Game of Thrones: Joffrey the Chosen

Joffrey was once again thrust into a crossroads of choices.

On one side is her blood-related uncle, and on the other side is her loyal friend.

Supporting either one is inappropriate.

First to appear was Jaime, whose entire attire seemed to proclaim the wealth of Casterly Rock.

The spear in his hand was carved from golden wood from the Summer Islands, and even the ring armor of his warhorse was plated with gold.

In contrast, the hounds have far fewer decorations.

Apart from the smoky gray plate armor, he was only wearing an olive green cloak and his highly recognizable hound helmet.

"Dog," James casually tossed his blond hair, "looks like you're going to be disappointed again today."

"The plan to kill your brother will probably have to wait until next time."

The hound remained silent, only responding with a clang as it closed its mask.

The two rode to either side, and the air in the arena suddenly tensed up.

"One hundred gold dragons bet on 'The King Killer' to win." Littlefinger's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to the back of the stands.

"I agree!" Renly immediately chimed in. "I noticed 'The Hound' looked particularly hungry this morning."

"Even if a dog is starving, it should know not to bite the hand that feeds it." A cold smile played on Little Finger's lips.

It's uncertain whether he'll bite Joffrey.

But he knew that what Robert would be happiest to see right now was the Lannisters being embarrassed.

The king burst into laughter: "I'll join too!"

"Let's see if gold is harder, or a dog's teeth are harder."

The bugle sounded, and the warhorses neighed.

Amidst the billowing dust, the two figures charged towards each other like arrows released from a bow.

The loud bang of the wooden gun exploding sent chills down everyone's spines.

In the instant of the clash, Jaime deftly deflected the Hound's powerful blow by tilting his shield to the side.

However, the golden and wooden spear in his hand pierced his opponent's chest solidly.

The hunting dog lurched violently on its horse, almost being thrown off its horse.

But he managed to keep his balance by gripping the horse's belly tightly with his legs.

A raucous cheer immediately erupted from the audience.

They didn't care about the danger; they just wanted to see rivers of blood.

Littlefinger turned around with a smile: "Your Majesty, my lord, it seems I should consider spending this money."

There was no rest, no respite.

After the two riders rode to the sidelines, they immediately took new spears from their attendants.

The second opposition began in an instant.

This time, James planned to use the same trick again, dodging to the side once more.

But the hound anticipated his movement, shifting to the side almost simultaneously, and thrusting its spear past the shield.

"boom--"

This time the sound was much heavier.

The immense impact sent James flying backward like a rag doll, before he crashed heavily into the mud.

The audience gasped.

Only when the golden figure struggled to move in that puddle of mud did the hisses and sporadic jeers begin to spread.

"Good dog!" Lanley shouted excitedly.

Then he clicked his tongue regretfully: "It's a real shame the little devil isn't here. He always bets on his older brother to win."

Robert laughed so hard he almost fell over.

"Littlefinger, I don't want your money!" A hint of reminiscence flashed in his eyes.

"Do you still have any of those Valyrian steel daggers that I lost last time? I don't know where I put mine."

Littlefinger's smile froze almost imperceptibly for a moment, but he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Your Majesty has a truly excellent memory."

"After losing to you, I did go to great lengths to acquire one from a merchant in Ries."

"Unfortunately, before we could even warm up to it, the little devil won it again."

"The seven levels of hell!" Robert grumbled loudly in dissatisfaction. "That little devil has plenty of money; I could buy him and not even know where to begin."

"Then I'll owe you for now. If you see any more in stock, remember to get one for me."

The king forgot about this minor unpleasantness and returned his attention to the center of the arena.

However, Eddard, who had been sitting next to Sansa with a forced smile, had completely darkened his expression.

His gaze was fixed on the seemingly relaxed finance minister.

Joffrey took it all in without making a sound, and simply leaned back in his chair.

The next couple to appear pushed the atmosphere to another extreme.

The Mountain appeared before the crowd riding a large black stallion.

