The neighing of horses, the roars of warriors, the cheers of the crowd, and the clash of steel filled the air.
Amid the faint morning mist, the large camp on the southern bank of the Blackwater Rush was exceptionally lively. The camp was spacious and clean, without the foul stench of King's Landing. Instead, there was only the fresh, salty scent of the sea breeze.
Despite the miracle of the Dragons returning to life, the soldiers' training had never been neglected.
The Gold Cloak Knights had introduced long-distance runs, weighted runs, and various other forms of intensive training. There was no such thing as doing less because others were working hard. Instead, everyone pushed themselves even further.
The Knights of Westeros were eager to make a name for themselves, while squires dreamed of earning their knighthoods. With the upcoming coronation of King Gendry and the grand Tourney that would follow, everyone wanted to distinguish themselves in front of the Storm, the True Dragon, and the countless Knights gathered from across the realm.
First place in the Tourney was practically impossible to challenge for, but second and third place were still within reach.
Formal knightly training in Westeros included horsemanship, archery, and sword-and-shield combat. Blunt weapons could also be used during training.
Beyond that came the enormous costs of maintaining warhorses, armor, weapons, food, and everything else a Knight needed. Every aspect required considerable wealth.
A Knight's life wasn't limited to fighting.
There was also meat, wine, and women—all of which required money. A Knight with a huge appetite who could eat and drink freely was often regarded as strong, though this wasn't necessarily true.
Hunting, Tourneys, horse training, falconry, raising hunting dogs, board games, gambling, and listening to bards were also common parts of a Knight's life.
Only wealthy lords and landed Knight families possessed enough gold dragons to support a warrior's constant training.
Most farmers and poor craftsmen who were temporarily conscripted into the army had little choice but to learn on the battlefield.
In many cases, that was little different from being sent to their deaths.
The most frustrating part was that if a Knight wanted to make a name for himself, fighting in wars wasn't enough. He also had to participate in Tourneys.
And losing a Tourney could be disastrous.
A defeated Knight might even lose his armor, with his expensive equipment becoming the spoils of the victor.
Knighthood wasn't merely a social class.
It was a culture.
Knights were expected to be fearless.
And if the Knights were fearless, then the King had to be even more so.
"Roar! Roar!"
In the open space at the center of the crowded Blackwater Rush camp, weapons clashed while cheers rose in waves.
The soldiers had cleared a large field and surrounded it with wooden fences.
It wasn't an official Tourney, but warriors were gathered there to practice and test their skills. Men and women alike were participating.
The most eye-catching figure on the field was Gendry himself.
A temporary wooden platform had been constructed nearby. Lords, nobles, Knights, high-ranking army commanders, and famous warriors sat there, watching the battle.
"Thump! Thump! Thump!"
Gendry wore black chainmail and wielded a broad, blunt sword. Compared to a slender training blade, it was considerably heavier, though actual battlefield weapons were generally not as ridiculously heavy as some training weapons.
His golden quartered shield gleamed under the sunlight as he faced several attacking Knights.
Today's sparring partners included Harrold Hardyng of the Vale, Timmy the Wildling, Gude Morrigen of the Stormlands, Roland Storm, Brienne of Tarth, Lothor Brune, and Ser Jak Crakehall of the Claw Peninsula.
Tall and long-legged, Gendry moved with incredible speed.
His heavy black training sword whistled through the air as he swung it left and right.
His attacks were fierce and powerful, like a storm sweeping across the battlefield.
His opponents didn't dare to be careless and rushed forward with their respective weapons.
"Clang!"
"Clang!"
The sound of steel colliding echoed throughout the camp.
Longswords, meteor hammers, and shields moved constantly as the warriors exchanged blows.
"Ha!"
Gendry shouted excitedly as he fought.
His clear blue eyes, resembling a mountain lake, remained locked onto his opponents.
His superior strength and speed made everything around him seem slower.
It was almost as though he could predict their movements before they happened.
At that moment, Ser Garlan Tyrell of the Reach arrived from King's Landing with a group of important figures on horseback.
They soon dismounted and joined the nobles who had come to watch the battle, including Mya Baratheon and several others.
Garlan and the others didn't interrupt the ongoing duel. Instead, they found a place among the spectators and watched with great interest.
Knightly culture was particularly strong in the Reach, the Vale, and the Stormlands.
The Knights of the Crownlands were comparatively weaker, perhaps because the region had become more commercialized.
Crownlanders weren't particularly famous for their martial prowess.
But they certainly loved watching a good spectacle.
"One against seven?"
Garlan Tyrell, dressed in a green robe decorated with two golden roses, stared at the chaotic battlefield with complicated emotions.
