffrey swung his hammer violently, sending waves of heat crashing onto Gregor Clegane's greatsword. A tremendous collision boomed, causing the spectators to cover their ears and shut their eyes.
People couldn't help but recall the ballad that had been passed down for centuries—"The Anvil and the Hammer".
Neither Joffrey nor "The Mountain" Gregor Clegane would yield; they traded dozens of brutal blows without a clear winner, but Gregor Clegane's breathing had clearly become labored.
Gregor Clegane was incredibly massive, but his strength was clearly no match for Joffrey. After their exchange, Gregor Clegane felt as though the webs of his hands were about to split open. Realizing this, he glanced around and began maneuvering across the field, preparing for a war of attrition.
However, just as he turned slightly, Joffrey's eyes lit up, murderous intent surfacing as he thought: "I've been waiting for this!"
Seizing this opening, he swung his hammer with full force once more, slamming it hard into the left arm of "The Mountain" Gregor Clegane.
As the left vambrace shattered instantly, blood sprayed out, covering his entire arm and flowing down "The Mountain"'s large hand all the way to the ground.
Gregor Clegane let out a cry of pain, stumbled, and nearly collapsed to the ground.
But "The Mountain" was, after all, massive, with physical durability far beyond that of an ordinary man, and he barely withstood this heavy blow. Enduring the intense pain, "The Mountain" forced himself to stand steady by leaning on his longsword.
Viscous blood splattered onto Joffrey's old golden antler helm, and Joffrey watched the blood flow down the helm and drip onto the tip of his nose.
He heard a sound booming all around him—it was his heartbeat. It suddenly began to accelerate, faster and faster, faster and faster.
Then, his pupils dilated, revealing flame-shaped patterns, and his mind grew increasingly hazy.
This feeling... it was truly intoxicating.
The mouth beneath the golden antler helm suddenly curled up, revealing a ferocious grin. In his eyes, flames were raging...
Joffrey raised the war hammer he gripped tightly once more and swung it again; the force of this blow far exceeded the previous one.
Although Gregor Clegane reacted immediately, his left arm was severely injured and could not be raised. He could only attempt to parry with one hand, but he could no longer withstand the force.
The moment the weapons clashed, his right hand split open, spurting out trickles of blood.
A follow-up heavy hammer blow came crashing down. Gregor Clegane, sweating cold sweat, managed to turn his head just in time to save his life, but his shoulder was shattered by the blow, and he collapsed to the ground with a thud.
The next moment, the hammer struck repeatedly, landing again and again on Gregor Clegane's shoulder, causing Gregor Clegane to scream loudly; the intense pain nearly made him pass out.
"Hahahaha!!" Seeing his opponent's downfall, Joffrey suddenly curled his lips upward, grinning as he threw his head back and laughed, but this smile appeared terrifying in Gregor Clegane's eyes.
"You... what are you doing! You monster!"
"Hahahaha!"
"Ahhhh!!"
After his crazed laughter, Joffrey tossed the war hammer aside. He stepped firmly onto Gregor Clegane's broad chest, pinned "The Mountain"'s left hand with both of his own, and exerted sudden force.
He was actually preparing to rip "The Mountain"'s left arm right off. Blood gushed like a fountain, and Gregor Clegane's shrill screams were endless.
The spraying blood was like a misty rain, staining Joffrey's golden antler helm red, flowing down from the sharp antlers all the way to the armor on his lower body.
"This is truly enjoyable..."
A fierce wind howled. Joffrey stood amidst the blood-drenched air, laughing hysterically like a demon bathed in blood.
Like a demon-subduing lord descended from the heavens, truly a god of calamity on earth.
The people in the stands were stunned by this hellish scene. Such a strong "The Mountain" Ser Gregor Clegane had actually been beaten until he was completely defenseless, and might even lose his life.
"Knight of Flowers" Loras Tyrell swallowed hard, thinking: I actually didn't get killed by him earlier; I'm really lucky...
Robert was also stunned. Although he had experienced wars and killed many people, he hadn't seen such a gruesome sight many times. Moreover, his son Joffrey was not yet an adult, yet he could be so bloodthirsty and so crazy.
Watching Joffrey standing in the rain of blood, Robert remembered the head of House Baratheon from a century ago who loved to laugh: "The Laughing Storm" Lyonel Baratheon.
