From a hired knight to a master of Game of Thrones

Tom took a deep breath of the cold air mixed with earth and sea breeze.

He whispered to the horse, and to himself:

"Don't panic."

At that moment, the old referee's raised hand fell heavily to the ground:

"Second shot—Charge!"

The horses' hooves thundered once more.

This time, Tom didn't look around randomly.

He lowered his body, holding the spear steadily in his hand, his gaze fixed intently on it:

—The center of the opponent's shield!

The two horses drew closer and closer.

The cold wind howled in the ears of the two knights.

The clamor of the surrounding audience seemed to vanish instantly.

All the two knights could see were the sound of hooves, their own heartbeats, and the increasingly clear outline of their opponent.

Cassius's spear was pointed straight at him.

Tom did not dodge.

He simply turned the reins slightly, causing his warhorse to veer to one side a little.

"Bang--!"

His opponent's blunt wooden spear grazed his shoulder armor, sending a shiver down half of his body.

Almost at the same instant.

Tom's spear tip struck the center of the oak shield.

"Snapped!"

The wooden gun exploded, sending wood chips flying everywhere.

The enormous impact slammed into Cassius's shield.

The knight's body suddenly tilted to the side, and his center of gravity instantly collapsed.

Everyone saw him struggle on the horse for a moment before losing his balance.

"Thump!"

He fell heavily onto the muddy ground.

The entire place fell silent for a moment, then erupted into a cacophony even louder than before.

"I won!"

Tom swayed on his horse, then steadied himself.

He looked down at his opponent getting up from the ground, his hand still trembling as he gripped the broken gun, but not out of fear.

The old referee slowly raised his hand, his voice clear and resonant:

"The one who falls from grace is the loser!"

"The victor—Bloodhand Mercenary Group, Knight Tom!"

After a pause, the old referee glanced at Cassius, whose face was grim, and added:

"The winner has the right to collect the ransom."

"Sir Cassius, you must pay Sir Tom a ransom to redeem your warhorse and armor."

Upon hearing this, Cassius's expression turned even more grim, but he could only nod.

"I...I'll pay."

The winners not only gain fame, but also prize money and ransom for the losers.

In a jousting contest, the winner usually takes the loser's horse, armor, and shield.

The loser in the duel must pay a ransom.

Otherwise, the warhorses or armor must be left behind.

Tom could hardly contain his smile.

Beside the fence.

The hired freelancers who were maintaining order gave him face and cheered loudly in unison.

On the high platform, Rodney's eyes lit up. He turned to look at Don Quixote and smiled:

"Nacasius is somewhat famous, although he is not particularly well-known in the entire White Harbor."

"But ordinary sailors and mercenaries are no match for him."

Don Quixote nodded slightly and smiled:

"Tom's chivalry is also quite good."

"If you, Lord Rodney, wish to hire some free knights in the future, he would be an excellent candidate!"

Tom is from the South.

He was once a knight of a minor nobleman in the south, but later fell out with that nobleman and was expelled.

From then on, he became a free knight without fiefdoms or lords.

Compared to Shane and Warren, Tom is superior in both knightly skills and adherence to the code of chivalry.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Tom sat upright on his horse, surveying the onlookers' focused gazes and murmuring expressions.

"This feels pretty good. No wonder so many knights are looking forward to the duel and dreaming of victory!"

After savoring the moment for a moment, he placed the blunt wooden spear on the muddy ground, pressed his right hand on the forehead of his helmet, and leaned his upper body slightly forward.

He gave a proper knightly salute to the platform and the audience.

Seeing this, the merchants on the platform all smiled and nodded, acknowledging Tom's status as a knight.

Tom didn't linger, immediately turning his horse around and slowly riding off the field.

Not long after, Cole respectfully handed Tom a small bag of silver deer, and hurriedly said with a smile:

"Sir Tom, here is your prize—30 Silver Deer!"

This prize was provided by Don Quixote.

Tom took the small bag of silver deer, winked and smiled:

"Hey kid, how was my performance just now?"

In front of acquaintances, Tom finally couldn't contain his excitement.

Cole immediately said:

"Sir Tom, your duel was even more spectacular than I had imagined."

"Especially the second shot, it was as steady as an old oak tree in the North. I just saw it and I screamed!"

"That was really amazing!"

Upon hearing Cole's words, Tom immediately beamed with joy.

He laughed, patted the boy on the shoulder, and was about to say a few more words.

The veteran referee's voice rang out again, drowning out the clamor from the crowd:

"The second match - Bloodhand Mercenaries, Warren Knights!"

"Gol Knight, the guardian knight of merchant Gerald!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The white flag with blood-red hands fluttered in the wind.

Warren took a deep breath, steadied himself, and firmly gripped the spear in his hand.

Seeing that the two were ready, the old referee didn't delay any longer. He raised his arm high and his voice was so loud it could be heard through the sea breeze:

Listen up, everyone!

"On horseback with a long spear, one-on-one, the one who knocks down the opponent and shatters the shield wins."

"Three shots miss, and you lose; surrender means you stop! Old and new gods bear witness—charge!"

After the warm-up, the Gower Knight spurred his horse and charged out first.

His spear was pointed directly at Warren's chest, determined to decide the outcome with a single charge.

Many spectators outside the track held their breath instantly, their eyes fixed on the center of the track.

"Bang--!"

Warren's blunt wooden gun struck empty air and slammed heavily into the mud, making his arm go numb.

"not good!"

His expression changed, and he was about to adjust his posture.

But before Warren could react...

The knight's lance struck hard, slamming directly into the edge of Warren's oak shield.

"Snapped!"

With a soft thud, Warren's oak shield shook violently.

Warren lost his balance but managed to regain it.

"You won't be so lucky next time!"

Gore snorted and turned his horse around again, charging toward Warren.

Once, twice, three times...

The two sides exchanged blows for several rounds.

Every charge was fought with all our might.

This also caused the two knights to breathe more and more heavily.

"Snapped!"

Gore suddenly spurred the horse's belly, and the warhorse charged wildly.

"Snapped!"

The next moment, the blunt wooden spear in his hand exploded instantly, splinters flying everywhere, and the enormous impact slammed into Warren's oak shield.

Warren was struck by the sudden blow and could no longer maintain his balance.

His body suddenly tilted to the side, and he tumbled straight off the horse, falling heavily into the mud. He couldn't get up for a long time.

The old referee slowly and loudly announced:

"The one who falls from his horse loses! The winner is—Gerald the Merchant's bodyguard, Knight Gower!"

"According to the old rules of the tournament, Knight Warren must pay a ransom to redeem his warhorse and armor!"

Warren lay face down in the mud, his face pale and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. It took him a while to finally nod through gritted teeth.

"I...I'll pay."

Don Quixote did not force anyone to participate in the duel; it was entirely up to Tom and his two companions to decide whether to participate.

However, if someone chooses to participate voluntarily.

Don Quixote agreed to lend Tom and his two companions a sum of money interest-free as ransom.

This would prevent them from losing their warhorses and knightly weapons.

……

PS:

I'm rushing to catch the train home for the Chinese New Year today, so this will be the first update.

(Please recommend and read this!)