The tension in the air was palpable as Joffrey and Rob Stark stood facing each other on the tournament grounds.
The crowd held their breath, their eyes fixed on the two opponents as they prepared to clash in a battle of skill and determination.
Joffrey's stance was confident, his grip on his sword steady.
He exuded an air of quiet determination that contrasted with his earlier arrogance. On the other side, Rob Stark's expression was focused, his movements deliberate as he readied himself for the duel.
The clash of steel against steel resonated through the air as the two young men engaged in a fierce exchange of blows.
Joffrey's movements were fluid and precise, his strikes calculated and well-timed.
He seemed to have harnessed a newfound skill and strength that caught many by surprise.
Rob Stark, however, was no novice.
He parried Joffrey's attacks with skillful precision, his movements reflecting years of training and experience.
The two fighters were evenly matched, each displaying their own strengths and strategies as they sought to gain the upper hand.
As the fight progressed, Joffrey's determination shone through.
He pressed his advantage, his strikes becoming more aggressive and calculated. With a swift maneuver, he managed to disarm Rob Stark, sending his opponent's sword flying through the air.
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as Joffrey stood victorious, having defeated Rob Stark and securing his place in the semifinals. The transformation in Joffrey was evident to all who watched, and the crowd's enthusiasm was a testament to the newfound respect and admiration he had earned.
Joffrey raised his sword in triumph, a mix of satisfaction and humility in his eyes.
He had proven himself on the field of battle, and the crowd's cheers were a validation of his efforts.
The Grand Tourney continued, but in that moment, all eyes were on Joffrey Baratheon, the young prince who had emerged as a force to be reckoned with.
-----------------
Two days ago
Negary pov :
After I finished my training with Barristan, for real this time around, I excused myself and went to bed early , not waiting to greet my ,, father,, and Lord Stark as they returned from their hunting trip.
I even had a good excuse to use .
Tomorrow was the start of the Grand Tourney.
As the one who came up with the ideea , I would probably be expected to say a few words before it starts.
I was also going to fight with my reputation on the line , but meh , the original Joffrey managed to sit on the throne for quite some time even while spewing shit and destroying everything he set his eyes upon.
I doubt anyone would give me a hard time for losing if I showed even small amounts of skill.
And I was planning to do much, much better.
So I let my golem in it's bed , and started meditating.
Yes , literally crossing my legs in spirit form and centering myself as I cleared my mind and focused on a single , ultimate goal .
A challenge so great that it would resonate throughout history, remaining etched in humanity's collective consciousness forever and ever.
And that goal was...
.
Levitating a piece of paper....
.
I decided to change my approach , now that I knew it wasn't power that I lacked , but finesse.
No more burning things for me for a while.
Noo sir , I had to be able to shape my mind as easily as I did with my soul.
After all , why should I accept being shackled , even if by my own thoughts.
I had to be able to flow like water , and change my shape depending on the situation.
.
Of course , there was a concern about losing the very thing I fought for , my unwavering desire to grow forever and ever , but I severely doubted that.
This very exercise of self hypnosis had at its base my desire to improve myself .
So I knew for sure that no matter how I changed my desires in the short term to allow me to reshape reality , I would always have that that layer of bedrock under my feet to help me maintain my balance.
And so, my focus narrowed, the world around me fading into insignificance, all except for a single piece of paper.
A seemingly simple sheet that held within it the weight of importance, demanding action regardless of any obstacles that might stand in the way.
A pice of paper that needed to m̶̹̬͆͆̉͗̾͌̉̎̈̉͘̚͝͝ő̷̰̜̭́̑͆̽̓͋v̸̛̜̅͂̈́̍̑̊̑̋e̵̥͕̼̬͐̍̍͑̂͒̒͂̐͂͘͠
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
.
And it Indeed moved...a few centimeters...after an hour of Inhuman struggle...
'*Sigh* , This will be a long night...'
.
.
.
.
I ,,woke up,, early in the morning, and I was happy to see Bran still non-crippled.
Hopefully, Jaime would be too busy fighting in the tournament to drag Cersei to a high building...
'Well , I did my best.'
Both with protecting bran from my biological father and with training my magic.
I was proud to say I now could consistently move a small piece of paper with just ten minutes of intense concentration.
It might not seem like a lot , but for this exercise I focused on using only a thirtieth of the residual energy produced by my soul.
That is to say ,almost as much as a normal soul produces.
So , without using any of my advantages as a demon (except maybe my soul perception) , I could still move shit with my mind.
And I did it without a teacher , in less than two months since I arrived in this world .
Well , it still didn't sound all that impressive , but I didn't really care.
Because I knew that to make a great building, you had to do your best to lay the bricks properly , each and every day.
'Heh , I wonder how much fire I can produce now...'
And with those pyromaniac thoughts inside my mind , I made my way towards the place where the tourney would take place.
The improvised arena that had sprung up around the training grounds of Winterfell was a magnificent spectacle that seemed to have materialized out of sheer determination and collective effort.
A patchwork of banners and colorful tents formed a ring that encircled the central area, giving it an air of vibrant festivity.
The stands, constructed from sturdy wood and draped in rich tapestries, rose high into the sky, offering a commanding view of the arena.
The seats were filled to the brim with eager spectators from all walks of life, their excitement palpable as they cheered and shouted, their voices blending into a chorus of anticipation.
The air was electric with energy, the aura of competition hanging thick as warriors and contestants prepared to showcase their skills.
The arena floor itself was a testament to the organizers' ingenuity.
A level expanse of compacted earth had been meticulously prepared, forming a pristine battleground for the duels and contests that would unfold.
The perimeter was lined with barriers, separating the combatants from the cheering throngs, ensuring safety while maintaining a connection between participants and audience.