"Hold onto your mind! Do not become a slave to the Night Lion!"
At this moment, a divine light appeared, and a dignified and kind voice sounded.
Joffrey felt as if a clear stream had washed through his mind. He shook his head to let his congested brain cool down, and then his rapid heartbeat slowly began to steady.
He looked down at the screaming Ser Gregor Clegane beneath his feet, and at the thick arm of "The Mountain" he was currently tearing at in his hands.
He let go, stumbled back half a step, and for a moment felt lost and dazed, thinking: This... did I actually do all of this?
Joffrey shook his head, the patterns in his eyes beginning to flicker, his state shifting between lucidity and bloodlust.
Taking advantage of this moment, Gregor Clegane struggled to break free. He pressed his right hand against his dangling left arm, and using the last of his remaining strength, moved away in terror and agony.
The blood flowing from him stained the entire ground a dark red, and the thick scent of blood permeated the air, lingering and almost suffocating.
Just then, Joffrey's wavering gaze suddenly noticed the splash of blood on "The Mountain"'s arm, and the flames in his eyes began to burn once again.
His somewhat stiff hand slowly picked up the war hammer again, and he gave chase toward the fleeing Gregor Clegane.
Hearing the sound of wind behind him, the fleeing Gregor Clegane turned his head stiffly. He knew that person was coming again; that monster actually didn't intend to let him go.
Just as he turned his head, he saw a hammer growing larger and larger in his vision. He could even see the chilling blood-red light flickering on that war hammer...
Only a "bang" of a loud noise was heard.
A heavy hammer swung from bottom to top, striking Ser Gregor Clegane squarely in the chest, and his heavy breastplate shattered and exploded instantly.
Ser Gregor Clegane's massive body flew up like a kite with a broken string, tumbling several times in the air before crashing heavily to the ground. His entire chest cavity was nearly caved in, and blood gushed uncontrollably from his mouth; the intense pain in his chest made it almost impossible for him to breathe.
As Ser Gregor Clegane hit the ground, his rolling body uncontrollably knocked over a burning torch located in a corner of the arena. "The Mountain" watched in utter despair as the iron stand, along with the iron pot filled with hot oil, toppled over.
Although he struggled hard to get up, he was already too weak to dodge, and there was no time to dodge. The next moment, hot oil poured over him, and he was engulfed in raging flames.
He wailed and screamed...
The flames spread along the hot oil to the feet of Joffrey, who was not far away, first igniting the hem of Joffrey's armor, and then spreading to his entire body in the blink of an eye.
Yet, even with his whole body ablaze, Joffrey felt no pain at all. Instead, he felt as if these flames were a part of his body, warm and intimate.
Moreover, after being enveloped by these flames, his state of mind truly cleared.
He began to recall the voice that had just awakened him from his bloodthirsty state...
King Robert Baratheon, sitting in the main seat, suddenly looked anxious and flustered upon seeing this. Ignoring the puzzled gazes of the crowd and his own wobbling belly, he quickly strode down from the main seat and ran onto the tournament grounds.
"Everyone, go get me some water!"
"Hurry!"
"Pycelle! Pycelle! Where the hell are you, you old fool?! Get over here!"
Cersei Lannister, who had originally been unconcerned, suddenly realized something as she watched Robert's frantic movements.
"Robert! You idiot! How could you let my son participate in the tournament!" Cersei was somewhat furious and embarrassed. She wished she could hold her precious son in the palm of her hand all day, terrified that he might fall. Now, this guy Robert actually dared to let him take part in such a dangerous tournament!
Sansa Stark, sitting in the front row, was also in a state of chaos. Ignoring the attempts of her companion Jeyne to stop her, she rolled over the railing of the spectator stand and rushed towards Joffrey, abandoning all decorum.
This left her younger sister, Arya Stark, behind her with her mouth agape; when had her ladylike sister become so bold...
For a moment, the spectator stand was in complete chaos.
"That mysterious knight was actually the Prince!"
"As expected of a Prince, just as mighty as the King was in his youth."
"The King? That guy with the big belly?"
"Don't talk nonsense if you don't know. His Majesty the King was very handsome in his youth. If I were a woman, I would definitely marry him."
"Brother, let's make money together."
"..."
Sandor Clegane had intended to step forward, but upon seeing the raging flames, he recoiled in terror, taking several steps back.
