The tension of the finals was like a bowstring pulled to its breaking point. In this suffocating moment, Tyrion Lannister quietly found Euron.
Tyrion strained to stand on his tiptoes, pulling Euron into a relatively quiet corner. His voice was hushed, urgent, and serious.
"Listen," the Imp whispered, a complex light in his mismatched eyes. "The Mountain... his left ankle was badly injured when he fell from his horse during the last joust. It's still swollen and painful; it never truly healed. That is his fatal weakness."
Tyrion relayed the secret quickly, a look of undisguised disgust crossing his face. "I hate him. His cruelty makes me sick. Even if he is my father's most capable and vicious weapon, I cannot summon a shred of goodwill for him." His gaze refocused on Euron, full of genuine concern. "But I like you, Euron. I consider you a true friend. I still want to sail the seas with you one day, to see the Shadow Lands... You must not die by his hand."
Euron smiled and patted Tyrion's head. The dwarf rolled his eyes but slipped away quietly.
Euron's kin and friends came forward one by one to offer their final words. His father, his elder brother Balon, and his younger brother gathered around him. Their advice was realistic and cold: "Remember, Euron, this is not the time for pride. If you can win, fight with everything you have. If it cannot be done, surrender immediately and retreat. Preserving yourself is far more important than meaningless bravado." This was the simple wisdom the Ironborn had gleaned from a harsh existence.
Ashara Dayne gripped his arm tightly, her violet eyes filled with unconcealed worry. She couldn't offer tactical advice like a warrior; thousands of words melted into a simple, direct plea: "Please be careful..." Her voice caught in her throat, the depth of her fear unspoken but understood.
Arthur Dayne looked at Euron with a knowing smile, clearly confident in his brother-in-law-to-be. Yet, he offered a steady reminder born of a hundred battles: "Do not let anger rule you. Do not rush for success. You know his weakness. Be patient. Drain him, torment him. His stamina and patience will run out faster than yours."
The Red Viper, Oberyn Martell, leaned against the railing of the stands, a cold, thin smile on his lips. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to Euron's ears—concise and lethal: "Kill the dog."
Not far away, Princess Arianne Martell and Princess Elia Targaryen stood side by side. They said little, but the concern in their similar eyes spoke volumes—more than the glory of championship, they yearned for Euron to walk out of the arena alive.
In the stands, Brienne of Tarth stood with her father, Lord Selwyn. The usually shy girl summoned her courage, shouting encouragement for Euron along with the crowd, her eyes tracking him with unhidden support and hope.
Among the many watching eyes were familiar faces—Bronn, Wenda the White Fawn, and Thoros of Myr, all defeated by Euron.
They watched with bated breath and complex emotions. Though they had lost to him, they sincerely hoped for his victory.
This wasn't out of friendship for sparing their lives, but a practical consideration: If Euron became the champion, they could tell anyone in the future, "I only lost to the champion of the tourney, and I survived."
"There's no shame in losing to the champion," Bronn grinned, arms crossed, voicing their shared thought. To survive and explain defeat with dignity was a rare luxury in these chaotic times. "Besides, I accept my loss wholeheartedly! If he hadn't held back, I'd be dead already."
Euron stepped steadily into the arena. His cold gaze stabbed toward Gregor Clegane like a physical blade. The air between them seemed to solidify, thick with silent killing intent.
A horn blast, like the roar of a steel beast, tore through the noise over Harrenhal, announcing the start of the death match!
---
Euron and The Mountain stood opposite each other.
Euron slowly extended his crossed sabers. The Mountain heavily raised his terrifying greatsword horizontally. Their weapons touched lightly in mid-air—a crisp, fleeting metallic clink—before they each took three steps back to open the dueling distance.
In that instant of contact, a faint glint flashed in Euron's eyes. [Doriki Test lv1] activated quietly. The Mountain's terrifying stats branded themselves into his consciousness like cold inscriptions:
> [Gregor Clegane — The Mountain]
> Strength: 42
> Agility: 11
> Stamina: 46
> Spirit: 6
> Command: 5
> Charisma: 5
A terrifying fortress of extreme Strength and Stamina. 46 Stamina was horrifyingly high. People said The Mountain lacked agility, but that was only relative to his massive, nearly eight-foot frame. An Agility of 11 was actually on par with a strictly trained soldier—not to be underestimated.
