The warm atmosphere following Prince Doran's toast had not fully settled when a completely different, provocative voice rang out from the banquet tables.
"Betrothal?" A young noble deliberately dragged out his tone, raising his voice to cut clearly through the music. "That means they are not yet formally married!"
This remark was like lighting a fuse, instantly drawing numerous echoes.
"Well said! The Pearl of Starfall is also the Pearl of Dorne! How can she be plucked so easily?"
"At least let us see if this Kraken from the Iron Islands is worthy of our Pearl!"
"Exactly! To take away our Dornish treasure, one must follow our ancient Dornish rules!"
Hearing this, Ashara's slender fingers tightened slightly. Concern appeared in her eyes as she subconsciously looked at Euron. However, Arianne beside her quietly grabbed her hand, giving her a cunning look that said, "Watch the show." On the other side, Prince Oberyn Martell sipped his wine leisurely. Instead of worry, his face wore a smile of expectation.
Euron felt the challenging gazes instantly focusing on him from all directions. He knew this was not the time to show weakness. He slowly put down his goblet, the corner of his mouth curling into a calm but unyielding arc. He asked loudly, "Oh? Dornish rules? I am willing to hear the details."
The young noble who spoke first immediately replied, "Our Dornish rule is—for every true wedding, if there are no warriors who genuinely admire the bride stepping out to 'snatch the marriage', then it cannot be considered complete! Anyone who holds admiration for the bride may challenge the groom-to-be." He paused, emphasizing his tone, "If the groom loses, the betrothal is void!"
Euron's gaze swept over the many eager young faces present. His tone remained steady but carried the chill of the sea breeze. "I see. Then, I wonder, who wishes to be the first to try tonight?"
As soon as his voice fell, with a woosh, more than a dozen hot-blooded young nobles stood up from their seats all at once. Their hands rested on sword hilts or spear shafts, their eyes burning with the flames of fighting spirit and jealousy.
Prince Oberyn Martell coughed lightly. The sound wasn't loud, but it carried a peculiar penetrating power, instantly quieting the restless hall. Swirling the wine in his glass, a playful smile on his lips, his gaze swept over the eager young nobles. His tone was languid but every word was clear: "What, do you brave warriors intend to swarm him all at once? Or do you plan to line up and fight a wheel war until our 'Little Kraken' from the far-off Iron Islands is exhausted to death?"
Oberyn's question was like a probe, accurately piercing the sense of honor that Dornishmen valued most.
Sure enough, someone immediately shouted a rebuttal, filled with the indignation of having their honor questioned: "Prince Martell! We warriors of Dorne know nothing of 'taking advantage of others' danger'! Nor do we deign to bully the few with the many or wear down an opponent with a wheel war!"
Before his voice faded, a young man stepped out from the crowd. He was robust, wearing exquisite soft armor, with a mop of thick, dark brown curly hair atop a slightly freckled round face. Wearing a cheerful and confident smile, he first bowed toward Oberyn and Prince Doran, then looked at Euron with burning eyes, announcing loudly: "Rojer Allyrion of Godsgrace! I shall be the first challenger today." He paused, looking around, confidence overflowing. "And I assure you, I will also be the last one today."
With the challenger stepping forward, the atmosphere in the banquet hall tightened instantly.
Without needing an order, the guests tacitly moved back, quickly clearing a circular space in the center of the hall large enough for two to fight. Firelight and candlelight flickered, illuminating this makeshift battlefield brightly.
Euron and Rojer Allyrion stepped into the circle, standing opposite each other. Euron didn't immediately assume a stance. Instead, he spoke calmly, his voice exceptionally clear in the silent hall. "Swords have no eyes. I wonder, for this contest, do we use sharpened live steel, or blunted practice swords?"
Hearing this, a trace of mockery mixed into Rojer's cheerful smile. He said loudly, "Heh, if the Little Kraken is afraid of seeing red, of course you can choose practice swords." His words were full of provocation.
Euron didn't get angry. He only responded faintly, his tone carrying a matter-of-fact calmness. "I am afraid that if I am careless, I won't control my strength and will hurt you."
"Hmph! Useless talk!" Rojer was provoked even more by this calm confidence. "Hero or coward, come, let our hands reveal the truth!"
Just as the two were tit-for-tat and the atmosphere was about to explode, Prince Doran, sitting at the head seat, finally spoke. His voice was gentle but carried unquestionable authority, instantly suppressing the restlessness in the hall. "Young men, put away your tempers. I do not wish for my living room to be stained red with blood; that would spoil the guests' mood for wine."
Prince Doran raised his hand slightly. "Attendants, bring them practice swords."
With the practice swords in hand, Euron casually twirled a sword flower, feeling the weight and balance of the blade. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the tip pointed diagonally at the ground. He made a concise "please" gesture to Rojer Allyrion, his demeanor so composed it seemed he wasn't in a duel, but a daily practice session.
Rojer Allyrion huffed coldly, angered by this almost dismissive composure. With a low shout, he raised his sword and attacked! His moves were broad and sweeping, following orthodox knightly training. There were no obvious flaws in his technique, showing a solid foundation.
However, in Euron's eyes, he was too slow. His footwork was sluggish, and the power behind his swings was mediocre. Euron didn't even need to use the eerie [Kami-e] technique. relying solely on basic dodging and subtle footwork adjustments, he strolled leisurely, effortlessly evading over a dozen of Rojer's full-force slashes. His figure wove through Rojer's storm-like attacks without even a corner of his clothes being touched.
Finally, after a seemingly fierce thrust was deftly sidestepped by Euron, a momentary stagnation and opening appeared in Rojer's offensive. Euron's eyes narrowed slightly, and the aura he had been restraining suddenly exploded!
Everyone felt their vision blur! Euron's figure cut in abruptly. In the next second, the blunted tips of two practice swords were precisely and coldly pressed against Rojer Allyrion's vitals simultaneously—one against his Adam's apple, the other steadily stopped at his heart.
Silence fell over the arena, leaving only Rojer Allyrion's heavy, disbelief-filled panting and the cold touch of the practice sword tips against his vitals.
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