After everyone extinguished the flames and scrambled to remove Joffrey's blood-stained armor and tear open the inner lining, they discovered that, compared to Ser Gregor Clegane, who was covered in extensive burns and still lying on the ground wailing, the Prince's fair skin was completely unharmed.
"Pycelle, what is this..." Robert frowned. He couldn't figure out what was going on. So many people had seen his son engulfed in flames with their own eyes, yet Joffrey himself was perfectly fine, not even a single hair had been singed.
"Your Majesty the King, you forget, your grandmother Princess Rhaelle Targaryen came from House Targaryen, so the Prince also has a portion of the true dragon's blood in his veins. In ancient legends, the true dragon's blood holds immense magic; it can lead a person to glory, or plunge them into madness."
Grand Maester Pycelle stroked his grey beard, looking inscrutable.
Hearing this, Queen Cersei Lannister suddenly frowned and retreated behind the others. She cast a subtle, puzzled glance at Jaime Lannister beside her. Jaime was also confused at this moment; he first exchanged a puzzled look with Cersei, then shook his head.
Eddard Stark, standing beside King Robert, also frowned. He felt as if a spark of inspiration had flashed through his mind, but he hadn't managed to grasp it.
"You old fool, you've been rambling for ages. Just tell me directly why my son is fine after being burned by fire, and be done with it." Robert Baratheon hated people who tried to be mysterious; just say it clearly, why drag it out for so long?
"Because..." Grand Maester Pycelle turned his head to look at Prince Joffrey Baratheon's emerald green eyes and said earnestly: "Because the true dragon is not afraid of fire."
"The true dragon is not afraid of fire." Joffrey also repeated it silently in his heart.
...
"The true dragon is not afraid of fire."
Daenerys recalled these words that Ser Willem Darry had once said to her. She moved her hand through the stream in the bath, creating ripples.
Since she was a child, she had particularly enjoyed bathing in scalding hot water. The water temperature was so high that the entire room was filled with surging heat waves; such a temperature was something even Viserys Targaryen, also of House Targaryen, dared not approach.
She stroked her slightly rounded belly, murmuring: "Rhaego, my son. I can feel your breathing, your movements. Your strong legs kick with such power."
Feeling the water temperature had dropped, Daenerys stepped out of the huge, spacious bath while naked. As the water droplets ran down, her near-perfect body radiated hot white steam.
She walked slowly into the inner room and used a soft towel to wipe away the remaining water droplets from her body. Feeling a hint of chill, she walked to the bed and buried herself in the goose-down bedding.
Daenerys stroked the cold dragon egg in her arms and slowly drifted into a dream.
...
In the dream, she forgot she was a stranger, indulging in a moment of fleeting joy.
She dreamed she was living in a large, deep-red house, built from massive red bricks, one after another. The house's door was painted with red paint, and her own room was filled with bright flowers. She smelled the rich fragrance of flowers and listened to the unbridled chirping of birds and cicadas outside the window, wearing a brilliant smile.
She remembered, this was her home in Braavos.
She strolled to the window and opened the golden-yellow oak window; in an instant, the view opened up before her.
A flourishing lemon tree came into view, its fruit-laden branches swaying freely in the wind. A sparkling stream flowed beneath the lemon tree, constantly washing over the pebbles on the green field by the bank.
Under the tree, a tall, handsome man with silver hair and purple eyes looked up at Daenerys, who was leaning against the window. He greeted Daenerys, who was tilting her head and looking at him with confusion, and affectionately called her "Dany".
Daenerys had never met this man, but for some reason, the name of this handsome man suddenly surfaced in her memory; he was Rhaegar Targaryen, her elder brother, and the heir to the iron throne.
However, the nickname "Dany" was known only to her second brother, Viserys Targaryen. By the time she was born amidst the storm, her elder brother Rhaegar had long since died; he had died in the War of the Usurper launched by the rebels.
As this thought arose in her heart, the scene before her suddenly became illusory. The lemon tree and the stream kept magnifying in her mind, magnifying and magnifying, until she could even see the scales on the small fish in the stream reflecting the sunlight.
At this moment, a cold breeze blew past, and her dream ended.
Perhaps because she was recalling the content of the dream, she did not notice: the temperature of the dragon egg in her arms was slowly changing from cold to warm...