Euron slowly withdrew his twin swords, his tone calm but carrying a trace of mocking laughter. "It seems your mouth is far sharper than your sword."
This sentence was the final straw that crushed Rojer's pride. His face flushed beet red with shame and indignation. He slammed his practice sword onto the ground with a crisp clang, then without a word, turned and pushed through the crowd, striding out of the banquet hall with his head lowered, a wretched figure.
Prince Oberyn Martell, seeing this, coughed lightly to break the silence.
Wearing a playful smile, he tried to smooth things over according to the previously agreed rules. "It seems our Little Kraken has successfully kept his betrothal. As agreed, one challenger per day. Today's contest ends he—"
However, before he could finish, he was interrupted by Euron.
"We won't stay in Dorne for long," Euron's clear voice rang out, drowning the end of Oberyn's sentence. He looked around at the young nobles whose faces still bore expressions of defiance and eagerness. "We will depart for Harrenhal in ten days at most. If I only accept one challenge a day, I'm afraid many people... will miss their chance."
He paused, the corner of his mouth curling into a near-arrogant smile, and continued, "Besides, that warm-up just now didn't cost me much effort."
Before his voice faded, an invisible yet terrifyingly majestic aura suddenly exploded outward from him as the center!
It wasn't magic, yet it was more oppressive than any spell—the [Haoshoku Haki] (Conqueror's Haki) of a king!
Though not fully unleashed against anyone specific, it dimmed the candlelight in the hall and caused the hearts of everyone who felt it to sink heavily, suffocating their breath.
Under everyone's shocked gazes, Euron struck his twin swords together, emitting a soul-shaking clang. He stood tall, his voice exploding like thunder throughout the banquet hall: "So, next! Who else?!"
Prince Doran Nymeros Martell frowned slightly. In his view, Euron's aggressive posture was nearly a senseless provocation to the dignity of all Dornish warriors—too arrogant, and completely unnecessary.
Prince Oberyn Martell wore an amused smile, wondering why the usually cautious, humble, and low-key Little Kraken had suddenly become so arrogant. Suddenly, the "Sorrowful Man" Castor Daniels leaned over and chuckled, "I heard the Little Kraken signed up for the Single Combat at Harrenhal. He's using these rookies for practice."
Hearing this, a flash of understanding passed through the eyes of both Prince Oberyn and Prince Doran. Oberyn resumed his cynical expression, though the worry between Doran's brows did not fully dissipate.
"Don't worry. Even I couldn't say I'd definitely beat the Little Kraken back then. Let alone these cubs!"
At this moment, the Dornish youths in the hall had been thoroughly ignited by Euron's shout of "Next! Who else?!"
"Too arrogant! We must teach him a lesson!"
"This Ironborn simply doesn't put us in his eyes!"
The surging hostility almost solidified.
That night, Euron stood like a tireless god of war in the center of the makeshift arena, accepting challenges from dozens of Dornish warriors in succession! The sounds of clashing blades, shuffling feet, and the gasps and sighs of the audience rose and fell.
It wasn't until the tenth challenger fell in defeat that Prince Oberyn Martell finally stood up laughing and called a halt.
"Enough! Enough!" Oberyn's booming voice drowned out the noise in the arena, his face showing satisfaction. "Ten consecutive victories in one night—this is an astonishing record! If we continue, even if our Little Kraken can still fight, we Dornishmen would be winning dishonorably. It would sound like we used a wheel war to take advantage of him. Tonight, it ends here!"
Oberyn's announcement put a period to this sudden chain of duels and quietly preserved the last shred of face for the Dornish side.
Though the banquet continued—music played again, and wine was refilled—the atmosphere was starkly different.
The small area where Euron sat seemed to form an invisible, cold barrier. No Dornish noble was willing to step forward and chat with him. The gazes directed at him were a mix of annoyance, apprehension, and cold exclusion. Almost single-handedly, he had offended the entire hall of Dornish nobles in an instant.
However, amidst this deliberate isolation, a figure strode through the indifferent crowd. Balf Greyjoy, grinning with undisguised appreciation, walked up to Euron, rudely pulled out a chair, sat down, and gave him a big thumbs-up.
"Hehe, lad!" he laughed gruffly, his booming voice jarring against the surrounding whispers. He raised his goblet and clinked it heavily against Euron's without explanation, the force splashing crimson wine. "That just now was what I call a damn man! Satisfying!"
In Balf's simple and direct values, though Euron was usually powerful and calm enough, he always lacked a bit of the blood and arrogance belonging to a young man. But tonight, this sharp display of dominance, fighting one against ten, truly fit his definition of a "real man."
Just then, Victoria Daniels walked over quickly. Gone was her usual teasing or dissatisfaction, replaced by a hawk-like scrutiny. Ignoring the awkward atmosphere, her gaze locked onto Euron, and she asked bluntly, "Those last few thrusts and that strange sliding step you used just now... what was that? Why did those moves look so much like the techniques of us 'Sorrowful Men'?"
Euron met her probing gaze and answered with unusual frankness, hiding nothing. "Not 'like,' Victoria. Those are the techniques of the Sorrowful Men."
Victoria froze instantly, her blue eyes widening in shock, seemingly unable to digest the answer for a moment. "...?!"
Seeing her stunned expression, Euron acted as if he just remembered, adding in a tone as casual as discussing the weather, "You forgot? Your brother Castor spent three years with me across the Narrow Sea. He taught me. Mm, of course, I paid plenty of gold dragons for it!"
"Gold dragons?! That—TRAITOR!!!"
Victoria's cheeks flushed red with rage instantly, feeling betrayed by the person she trusted most. She squeezed those three words through her teeth, no longer caring to question Euron. She spun around violently, her murderous gaze immediately scanning the crowd for her brother Castor Daniels, clearly intent on settling the score for "leaking family secrets."
Euron chuckled, happy to have found some fun for Castor Daniels, that disgrace among the Sorrowful Men.
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