As the referees around them once again finished reading out the rules, the atmosphere in the field grew more and more tense.
But the mood all around was growing increasingly feverish.
Whether men or women, at this moment they were all shouting like mad.
Whether they were cursing contestants they disliked, or loudly cheering for the contestants on whom they had just placed heavy wagers, or simply declaring affection for someone.
No matter which it was, the nearly square sea of human noise still surged and crashed like a tide, rumbling so hard it made one's chest cavity resonate, and one's eardrums throb.
Then, once all the contestants indicated they had no further questions about the rules, with the King's declaration, the group bout finals officially began.
After that, this group bout astonishingly lasted nearly three hours before it finally ended.
Those who were able to reach this step, whether for the considerable reward or for this rare honor, were all unwilling to fall easily.
So in this melee, when someone truly collapsed to the ground and could not get back up, only then would he choose to lift off his own helm and throw it out, announcing his surrender.
Of course, not everyone in here was fighting on with just a single breath until death.
For example, that free rider who had, after undergoing a difficult battle yesterday, finally defeated the knight of House Frey and reached the end—he, after taking three hammer blows in the melee, hurriedly shouted his surrender.
He lay prone in the muddy, trampled sludge, struggling desperately to squeeze his way out from the chaotic crowd.
He could not care about the fingers that had been smashed into mangled flesh by the hammer, then had their bones crushed under the mud.
He hastily took off his helm and flung it away with all his strength to announce surrender, becoming the first person eliminated in these finals.
And the three who ultimately won in this melee were, respectively, Thoros of Myr; the Lord of Blackhaven, Beric Dondarrion, who had shouted upon entering King's Landing that he would take the championship; and, most to Kal's surprise, the Prince of Dorne, the "Red Viper," Oberyn Martell.
Yes—Oberyn had actually participated in this group bout tourney, and had even become the one who stood until the end.
"You think it was you who stopped me outside Blackhaven? Heh~ Lightning Lord? You were defeated as fast as lightning, indeed, but you're far softer than lightning."
Looking at the Lord of Blackhaven before him—who had managed with difficulty to stand until the end, yet had been "taken care of" by him so thoroughly that he now lay prone on the ground unable to get up—Oberyn sneered coldly in mockery.
This bastard truly thought he had stopped Oberyn's Dornish host outside his own castle; and because of this matter these past days, he had gained quite a bit of fame.
So Prince Oberyn Martell had no psychological burden at all in beating Beric Dondarrion senseless at this moment.
And thanks to Beric Dondarrion, Thoros fell to the ground after taking only a few hits, becoming the runner-up with honor.
The grand occasion of the group bout gave Kal's Martial Games an excellent start.
Novel ways of fighting and rules, surpassing the thresholds of the past, all destined this to be an event that would be remembered in history.
Then, as event after event proceeded one after another, during this process countless capable men and master craftsmen were also selected out, instantly becoming the most celebrated stars in King's Landing.
But time would always pass, and even the finest banquet would have a moment when it ended.
In the blink of an eye, two months had passed; at this moment, all the remaining competition events had already been held.
This Martial Games welcomed today its final event—the joust.
As the heaviest event, and the one that both nobles and commoners cared about the most, Kal placed it at the close of this Martial Games, using it as the finale to show the importance he attached to this bout.
And Kal himself naturally also became a contestant and signed up to participate.
The threshold of this competition was not something Kal could lower just because he wished to, so those who could truly afford to play were always the true masters of this land—those noble lords whose armaments were formidable.
Wearing the armor he had custom-made by Tobho Mott, Kal could be said to be the absolute most dazzling person on the scene.
And Kal's strength naturally needed no further words.
All the way, passing through rounds and cutting down foes, not a single person was able to withstand even one exchange against him.
None of them lasted even one exchange before being knocked from their horses by a single lance thrust from Kal.
No matter how many legendary tales they had forged over the course of their lives, how many songs, how many romantic exploits—at this moment, they could only, without the slightest ripple, become the defeated foes under the hand of Lord Kal El.
From the start of the joust all the way until he became champion, when he lifted the lance-borne laurel representing the "Queen of Love and Beauty" and rode a circuit around the field, the armor on his body did not even have the slightest scratch.
Everyone knew what this meant, and it was only at this moment that those who had merely heard from others how powerful Kal El was finally came to truly realize just how formidable his martial might was.
As though it were a kind of strength with no peers at all, so strong that people had no concrete concept of where its limits lay.
Those flaunting banners, those all kinds of extravagant and costly suits of armor, the strong warhorses raised with care, the knights who trained day and night to hone their own martial skill—before him, they had no difference whatsoever.
As the final victor, Kal removed his helm, and sitting upon Fawkes's back—who seemed likewise able to feel his mood—he received everyone's cheers, and who knew how many declarations of affection.
After receiving his moment of glory, Kal's warhorse again circled to the side of the honored guests' seats.
Everyone knew what Kal would do now, so at this moment, whether in the honored guests' seats or among the common folk crowded beyond the railings, all subconsciously held their breath, watching intently the protagonist wearing that unique and handsome suit of armor.
"I choose Lady Sansa of House Stark of the North as the 'Queen of Love and Beauty' of the first Victory Games."
"Lady Sansa, in my eyes, you are the most beautiful winter snow rose."
Kal looked at Sansa with a smile as he spoke, announcing that she had become the true "Queen of Love and Beauty."
After speaking, Kal steadily lifted the fresh-flower laurel on the tip of his lance and gently placed it upon the lap of Sansa Stark, who sat in the honored guests' seats.
On the high platform, King Robert held a cup of summerwine in his hand, yet at this moment he, rarely, did not raise the cup to his lips.
From the moment Kal became a jousting contestant, he had sat here every day, watching every one of Kal's matches and cheering for each of his victories.
However, until today, when the final victor was formally decided, he, contrary to his usual habit, remained silent.
He had not even drunk much of his favorite wine as he usually did.
All his attention today was on Kal, his gaze deep, filled with affection and a faint trace of expectation.
Watching Kal place the fresh-flower laurel representing the "Queen of Love and Beauty" upon Sansa Stark's lap, his face was full of gentle smiles.
"Ned, today you have won. Your daughter has become the Queen of Love and Beauty, and my son has personally taken it from atop my betrothed's head and then given it to your daughter."
Robert's gaze had never left Kal; his tone carried a sourness as he spoke these words, raising the cup he had been holding for a long time without drinking.
Hearing the King's tone—like a man who had bitten into a lemon-salted fish—Lord Eddard Stark also allowed a rare trace of a smile to surface on his face.
"Once Sansa has her first moonblood, they may marry under the witness of the Old and the New Gods."
Eddard looked at his daughter, who was already so happy she seemed ready to faint, and spoke slowly.
Robert also nodded slightly at these words, then as though something had occurred to him, said, "Kal said he will wed under the witness of the heart tree, reading vows to each other."
The King's tone was still sour, as though he were the one who was Sansa's father.
Hearing Robert speak of this, the smile on Eddard's face grew even more gentle. "Kal is a good child; he will love Sansa."
Robert nodded again, and then solemnly made his promise.
"There is a small godswood in the Stone Garden of Casterly Rock. It will be a suitable place. When the time comes, I will certainly go personally to attend their wedding."
Hearing this, the smile on Eddard Stark's face could no longer be held.
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