He was completely encased in heavy black plate armor, and the spear in his hand was almost as thick as his forearm.

Just seeing this existence made people worry about the lives of his opponents.

Ser Loras Tyrell truly deserves the title "Knight of Flowers".

He was very slender and wore a magnificent silver armor, which was inlaid with countless sapphires cut into the shape of forget-me-nots.

Everyone thought this would be a battle of strength and skill.

However, the outcome was decided much faster than anyone had imagined.

Perhaps it was because the Mountain's weight was too astonishing.

Or perhaps the seemingly handsome Knight of Flowers tricked them.

In the blink of an eye, Demon Mountain and his horse collapsed to the ground.

A chorus of gasps and whispers, a mixture of astonishment and disappointment, rose from the sidelines.

The hound let out a rough, short sneer.

The Knight of Flowers gracefully reined in his horse, lifted his mask to reveal a handsome and slightly arrogant young face.

The audience was stunned for only a moment before erupting into a frenzy of cheers for this unexpected victory.

"Bring me your sword!"

The Mountain rose to his feet, roaring furiously.

The greatsword in his hand drew a terrifying arc.

In a single blow, the massive head of his poor warhorse, which had just struggled to its feet, was severed.

The cheers immediately turned into terrified screams.

Loras turned pale and hurriedly dismounted, snatching the longsword from the terrified servant.

However, foot combat was not the boy's forte, and the difference in size could not be overcome by any means.

The Mountain, like a mad giant, launched a relentless and brutal attack.

Caught off guard, Loras only managed a few exchanges with the Mountain before his longsword was knocked away from his hand.

Immediately afterwards, a heavy punch slammed into the side of his helmet, and the young knight fell to the ground like a broken flower stem.

But the Mountain was not satisfied with that; he raised his sword, wanting to end Loras's life once and for all.

"Don't touch him!"

A figure in gray smoke crashed in like a thunderbolt.

The hound parried the fatal blow with his two-handed sword.

"Get out of here!"

The roar of the Demon Mountain was filled with a bloodthirsty desire for destruction.

The hounds simply confronted him silently.

Ten rounds, thirty rounds...

The standoff between the Clegane brothers left everyone almost speechless.

Just as the tragedy of fratricide was about to unfold, the king's voice finally calmed the chaos.

"Stop right now!"

Twenty warriors, wielding spears, rushed into the arena and separated the two men with their gleaming spear tips.

The hounds were the first to react.

He abruptly stepped back, retreating into the protective circle of spears, then knelt on one knee and bowed his head towards the king.

The Mountain's breathing was like a bellows being pulled, causing his chest to heave violently.

His gaze moved further and further toward the king, until it reached behind the king.

Then he threw down his sword, forcefully rammed aside the spears with his shoulder, pushed through the crowd, and left alone.

"Damn it, let him go."

Robert and Tywin exchanged a glance, and Robert angrily gave the order.

A few minutes later, Sir Loras, who had been rescued, returned to the field.

His face was still pale, and his forehead was wrapped in linen.

Then, with the help of his attendants, he solemnly bowed to the hunting dog.

"Sir Sandor, I owe you my life."

Loras stepped forward, grabbed the hound's muddy steel glove tightly, and raised it high, turning it toward the four stands.

"The championship is yours."

After a moment of stunned silence, the crowd...

A thunderous cheer and applause erupted.

This is probably the first time in its life that the hunting dog has been so beloved by the people.

A rare look of bewilderment and helplessness appeared on his burned face.

"Don't call me 'sir'."

In the end, the hound only responded with a curt, low whisper.

However, he did not refuse the victory and the prize money.

Joffrey, standing in the stands, took a breath and slowly relaxed his clenched fist.

However, his earlier nervousness paled in comparison to Littlefinger's mental whirlwind.

Joffrey clicked his tongue inwardly.

Let's go, let's go quickly.

What excuses do they still have for staying in King's Landing?

All this evidence has been prepared, just waiting for you to escape into the valley so it can all be thrown out at once.