The Mountain let out a beast-like roar. His massive two-handed sword swung with the force to split mountains. The wind from the blade whistled, creating a suffocating gust that threatened to grind everything before it into dust.
Euron moved like a phantom, light and agile. His footwork was rapid, his form elusive, always calmly evading the lethal slashes by a hair's breadth.
Strength is useless if it cannot hit the enemy; it only wastes stamina.
The Mountain bellowed repeatedly, trying to use his massive body and berserk attacks to corner Euron against the arena wall, limiting his dodge space. But just as he finished a full-power horizontal slash—his old force spent and new force not yet born—a cold light flashed in Euron's eyes. He ducked and sprinted, perilously passing through the gap under The Mountain's sword arm!
His dual blades crossed and slashed, leaving two deep, bloody furrows on The Mountain's right ribs.
The Mountain roared in pain and turned furiously, but his massive bulk made him slow. Euron didn't waste the chance. He dropped into a semi-crouch and struck again viciously—one blade hacking hard into The Mountain's left calf, the other slicing deep into his back!
Blood sprayed instantly, staining the sand red. The Mountain howled in a mix of pain and rage, but Euron had already retreated, his blades pointing at the ground, crimson drops dripping from the edges.
A wounded beast is dangerous. A provoked mad dog is even worse!
The blood flowing from Gregor Clegane's wounds seemed to ignite his frenzy. He let out incoherent roars, swinging his greatsword wildly without form or reason, trying to smash the slippery "Kraken" into meat paste with absolute power.
However, no matter how The Mountain roared and exerted himself, he couldn't catch Euron's elusive shadow.
Frustration forced The Mountain to change tactics. He stopped chasing blindly and began to move laterally like a giant crab. Utilizing his massive frame and incredible reach, he slowly compressed Euron's dodging space, trying to force him into a corner or sweep him out of bounds.
Euron's face was as calm as water. He retreated step by step, calculating the distance precisely, until his heel clearly felt the thick line drawn in the sand—the boundary. He had nowhere left to retreat.
Facing this desperate situation, Euron simply shrugged with disdain.
In an instant, the blazing essence of fire named [Apollo] leaped from his shoulder again. As if alive, it wrapped around his twin sabers, transforming them into roaring blades of flame!
Just as The Mountain gathered his full strength for a fatal sweep that would crush everything, Euron's figure blurred—
[Rokushiki: Soru (Shave)!]
He vanished from his spot like a teleportation, leaving only a faint hot breeze. In the next second, he appeared like a ghost directly in front of The Mountain. His burning blades slashed in an 'X', the searing edges tearing through the leather armor on The Mountain's chest, leaving two charred, cross-shaped wounds on his muscular pectorals!
The Mountain's unstoppable sweep was only half-swung when his target disappeared. Before he could pull back his force, Euron used the extreme speed of Soru to flash to his blind spot on the left.
Shing! Shing! Shing!
In the blink of an eye, the burning blades slashed three times with a speed the naked eye could barely track! Each cut bit deep into The Mountain's thick arm and flank. The fire hissed as it seared flesh, delivering the dual agony of physical cutting and soul-burning heat.
The fire of the Soul-Soul Fruit burned the soul itself!
Euron's storm-like triple slash had a purpose. The cuts to the chest and ribs were mostly to adjust his posture during high-speed movement—deep enough to bleed, but not fatal. The third cut, aimed at the shoulder blade, was his true full-power strike!
His plan was to sever The Mountain's entire left arm using the sharpness of the fire blades and the velocity of Soru.
But when the searing edge tore through leather and muscle to strike heavily against the scapula, it met a terrifying resistance, as if hitting solid iron!
The Mountain's bones were unimaginably hard. After breaking through armor and flesh, the blade was jammed tight by the abnormally thick bone.
"ARGH!" The Mountain roared in pain and fury, the agony triggering his savagery. Ignoring the blade still embedded in his shoulder bone, he used his monstrous brute force to spin around violently. The greatsword screamed through the air, chopping horizontally at Euron's waist!
But Euron, seeing the amputation fail, didn't linger. He retreated decisively, leaping back lightly like a ghost, landing precisely at the very edge of the greatsword's range. The Mountain's fatal blow cut nothing but the air in front of him.