Garlan usually sparred against three or four opponents at once, but his opponents were nowhere near the level of those fighting Gendry.
And then there was Brienne.
The tall and powerful woman was practically a miniature version of the Mountain.
She was terrifying on the battlefield.
Gendry's blunt sword suddenly smashed into Harrold Hardyng's iron helmet.
"Bang!"
The helmet was dented.
The golden-haired, blue-eyed Harrold felt dizzy, and his movements slowed unconsciously.
Gendry immediately kicked him away, forcing him out of the field.
"I lost! I..."
The young Eagle King lay on the ground in a miserable state, his muscles aching all over as golden stars seemed to dance before his eyes.
Although Harrold wouldn't dare claim to be the greatest young swordsman in the Vale, he certainly wasn't weak.
Yet the gap between him and Gendry was simply too enormous.
No one would mock him for losing.
After all, his opponent was the Storm.
One-eyed Timmy roared and charged forward, swinging his blunt sword.
His swordsmanship was fierce, but everything he did seemed slow in Gendry's eyes.
Gendry's heavy sword was simply too fast.
"Thump!"
Timmy's slender training sword struck Gendry's blade like it had collided with solid bedrock.
A wave of pain ran through Timmy's body.
Gendry's sword strikes came like enormous waves.
Each strike carried tremendous force, and the impact seemed to build upon itself, like wave after wave crashing against a cliff.
Timmy stumbled backward.
Eventually, he could no longer hold on and dropped both his sword and shield.
He became another casualty of Gendry's overwhelming strength.
The surrounding Knights, squires, and soldiers stared with their eyes wide open.
Gendry's performance was simply too extraordinary.
His strength and speed were overwhelming.
A heavy blunt sword should have severely restricted a person's speed, yet Gendry wielded it as effortlessly as though it were a light training blade.
"Again!"
Gendry strode forward and dropped his wooden-and-steel shield.
This time, he abandoned defense entirely.
His long, powerful arms wielded the heavy sword like a flower dancing in the wind.
His swordsmanship flowed freely, without the slightest hesitation.
The storm of steel seemed to descend upon the remaining five opponents from all directions at once.
"Defend and counterattack!"
Brienne of Tarth quickly shouted.
She was tall and powerful, and the others naturally looked to her as their leader.
Lothor and the others immediately formed a defensive formation.
They focused on parrying Gendry's attacks and counterattacking whenever they saw an opening.
Their strength was not weak.
They even had Brienne of Tarth, a half-step top-tier master, among them.
But it wasn't enough.
"Be careful!"
Gendry's fierce sword strikes were unpredictable.
One moment, his attacks were as violent as a raging torrent.
The next, they became as gentle and precise as falling rain.
His sword could be both raging fire and flowing water.
The greatsword rose and fell.
High cleaves became low slashes.
Diagonal cuts transitioned seamlessly into direct thrusts.
Every time Gendry's sword collided with an opponent's weapon, the impact sent their blood and qi surging.
It felt as though a giant hand belonging to a god was crushing them.
Gendry's extraordinary senses and reaction speed gradually broke apart Brienne's formation.
First, Jak Crakehall and Gude Morrigen were defeated.
Their muscles could no longer support their counterattacks.
Their legs trembled, and their bodies ached from head to toe.
Jak and Gude felt as though they had been thrown into the middle of a raging storm.
There was simply no way to fight back.
And knowing that Gendry was using a specially made heavy training sword only made them feel more desperate.
"I lost!"
"But losing to the strongest Knight isn't something to be ashamed of."
Lothor and Roland were also beaten black and blue.
They lasted another round before finally being knocked down.
Yet pride remained on their faces.
After all, lasting that long against the Storm was already an impressive achievement.
The surrounding Knights, squires, and soldiers applauded them.
Their squires and the camp's medics immediately rushed over to check their injuries and make sure there were no serious wounds.
Garlan, who was taller and more muscular than his younger brother Loras and already wore a beard, watched the battle silently.
Then he turned toward Loras.
"Are you convinced?"
Loras nodded heavily without saying another word.
Compared to the Storm, he was simply too far behind.
The Knight of Flowers was a slender and agile warrior with superb horsemanship and swordsmanship.
But even Loras would struggle against physically dominant warriors like Brienne and the Mountain.
And Gendry was on an entirely different level.
Randyll Tarly watched the fierce battle and slowly exhaled.
His thoughts inevitably turned toward his eldest son.
"Samwell..."
If his eldest son were an excellent Knight, he should have already made a name for himself in the Tourney.
