Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 371: Banquet of Disaster
Mottled light and shadows were cast on the wrinkled back of Ringol Varezes's hand. More than sixty years had left a mark of majesty on the dragon knight. His silver-gray braids hung on the old prince's gorgeous robes, swaying gently as he stroked the dragon scale pattern on the hilt. Although the banquet required the removal of weapons, no one dared to ask the king to take off the ancestral silver blood sword.

"Try this salt cod, my lord." Earl Darklin pushed the silver plate inlaid with pearls diligently. He was the highest-ranking noble in King's Landing and was also responsible for the execution of this banquet. "It was caught in Blackwater Bay this morning."

Lingol stared at the salt grains on the other's thumb. Those crystals glowed a strange purple in the sun. The nobles of King's Landing have liked this dyed salt in recent years. It is said that purple is the most expensive, and rose is also very popular. Earl Tully immediately caught the master's eyes. The young Minister of Justice had already pressed his hand on the empty scabbard. He had studied in the Purple Palace as Igor's attendant, and now he was also responsible for protecting the master's safety. He looked up at the end of the long table. The twins of the Marseille family were cutting steaks in the same posture. The sound of the silver knife scratching the porcelain plate was like a dragon's claw scraping against a rock.

"Speaking of disarming," Ringol suddenly broke the silence with a hoarse voice, and the golden spoon gently tapped the silver cup, the sound was like the echo in the ancient cave, "the children were very well behaved this morning - they showed me all their weapons." He stroked the dragon scale pattern guard of the Silver Blood Sword, "Unfortunately, the poisoned arrows are as fragile as the oath of the usurper in front of Valyrian steel."

The Marseille twins froze at the same time, a hint of panic flashing in their identical blue eyes. The young 20-something knights sat on either side of their father, like two over-decorated daggers.

"Father always said that your jokes were sharper than your sword." The older Marseille son tried to remain calm, but his knuckles turned white as he gripped the table knife.

Lingol showed a kind smile that was unique to elders, but to outsiders, this serious old man's smile often meant life or death: "When your grandfather was still alive." He paused deliberately, "he often praised me for my good skills in both."

The Count of Marseille lowered his head uneasily. He knew very well that the relationship between the old Count of Marseille and Ringol was not harmonious. When Queen Samantha married into the royal family, the old Count of Marseille did a lot of things to trip up Ringol.

"What's the result?" Earl Darklin was a little flustered.

Ringol said nonchalantly: "I'm still a little harder than the arrows of those idiots." He pointed to the gorgeous robe embroidered with the silver dragon and laurel leaf emblem. The dark gray metal rings on the Valyrian steel chain mail lining seemed to have life and flow with a strange luster.

Brynden smiled, and the two white crows he had specially summoned flapped their wings nervously on his shoulders. "The assassin profession is really going downhill," the black crow's gloomy eyes swept over the people present, "They are reluctant to even buy decent tools."

Count Marewes crushed the bread in his hand with his skinny fingers, and the crumbs fell into his collar embroidered with the Horn of Plenty. "We are just tough," the voice of the Lord of the Long Table was like honey mixed with broken glass, "even the gods are too lazy to take it."

Regen Kaon suddenly coughed, and the veteran warrior pretended to choke on his wine to cover up the slight clinking of armor under his gorgeous coat. The weapons he brought were hidden in the gift box he carried with him - according to custom, the host would keep the weapons for the distinguished guests, but no one would check the "gifts" in the gilded box.

"Speaking of rules." Lord Tully suddenly stood up and slammed the table. His young voice echoed under the arch. "Lord Darklyn, can you explain why the assassin was able to pass through the city gate you were guarding this morning with a crossbow?" His eyes shot like sharp arrows at the three hosts in charge of organizing the banquet. "And the Marseille caravan happened to transport ten barrels of 'dye' yesterday. Sir Stokeworth's guards suddenly increased by forty people?"

Earl Darklin was at a loss as to what to do and tried to explain, but was interrupted.

Lord Stokeworth, the tall, thin man known for his gloom, slowly put down his glass. The white film on his left eye shone like a dead fish in the candlelight. "Lord Tully," he hissed, "the accusation requires evidence."

"Like this?" Brynden snapped his fingers, and a white crow with a poisoned arrow in its beak landed in the middle of the dining table. It made a shrill cry on the table. "Seven layers of hell," Lord Regen Kaon suddenly laughed, "Now even birds know more about honor than some people."

At this moment the servant presented bread and salt.

Lord Darklin stood up hastily: "Please enjoy the bread and salt first." His voice trembled a little, "In the name of the Seven Gods..."

"It seems that someone wants my life more than the assassin." Lingol picked up the bread but did not eat it. Instead, he broke it in half. A strange blue liquid oozed out from the inside of the bread, dripping onto the silver plate with a slight hissing sound.

The long table fell into silence in an instant.

"It's just a joke, just a bad joke!" The Count of Marseilles hurriedly tried to smooth things over, beads of sweat oozing from his forehead. "The new baker in the kitchen is a northerner, and they like to add blueberries to the dough."

"Really?" Lingol picked up the suspicious bread with a fork, "Then could Master Marseille have a bite first?"