Gregor was now a thoroughly enraged primordial beast. He charged again regardless of consequence, swinging his sword madly. His attacks lacked form but were filled with devastating power.
Euron noticed keenly that due to the high-temperature cauterization of the flames, the three wounds he had inflicted were instantly charred and sealed; they weren't bleeding much.
As The Mountain roared and closed in, a cold light flashed in Euron's eyes. The fire on his blade tips suddenly erupted like a roaring dragon, biting straight at The Mountain's face!
Flames instantly engulfed his head. Beard, hair, and eyebrows caught fire immediately. Skin sizzled under the high heat, and the air filled with the stench of burning flesh.
"AAAAHHH!" The Mountain howled in misery, instinctively freeing one massive hand to frantically bat at the fire on his face. Euron intended to close in for the kill, but The Mountain's other hand, still gripping the sword, began to sweep and chop wildly with beast-like instinct. The massive blade created a dangerous whirlwind of death around him, making approach impossible.
Seeing this, Euron simply stopped. He stood calmly, watching the horrific scene of The Mountain's face burning like he was admiring a masterpiece. Simultaneously, Euron quietly activated another power—[Soul-Soul Fruit: Zeus (Thor)]!
A mass of blue energy, crackling with tiny lightning bolts, quickly wrapped around his dual blades, replacing the extinguished fire. Instantly, his weapons sizzled with heart-stopping electric light. The power of thunder was ready.
When The Mountain finally extinguished the flames with his giant palm, the revealed sight was grueling. His entire face was a bloody, charred mess. Skin, muscle, and even parts of the bone had melted together into a twisted, black, oozing horror. It was disgusting.
Euron was in no hurry. Like the most patient hunter, he began to circle The Mountain, whose movements were slowed by pain and obscured vision. He no longer sought a fatal blow. Instead, he waved his blades lightly—cut by cut, slowly slicing.
Every time the blades, infused with the power of [Zeus], grazed The Mountain's body, they delivered not just the pain of a cut but a violent electric shock that coursed through his entire system, causing his massive frame to twitch and spasm uncontrollably.
More biting than the blade or the lightning were Euron's words, cold as iron. With every wound he left, he slowly recounted a crime:
"I heard that your brother, Sandor Clegane, merely played with a toy you discarded..." Slash. Lightning flashed. "...and you pressed his face into a brazier, burning half his face off."
Another cut. The Mountain trembled violently.
"Now that you taste the burning of your own face... do you find it amusing?"
"I heard that to inherit your father's title and lands early, you ended his life with your own hands."
"I heard that just because your infant sister wouldn't stop crying, you strangled her to death."
"I heard that neither of your two wives could escape your brutal hands; both tortured to death by you."
"I heard that in your gloomy castle, servants' lives are cheaper than grass. Even spilling a drop of wine on you is reason enough for murder..."
Every sentence was accompanied by a cut. It was a bloody trial, carving The Mountain's grievous sins back into his flesh, one by one.
Euron even felt a twisted "admiration" for The Mountain's inhuman vitality.
After more than twenty cuts, deep enough to see bone, an ordinary man would have bled out or surrendered in agony. But this monster still stood. He didn't collapse from blood loss, nor did he show any sign of yielding.
Good.
Euron thought coldly. If The Mountain actually surrendered now, under the eyes of the crowd and restricted by the rules, I couldn't do anything to him.
The Mountain held on not out of bravery, but because his beastly combat instinct told him something: with every cut he took, the agonizing lightning power on the blades weakened. That terrifying energy that paralyzed his nerves and crushed his will was rapidly fading.
Finally, the heart-stopping blue light on Euron's blades extinguished completely. The screaming power of thunder was exhausted.
Euron remained expressionless. "Mountain, do you admit your crimes?"
"SO WHAT IF I DID THEM ALL!!!" The Mountain raised his ruined, hideous face, squeezing a hoarse, hate-filled roar from deep in his throat. "Now... I'm going to... KILL YOU! Smash you into paste! Let's see what you have to say then!"
Euron only responded with a cold sneer. "What? You think just because the lightning is gone, I can't cut through your pile of rotten meat?"
During this brief exchange, Euron had quietly activated the self-repair ability of the [Soul-Soul Fruit], consuming accumulated Soul Points to instantly restore his stamina, spirit, and physical state to perfection.
