Chapter 171: Unmatched in the Vale

"Oh haha, Pierce can't breastfeed anymore!"

The watching crowd erupted in laughter.

Pierce grimaced in pain but felt determined to charge again.

The kingdom had been at peace for many years, and most nobles and knights had never experienced war. As a minor noble with limited resources, Pierce spent his days managing his territory. Naturally, his combat skills were no match for those of Godric, who was born in a den of crime.

Bang...

Godric forced Pierce's sword away and kicked him in the stomach.

Pierce fell backward, rolling and scrambling to get up.

"Hey, hey, you're a softy!"

Godric laughed wildly and approached with his sword.

"Son of a bitch!"

Pierce suddenly cursed, grabbing a handful of dirt and flinging it.

Caught off guard, Godric didn't dodge in time and narrowed his eyes.

Taking this opportunity, Pierce stormed forward and stabbed his sword into Godric's thigh.

"Ah!!!"

Godric let out a wail and fell to the ground, rolling in pain.

Pierce quickly retreated, looked around the room, and yelled, "I won, he can't get up!"

Unfortunately, no one cheered for him.

The way he won was disgraceful and earned him the nickname "Pierce the Pussy."

Realizing he had not won honorably, Pierce sheathed his sword and slipped away from the crowd.

Soon after, attendants dragged the wailing Godric away to the castle to call the maester for help.

Rhea stepped before the crowd and shouted, "The first fight is over. Does anyone else want to fight?"

Now that the tournament had begun, it couldn't just stop.

The guests responded in unison.

"I'll do it! Who will fight with me?"

As soon as the words fell, someone stepped forward, clamoring for an opponent.

It was a rare occasion to participate in a martial arts tournament, and such a small tournament was a great opportunity.

A tall man emerged from the crowd to act as his opponent.

Within a few moments, the tall man wielded his axe.

The tall man swung his axe and knocked away his opponent's long sword, winning the match.

Most of the crowd cheered, looking forward to the next match.

Rhea called for a squire to pour wine for the winner.

The tall man gulped down the wine and clamored for a rematch.

Another challenger stepped forward, and the two engaged in combat.

This time, however, the battle did not go as smoothly. The tall man's axe struck violently, shattering his opponent's spear and nearly cleaving him in half.

At this point, the brutal nature of the martial arts tournament became evident.

Gerold frowned and whispered, "Prince, martial arts always carry risks. We should stop now."

Today was a wedding, and while the initial trouble had been resolved, any deaths from the martial arts contest would be problematic.

"Don't worry, I'll handle it," Rhaegar reassured him, patting his shoulder and walking to the center of the grassy field with a warm smile.

"Prince, you want to compete too?" The tall man looked at the young prince with some hesitation.

Rhaegar drew the Dragon Claw sword from his waist and declared loudly, "If you defeat me, this sword is yours!"

Having just parted with Rhaenyra, his spirits were high and his energy boundless. It was the perfect moment to exercise his muscles.

At the sight of the Valyrian steel sword, everyone present stared in awe. There were only a few such precious weapons in the entire Vale.

The tall man breathed heavily, hardly believing his ears. "If I win, can I really have this sword?"

"A Targaryen is bound by his word!" Rhaegar drew his sword and took a stance.

He had learned his swordsmanship from Syrio and had complete confidence in himself.

"Good! Then I'll accept your challenge!" The tall man laughed and swung his axe, charging forward.

A Valyrian steel sword was a treasure that could be an heirloom for generations. As long as he controlled his strength and didn't hurt the prince, he could win this divine weapon.

"Courage, I like it!" Rhaegar felt no fear as the bear-like man rushed towards him; instead, he felt exhilarated.

As the tall man closed in, he swung his axe down with force. Heavy weapons like axes didn't require fancy moves—just strength and precision.

Clang!

The sound of metal clashing rang out as Rhaegar stepped forward and moved to the side, his Dragon Claw sword slashing the back of the descending axe. In an instant, the axe flew out of the tall man's hand.

Before the tall man could react, Rhaegar extended his arm, pressing the tip of his sword against his opponent's neck.

"You lose!"

The tall man's body stiffened, his eyes widened, and he subconsciously swallowed hard.

He hadn't even seen what happened before the tip of the sword was at his neck.

"You win, Prince." Acknowledging both his inferior status and strength, the tall man honestly admitted defeat and retreated into the crowd, his face flushed with embarrassment.

Rhaegar laughed, pointing his sword at the crowd of onlookers, and said arrogantly, "Is there anyone else who wants to challenge me? If you win, you can take this sword from my hand!"

He didn't know what had come over him. He just wanted to vent the excitement in his heart.

The martial arts competitions of his youth had left a deep impression on him, and he wanted to relive that excitement in this small arena.

"I'll do it!"

A burly young man stepped forward, eyes glowing. "Lester Waynwood. I wish to compete with you."

He was the heir of Ironoaks and had been trained as a knight since childhood.

"Strike, Lester!" Rhaegar stepped forward, unable to stop smiling.

Lester, also a swordsman, gripped his two-handed greatsword and attacked with great force. His assault was fierce, but Rhaegar maneuvered flexibly, waiting for the right moment to counterattack.

A series of collisions echoed through the arena. The Dragon Claw sword followed the blade of the greatsword, and as Rhaegar's footsteps closed the distance, his sword grazed his opponent's neck.

Lester continued his swinging motion, a thin trickle of blood oozing from a scar on his neck.

"Your sword is quick, Prince," Lester said, frozen for a moment and disoriented as he admitted defeat.

Rhaegar had only scratched his skin, but they both knew that if he could cut the skin, he could cut his artery.

"Anyone else? Fight again!" Rhaegar continued to invite challengers.

Most retreated, realizing the prince's superior swordsmanship, but some still coveted the Valyrian steel sword.

Within half an hour, Rhaegar had defeated seven opponents in a row, each time hitting the mark. The defeated fighters couldn't even touch him, and the victory was decided in moments. His swordsmanship was characterized by speed and precision.

Syrio had once said that Rhaegar's sword was so fast that one wouldn't feel the pain until the blood flowed.

This fast sword allowed him to duel evenly with him. Syrio's sword art emphasized speed and flexibility, appearing light and slow but full of deadly opportunities. Rhaegar had to be faster and more agile to compete.

"My lords, the tournament is not over yet. Does anyone still want to challenge me?" Rhaegar was in high spirits, opening his arms wide and looking around the crowd.

The onlookers exchanged glances in disbelief and remained silent.

The prince's swordsmanship was evident to all—not only could he defeat his opponents, but he could also ensure they weren't seriously injured. With such skill, entering the arena would only bring shame.

"Are we still going to let the prince fight?" Gerold stood beside Rhea and asked in a low voice. Rhaegar had sapped everyone's enthusiasm, giving them a good reason to end the fight.

Rhea did not answer him. Her brown eyes were fixed on Rhaegar in the field, her heart swirling with memories. Watching Rhaegar's skillful swordplay, she thought of an old friend: Daemon Targaryen. Back then, Daemon had wielded the Dark Sister and displayed his prowess in a tournament at Runestone, defeating several Knights of the Vale.

It was because of Daemon's skill and elegance that she had married the young Daemon under the arrangement of Queen Alysanne. The untamed nature of uncle and nephew was exactly the same.

(Word count: 1,370)