"Oh haha, Pace can't nurse anymore!"
The crowd watching burst into laughter.
Pace grimaced in pain but gritted his teeth and charged forward once more.
The kingdom had been at peace for years, and most nobles and knights had never experienced war.
As a minor noble with limited resources, he spent his days managing his small territory.
Naturally, his combat skills were no match for Godric, who had grown up in a den of criminals.
**BANG—**
Godric deflected Pace's longsword with a powerful strike and then delivered a brutal kick to his abdomen.
Pace was sent flying backward, rolling and scrambling to get back up.
"Heh, you're just a weakling!"
Godric laughed arrogantly and advanced with his blade in hand.
"You bastard!"
Pace suddenly cursed, grabbing a handful of dirt and flinging it at his opponent.
Caught off guard, Godric failed to dodge, and the dust stung his eyes.
Seizing the opportunity, Pace sprang up and drove his sword into Godric's thigh.
"AHH!!"
Godric let out a scream and collapsed, writhing on the ground in agony.
Pace quickly backed away, scanning the crowd before shouting, "I win! He can't stand up anymore!"
Unfortunately, no one cheered for him.
The way he won was seen as disgraceful, earning him the nickname **"Milkless Pace."**
Knowing his victory lacked honor, Pace sheathed his sword and slipped away through the crowd.
Soon after, attendants dragged the wailing Godric back to the castle to be treated by a maester.
Rhea stepped forward and called out, "The first match is over. Who else wants to fight?"
Since the tournament had begun, it couldn't just stop abruptly.
The guests had to give their unanimous consent before ending it.
"I'll fight! Who dares to face me?!"
As soon as the words were spoken, a burly man emerged from the crowd, roaring for a challenger.
Opportunities to participate in a tournament were rare, and this small-scale duel was perfect.
Another large man stepped forward to face him.
Before long—
The burly man swung his axe, sending his opponent's longsword flying, securing his victory.
Most of the crowd erupted into cheers, eager for the next fight.
Rhea summoned a servant to pour wine for the victor.
The burly man took a deep swig and, emboldened by his win, roared for another match.
Another challenger stepped up, and the two clashed fiercely.
But this time, the fight was not as controlled.
The burly man lost grip of his axe, which came down with force, snapping his opponent's spear in two—nearly cutting the man himself in half.
At this point, the dangers of the tournament became evident.
Jarro frowned and whispered, "Your Highness, accidents are bound to happen in duels. Should we put a stop to this?"
Today was a wedding celebration. The troublemakers had already been dealt with, but if someone died because of the tournament, it would be a disaster.
"Don't rush—I'll give it a try."
Rhaegar patted Jarro on the shoulder and stepped onto the field, his smile brimming with excitement.
"Your Highness, you want to fight as well?"
The burly man hesitated, eyeing the young prince warily.
Rhaegar drew the **Dragonclaw** from his waist and declared, "If you can defeat me, this sword will be yours!"
Having just parted from Rhaenyra, he was in high spirits—his blood running hot.
A duel was just what he needed to let off steam.
At the sight of a **Valyrian steel sword**, the entire crowd fell silent, their eyes wide with greed and amazement.
Such a rare and precious weapon—there were only a handful of them in the entire Vale.
The burly man's breathing grew heavy. "If I win… I really get the sword?"
"Targaryens always keep their word."
Rhaegar twirled his sword expertly and took his stance.
His swordsmanship had been taught by Ser Syrio Forel himself, and he was more than confident in his skills.
"Alright! Then I won't hold back!"
The burly man grinned wickedly, raising his axe high before charging forward.
A **Valyrian steel sword**—it was the kind of treasure that could be passed down as a family heirloom for generations.
As long as he controlled his strength and ensured he didn't injure the prince, he would obtain the divine weapon.
"You have courage—I like that!"
A burly man, as massive as a black bear, charged forward. Rhaegar felt no fear, only exhilaration.