Cold sweat trickled down Marseille's temples. Just then, Brynden's white crow suddenly swooped down to the table and snatched away the piece of bread. The bird had just flown a few steps when it twitched and fell, with blue foam pouring out of its beak.

"It seems that the blueberries in the north," Ringol looked at everyone coldly, "are more deadly than the manticores in Qarth."

"In the name of the Seven!" The Count of Marseille, who could no longer bear it, screamed and pounced on the dead white crow, his velvet robe sweeping over the salt shaker. Purple crystals sprinkled on the poisoned bread, and suddenly burst into tiny green sparks. Tully immediately overturned the table, and with the loud noise of silverware falling to the ground, Reggon Kaon roared like an old wolf. His hand swept across the table, and the silver plate with the three-headed dragon emblem flew and hit the wrist of a musician. The crossbow hidden under the harp fell to the ground with a clang, and the taut bowstring was still trembling slightly.

"The wind smells of blood," Brynden muttered to himself. His eyes rolled back completely, and he stretched out his hand to catch the long sword thrown by Reagon, and lifted the long table without stopping.

Thirty bowstrings trembled in the attic, forming a death hum. When the first crossbow bolt pierced the stained glass, Ringol heard seven kinds of shattering sounds: the crack of glass, Brynden's muttering, Rhaegon's roar and the muffled thud of the table, Merryweather's roar, Tarly's curses, the clang of silverware falling to the ground when Alyn overturned the table, and the clear sound of Valyrian steel rings on his own mail.

"Lower your head!" Regen's armor hit his ribs and hurt. The old earl tore open his silk coat and used his armored back to prop up the overturned long table. Ringol skillfully took out a helmet from Regen's gift box and put it on. Three crossbow arrows were nailed into the oak table at the same time, and the black feathers at the tail of the arrows trembled violently. Ringol coldly glanced at the scene in the attic: ten musicians tore open their silk robes to reveal mail, twenty armored crossbowmen tightened their bowstrings, and Mad-Eye Austin's one eye was dancing with madness like dragon fire, but he quietly protected his soldiers in front of him.

"Catch it!" The gift box thrown by Reagan scattered in the air. Tully grabbed the long sword, and Admiral Alyn got a pair of pearl-studded daggers - those were the spare weapons he hid in his boots. When he went to sea on behalf of his elderly brother, this was his last weapon to deal with the enemy.

The moment the Silverblood Sword was unsheathed, the light in the entire hall seemed to be sucked into the dark patterns of Valyrian steel. The ripples on the sword flowed like a living thing. The first crossbow arrow shot at Ringol's throat suddenly deflected half an inch away from the steel armor. The arrow head shrank back in front of the mysterious power of Valyrian steel, and finally only left a white mark on the collarbone.

"Bread and salt!" Earl Darklin's screams drowned out the second wave of arrows. "You have violated the guest rights--" A crossbow arrow pierced through his open mouth and nailed half of his tongue to the flag behind him.

"It seems that the assassin this morning was just a preview." Ringol shouted to Tarly and Brynden between swings of his sword. His Silverblood Sword cut through a charging warrior, the Valyrian steel blade cutting through butter as smoothly as if it were butter. "It's just that they saved the real show for the dinner!"

The body of the Count of Marseille suddenly swelled into a fireball at the door, and his screams even drowned out the chaotic screams. The torch thrown by an assassin before his death ignited the purple crystals remaining on his gorgeous clothes.

A steady stream of killers jumped down from the attic, and the sound of chaotic fighting was everywhere.

Ringol's mail made a pleasant jingling sound in the rain of arrows. Three crossbow arrows hit his chest one after another, but they deflected strangely when they touched the Valyrian steel ring.

"It seems that my old face," he swung his sword to cut off the fourth arrow, "is much more attractive than your accuracy."

The Marseille twins showed completely different natures at this moment. The elder brother roared and pulled out the rapier hidden in the lyre to stab Ringol, while the younger brother sat there vomiting non-stop - he had just secretly licked the poisoned bread, and the blue-black blood dyed the ground of the dragon's lair red.

When the Silver Blood Sword pierced the elder's throat like silver lightning, Ringol heard the crisp sound of a heavy object falling to the ground and breaking behind him.

Sir Stokeworth took the opportunity to smash the salt shaker into the burning fireplace. The strange purple crystals exploded in the fire, and green flames spread along the wine.

Regen stood in front of Ringol like an old wolf, and every swing of the Starsinger brought a storm of blood and flesh. "Take the prince away first!" He shouted at Tarly and Brynden, and the greatsword split the collarbones of the two attackers at the same time. The young man immediately held Ringol's arm, but was gently pushed away by the old dragon rider.

He doesn't need help.

"Years are not graves, child." The Silverblood Sword pierced the second attacker's heart like lightning, and the Valyrian steel suddenly became hot. Ringol's eyes changed, and he and Brynden pulled Tarly together and retreated to the bronze door behind them that was opened by the dragon guards in the chaos.

"Legend, retreat!"

"Retreat!" Brynden shouted, rolling his pale eyes. Another white crow he summoned pecked out the eyes of an archer in the chaos, and the shrieks of birds and the wails of the dying formed a strange harmony under the arch.

The voice just fell.

The iron chains of incense hanging from the dome were breaking one by one, and the burning incense balls fell into the slowly spreading green flames.

(End of this chapter)