But that fool didn't understand the nature of Westerosi society.
Westeros was a feudal society built around martial prowess.
A bookworm would only bring shame to House Tarly's centuries-old reputation.
"I haven't lost yet!"
Brienne remained on the field.
The Knight in dark blue armor was clearly fighting a losing battle, but she refused to surrender.
She was breathing heavily and barely holding on.
Despite being a woman, Brienne possessed astonishing physical strength and stamina.
"Go, Brienne!"
Dacey, the Bear Woman, shouted encouragement from the sidelines.
"Gendry!"
Daenerys also called out his name.
Ser Barristan watched Gendry's attacks carefully.
He had witnessed hundreds of battles and Tourneys throughout his life.
Even the most terrifying warriors had weaknesses.
Yet the opponent standing before him had revealed none.
Brienne stood around six feet five inches tall—roughly 1.96 meters.
She was as physically strong as most Knights.
Her former instructor had once remarked that a woman of her height shouldn't be capable of moving with such agility.
Yet the old gods and the new had seemingly blessed her with extraordinary stamina.
Even Ser Goodwin had found her physical ability astonishing.
But against Gendry, Brienne felt a little desperate.
Every one of Gendry's physical attributes was terrifying.
He was taller than her.
Stronger than her.
Faster than her.
He had greater stamina than her.
And the longer he fought, the stronger he seemed to become.
Yet Brienne refused to give up.
"Let me at him!"
Brienne took a deep breath and strode forward.
The meteor hammer in her hands whistled through the air, swinging high and low, left and right.
She demonstrated a variety of techniques with the weapon—smashing, hammering, advancing, and charging.
Brienne carefully adjusted her condition, making every strike as precise as possible.
The dance of battle began once more.
A dance of steel.
A dance that could easily become a dance of slaughter and death.
Gendry wielded his greatsword.
His attacks were impenetrable.
Powerful slashes were interspersed with rapid strikes that fell like a violent downpour.
Brienne's attacks appeared flawless.
Her tall frame allowed her to control the battlefield and block Gendry's movements.
But Gendry was even taller.
He effortlessly dodged the shadows of Brienne's meteor hammer.
His greatsword moved with astonishing precision, each backhand strike carrying unexpected variations.
Such movements required tremendous strength and extremely precise timing.
"Thump!"
"Thump!"
Gendry spun and attacked fiercely.
His powerful blows left Brienne struggling to breathe.
Sweat blurred Brienne's vision.
Her shoulders had gone numb, and the weight of her shield and meteor hammer was beginning to strain her wrists.
Every counterattack felt heavier than the last.
Finally, Gendry knocked the meteor hammer from her hands.
"I yield."
Brienne staggered backward.
Then she picked up her meteor hammer and pointed it toward Gendry.
It was a gesture of respect.
She removed her helmet.
Her large blue eyes belonged to a young girl—innocent, direct, and sincere.
Unfortunately, apart from her eyes, Brienne was considered remarkably unattractive by Westerosi standards.
Her chest was broad and flat, and her powerful build was more suited to a Knight than a lady of the court.
Yet her face was filled with joy.
Her voice was high and proud.
"Although I was defeated by the Storm, I fought until the very end."
"I will protect the two Highnesses with my life."
"I swear it by the old gods and the new."
"Brienne of Tarth!"
"Tarth!"
"Beauty!"
The soldiers erupted into cheers.
Although many of the camp soldiers were not accustomed to seeing women participate in such battles, Brienne of Tarth had completely won their respect through her martial prowess.
Selwyn Tarth covered his forehead.
His heart was filled with complicated emotions.
His daughter simply refused to follow the path he had planned for her.
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Storm!"
More soldiers joined the cheering.
Gendry wiped away some sweat.
He couldn't help but think:
In the end, it's all about stats.
Stats come before technique.
When faced with overwhelming physical ability and talent, even the most refined technique could be suppressed.
Gendry could clearly feel that as his bond with the Dragons deepened and his path as a Pyromancer opened, his physical attributes had increased once again.
"Forgive my interruption, Your Highnesses!"
Garlan approached and knelt on one knee.
"I am honored to bring you Hand of the King Duke Stannis Baratheon, Master of Coin Duke Mace Tyrell, and the other important members of the Small Council."
Stannis and Mace led the other ministers in bowing.
"You're most welcome."
Gendry wiped away the remaining sweat from his face.
His short, dark hair was slightly damp, and he looked toward Daenerys.
"My dearest Daenerys, these two are the Hand of the King and the Master of Coin."
"And this is Lord Randyll, who is overseeing the Dragonpit project."