The Mountain suddenly launched a counterattack. His steps still seemed heavy and slow, no different from before.
His greatsword swung—a move that looked identical to his previous heavy, predictable attacks. Euron did exactly as before, leaping back calmly to dodge.
However, the moment Euron was in the air, with no leverage to move—
The Mountain let out a deafening roar. His body, massive as a hill, exploded with a terrifying speed completely mismatched to his size. He lunged forward, his speed suddenly doubling! This was the fatal trap he had been hiding all along, intending to tear Euron apart in mid-air!
"AHHH!"
Countless screams of terror rang out from the crowd. Everyone thought Euron was doomed.
In that split second, Euron's eyes showed no panic.
[Rokushiki: Geppo (Moonwalk)!]
His feet seemed to step on an invisible staircase of air. From an impossible position, he exerted force. Instead of falling, he leaped higher and further, narrowly skimming over The Mountain's head, turning the monster's sure-kill strike into a futile swing at empty space!
Geppo — Gravity!
As Euron vaulted over The Mountain's head, he accelerated his descent, slashing heavily into The Mountain's back. The blade cut down to the spine.
[Rokushiki: Rankyaku (Tempest Kick)] Lv3 — Knockback!
The moment he touched the ground, he kicked The Mountain in the lower back. The massive man, still carrying his forward momentum and unable to react, was launched into the air by the kick.
Euron's figure blurred again the instant his feet planted.
[Rokushiki: Soru (Shave)] Lv5 — Sonic Soru!
Moving faster than sight, he flashed directly behind The Mountain. The sonic boom effect instantly caused dizziness and tinnitus in the giant.
The Mountain's knees buckled slightly. Euron leaped up, high above him. Raising his dual blades high, carrying the full weight of his descent and absolute killing intent, he slashed down in an 'X' at that thick, pillar-like neck!
[Dragon Slaying Cut!]
The blade light flashed like cold lightning!
Lv3 — Iron Cutter! Power enough to shear through steel!
The Mountain's massive body maintained its forward stumbling inertia, taking another staggering step. But his hideous head had already separated from his neck, tracing a heavy arc through the air. The look of shock and fury hadn't even faded from his face.
A second later, hot blood erupted like a broken dam from the smooth stump of the neck, shooting feet into the air and spraying a horrifying crimson mist under the sun. The headless, gigantic body stood rigid for a moment longer before crashing down like a collapsing mountain.
Thud.
The Mountain... Dead.
The Mountain was dead?
The Mountain was dead!
After the massive shock, ecstasy swept through the arena like a tsunami.
Euron had won! He was the undisputed champion!
Balon Greyjoy was the first to react. He let out a sky-shaking roar, rushing into the field like a true kraken. He grabbed Euron by the waist and threw him high into the air, again and again, venting his boundless excitement and pride.
"EURON!"
"IRON ISLANDS!"
"CHAMPION!"
The crowd in the stands went completely mad. They screamed the victor's name until their voices were hoarse, chanting the might of the Iron Islands.
Everyone who had held their breath for Euron, who had worried deeply for him, let out a long, deep sigh, exhaling all the accumulated fear and tension.
Ashara's eyes were red, tears flowing freely, mixed with unparalleled relief and joy. She turned and threw herself into her brother Arthur Dayne's arms, her body trembling with the intensity of her emotions.
Arianne Martell and Princess Elia only now realized that their tightly clasped hands were slick with cold sweat; they could feel each other's suffocating tension melting away.
Brienne of Tarth, her throat already raw from shouting, still tried to cheer.
...
Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, shrugged. It seemed he didn't need to announce the winner. He quietly left the field, leaving the scene of celebration to the young ones.
This duel was far more than a clash of strength. Filled with unpredictable flashes of magic and thunderous judgment like divine punishment, it was an epic of extreme power and transcendent skill against pure evil.
Every moment was thrilling; every exchange tugged at the heartstrings. Its ups and downs were enough to leave the most seasoned bards at a loss for words.
From this moment on, the name "Euron Greyjoy" would no longer represent just the Ironborn of the Iron Islands. It would sweep through every corner of the Seven Kingdoms like a storm, sung in every tavern, discussed around every campfire, deeply engraved into the history of Westeros, becoming an immortal legend sung for generations.