As the distance closed, the towering man swung his axe down in a powerful strike.
An axe, being a heavy weapon, had no need for fancy techniques.
As long as one could hack and had great strength, they were a formidable fighter.
*Clang!*
The clash of metal rang out.
Rhaegar sidestepped just in time, his sword, *Dragonclaw*, striking the back of the descending axe.
In a flash, the axe flew from the man's grip.
Before he could react, Rhaegar extended his arm, the tip of his sword pressing against his opponent's throat.
"You lost."
*Gulp…*
The burly man froze, his eyes darting around as he instinctively swallowed.
He hadn't even seen what happened before the blade was at his throat.
"You win, Prince."
Outmatched both in status and skill, the burly man conceded with a flushed face and retreated into the crowd.
Rhaegar smiled, raising his sword and pointing it at the spectators. With a wild grin, he declared, "Who else wants to challenge me? Win, and you can take this sword from my hands!"
He didn't know why he felt this way—
He just wanted to release the energy surging inside him.
The tournaments of his childhood had left a deep impression on him, and now, he wanted to relive that experience in this small dueling arena.
"I will!"
A sturdy young man stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Lester Waywood. I hope to test my skills against you."
He was the heir to Ironoaks and had been trained as a knight from childhood.
"Come at me, Lester!"
Rhaegar moved forward, unable to contain his smile.
Lester, also a swordsman, wielded a greatsword with both hands, attacking with tremendous force.
His assaults were fierce, but Rhaegar danced around them with agility, waiting for the perfect moment to strike back.
A flurry of clashes echoed through the air.
*Dragonclaw* tapped against the greatsword's blade in rapid succession. As Rhaegar closed the distance, his sword edge skimmed past his opponent's neck.
Lester remained in his attack posture, a thin red line appearing on his throat, trickling with blood.
"Your sword is fast, Prince."
He stood frozen for a moment before his expression turned vacant, acknowledging his defeat.
Rhaegar hadn't gone for the kill—he had only grazed the skin.
But Lester knew—if the blade could break the skin, it could just as easily sever an artery.
"Anyone else? Keep them coming!"
Rhaegar continued issuing challenges.
Most people, having witnessed the prince's exceptional swordsmanship, hesitated. But there were still a few tempted by the allure of Valyrian steel.
In less than half an hour—
Rhaegar had defeated seven opponents, each time striking at their vital points.
None of them even managed to touch the hem of his clothes before being bested in just a few moves.
His swordsmanship was built on speed and precision.
Xylo had once said—his blade was so fast that when it struck flesh, one wouldn't even feel pain until the blood started flowing.
It was this very speed that allowed him to match Xylo in their duels.
Xylo's swordplay emphasized agility and deceptive slowness—appearing weightless and leisurely, yet filled with hidden lethality.
Rhaegar had to be even faster, even more precise, to hold his own.
"Noble lords, the duel is not over. Does anyone else wish to challenge me?"
Rhaegar stood proudly, arms spread wide, scanning the crowd.
The spectators exchanged glances, remaining silent.
The prince's sword skills were undeniable—not only could he defeat his opponents, but he could also ensure they left unharmed.
Facing such an opponent would only lead to humiliation.
"Should we let the prince continue fighting?"
Gerald stood beside Rhaena, whispering his concern.
Rhaegar had utterly crushed everyone's enthusiasm, making this the perfect moment to end the duels.
Rhaena didn't respond.
Her brown eyes remained fixed on Rhaegar's figure, emotions churning.
Watching him wield his sword, she was reminded of someone—
Daemon Targaryen.
Back in the day, Daemon had wielded *Dark Sister*, making a dazzling display at the tournament in Runestone, where he defeated multiple knights of the Vale.
It was his skill and charisma that had caught her eye.
With Queen Alyssa's matchmaking, she had married the young Daemon.
Now, looking at Rhaegar—his arrogance, his unyielding spirit—
He was just like his uncle.
(End of Chapter)