"And Lord Matus, Lord Paxter, and the others are advisors to the Small Council."
"You're most welcome, my lords."
Daenerys smiled gently and greeted them politely.
"Peace be upon Your Highnesses."
Stannis Baratheon and Mace Tyrell bowed.
"Lord Yohn of the Vale has gone to meet Princess Mya and her entourage."
"Lord Eddard has taken his bastard son Jon to meet his wife and daughters."
"Lord Redford and Ser Boros remain in King's Landing to hold the fort."
Mace appeared especially loyal and reliable as he continued:
"Prince Gendry, Princess Daenerys, I have come to report on the preparations for the coronation ceremony."
"I also wish to discuss the crowns, swords, and other ceremonial matters required for Your Highnesses' coronation."
Daenerys smiled as she looked at Mace.
Mace had played a role in the overthrow of the Targaryen Dynasty.
Even if he had mostly sat back and done little, he had at least repaid the favor he had once received from the Dragon King.
"As for the crowns, I already have an idea."
Gendry pointed toward the golden battle standard.
"Have two crowns forged from this."
"As you command."
Mace bowed.
"I will gather the finest craftsmen and have them produce something worthy of Your Highnesses."
"It's a pity that Aegon the Conqueror's crown has been lost."
Gendry sighed with genuine regret.
He actually wanted that crown more than anything.
Although his father, King Robert, had also possessed a crown, Robert rarely wore the famous stag crown.
As a result, it had never developed much influence or recognition.
I have to find the treasures left behind by the former Targaryen Dynasty.
Gendry silently made up his mind.
If he could gather Valyrian steel swords, crowns, Dragon eggs, and all kinds of other treasures, then display them in a grand treasury where he could admire them whenever he pleased...
That would be wonderful.
The Sea Kings had their menageries.
His treasury, Gendry believed, would eventually be no less impressive.
"Ser Anguy, bring me Tiger's Roar."
Anguy the Archer immediately retrieved Gendry's greatsword from the tent.
The sword was wider than a man's palm.
When held upright, it stood taller than Jon Snow.
It was a true greatsword.
"The hilt is shaped like a tiger."
Gendry looked at the weapon.
"All it needs is a stag-shaped hilt."
"Then its name will be Fury."
"That is also the motto of House Baratheon."
Gendry drew the greatsword.
The rippling patterns on the blade were extraordinary.
Unlike ordinary steel, the Valyrian steel possessed a golden sheen, with undulating patterns flowing across the blade like waves of molten gold.
"Your Highness has chosen an excellent name."
Duke Mace couldn't help but feel envious.
This was a Valyrian steel greatsword—a priceless treasure.
The amount of Valyrian steel contained in a single greatsword could potentially be reforged into two bastard swords.
Its enormous size made it even more precious.
Previously, the only famous Valyrian steel greatswords were Ice and Heartsbane, while Lightbringer had been lost.
Now, Gendry's Fury had become another legendary weapon.
Mace had nothing to say about it.
After all, Gendry had personally slain Marajo and claimed the weapon through strength.
Taking something by force was certainly faster than spending gold to acquire it.
Crowns, swords, and armor.
These were all symbols of kingship.
When Blackfyre, Dark Sister, and Aegon the Conqueror's crown had all disappeared, the prestige of the Targaryen royal family had reached its lowest point.
Now, Gendry possessed Fury, Orphan-Maker, Storm, and a double-curved Dragonbone longbow.
His collection of legendary weapons and treasures was already greater than that of any Baratheon or Durrandon in history.
Then—
A strong smell of sulfur and smoke suddenly drifted through the air.
The Dragons had returned.
They had finished hunting along the sea and the river.
Black Dragon.
Green Dragon.
White Dragon.
Their thunderous roars caused the horses throughout the camp to panic.
The Dragons circled high above the camp before gradually descending beside Gendry and Daenerys.
Their enormous leathery wings beat against the air.
With every flap, the smell of sulfur grew stronger.
Although Mace and the others had heard countless stories about Dragons, seeing them with their own eyes was an entirely different experience.
The sight was indescribably shocking.
"A miracle!"
Mace's mouth hung open.
He immediately dropped to his knees, raising his backside so high that he looked like a fat onion.
Mace's sudden kneeling triggered a chain reaction.
Duke Stannis was next.
Then Matus.
Then Lord Randyll.
One after another, the important ministers dropped to their knees.
Within moments, the entire group was kneeling as though they were stalks of wheat being cut down.
After more than a hundred years, the people of Westeros had finally witnessed the magnificent sight of Dragons once again.
Dragons.
They were the ultimate symbol of kingship.
________________________________________
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