At the center of the arena stood the raised dais where the king, his family, and distinguished guests were seated.
Ornate chairs adorned with sumptuous cushions provided a regal vantage point, while the royal banners fluttered in the breeze, signifying the presence of the realm's most esteemed figures. The dais was an island of splendor amidst the sea of expectant faces, a place where honor and prestige converged.
Around the perimeter, food stalls and merchants had set up shop, offering an array of refreshments, trinkets, and memorabilia to the bustling crowd.
The air was rich with the scent of roasted meats and warm pastries, mingling with the exhilarating energy that pulsed through the gathered masses.
As the sun cast its golden rays over the arena, turning it into a spectacle of light and shadow, the scene was set for a grand display of skill, courage, and camaraderie.
The improvised arena had transformed the training grounds into a theater of dreams, a place where champions would rise, bonds would be forged, and the spirit of competition would reign supreme.
'....When the fuck did they have time to build all this?'
But I didn't have any time to dwell on these thoughts because the very second I raised my eyes to look towards my ,,father,, , he got his fat ass up from his padded chair and started shouting.
"Alright, listen up, you lot! We've got ourselves a grand tourney right here at Winterfell, and I'll be damned if we don't make it a memorable one! Now, I know some of you might be nursing a hangover from the feasting last night, but that's no excuse to miss out on the action.
We've got warriors from all over the Seven Kingdoms, and they're itching to prove their mettle.
So grab your ale, find yourself a good seat, and let's see some bloody good swordplay!"
He raised his goblet in a half-toast, half-wave to the roaring crowd, taking a swig and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Now, before we kick off this spectacle, let's hear a few words from our young prince here, Joffrey. You know, my boy, one day you'll be the one sitting up here, looking down at all these eager faces.
So, give 'em something to cheer for, will ya?"
With that, King Robert motioned for Joffrey to step forward, the cheers of the crowd forming a backdrop to the prince's impending words.
I wasn't even surprised...was this punishment for ignoring him last night?
Eh , whatever, it's just another opportunity to train my public speaking...
"Good people of Winterfell, lords and ladies, warriors and common folk alike! Today, we gather here not just to witness a grand tourney, but to celebrate the spirit of competition and camaraderie that binds us all. It's an honor to stand in the very heart of this arena, surrounded by the echoes of history and the cheers of those who've come before us.
I see faces both familiar and new, united by a shared love for the thrill of the fight and the thrill of victory. Today, we are not Stark or Lannister, or Baratheon.
Today, we are all part of something greater—a testament to the strength and unity that defines the North.
So let's show the world what we're made of, whether you're here to compete or cheer.
Let's make this tourney one to remember, and may the best warriors prevail!
Now, let the games begin!"
And then the crowd went wild.
-----------------
"Lords and ladies, warriors and spectators, let the first match of the day commence!
In the blue corner, we have his grace, Prince Joffrey Baratheon, heir to the Iron Throne!
And in the red corner, a valiant warrior from the North, Ser Edric Thornfield!
May their skills shine and honor be won!"
Maester Luwin shouted loud enough for everyone in the arena to hear.
That old man had quite the pair of lungs.
Also , he was seemingly the one who organized the tournament into a 128 elimination bracket.
There were to be 10 rounds of fighting, each one ending with half of the remaining fighters being eliminated from the competition.
And they made me fight in the first match to set the tone.
Good...
-------------
Third person pov :
As the two contenders faced off, the tension in the air was palpable.
The Northener soldier, Ser Edric Thornfield, didn't seem to hold much respect for Prince Joffrey, evident in the confident grin that played on his lips.
Joffrey's expression, however, remained calm and determined, his focus unwavering.
The moment the clash began, it was clear that Joffrey's skills were not to be underestimated. With a swift and fluid motion, he brought his sword down in a single, precise swipe.
The clash of steel resonated through the improvised arena, and before anyone could blink, Ser Edric's sword went flying from his grasp, landing a few feet away.
His eyes widened in surprise and disbelief, and for a split second, the overconfidence drained from his features.
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, impressed by the prince's display of swordsmanship.
Joffrey held his stance for a moment longer before lowering his weapon, a satisfied yet restrained smile gracing his lips.
As he turned to acknowledge the roaring spectators, there was a newfound respect in the eyes of those who had witnessed his victory.
.
.
The first day of the Grand Tourney came to a close with a series of astonishing victories for Prince Joffrey Baratheon.
Fight after fight, he exhibited a level of swordsmanship that left the audience in awe. Just as in his first match, Joffrey's opponents, a diverse mix of knights and warriors from across the North, fell before him with almost disheartening swiftness.
With each bout, Joffrey displayed a mix of grace, skill, and precision that belied his age.
His swordwork was a testament to countless hours of training, and his strikes were executed with a deadly accuracy that disarmed and defeated his adversaries almost effortlessly.
The crowd watched in stunned silence as one after another, the contestants faced the same fate, their weapons clattering to the ground, their expressions a mix of surprise and defeat.
By the end of the day, Joffrey had emerged victorious in seven consecutive fights, leaving the audience and his fellow contestants in awe.
The spectators buzzed with excitement and speculation about the young prince's seemingly miraculous rise in skill.
Whispers of his prowess spread like wildfire, and the anticipation for the next day's matches was palpable.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the echoes of Joffrey's resounding victories lingered in the air, setting the stage for the events yet to unfold.
Everyone was expecting to see good fights tomorrow, seeing that the crown prince was scheduled to fight the heir of the Warden of the North , Robb Stark who also reached the quarter finals , showing off his impressive swordsmanship.
.
.
.
.
As the morning sun cast its warm glow over the makeshift arena, anticipation hung heavy in the air.
The day's highlight was set to unfold—a battle of swords and skill between Prince Joffrey Baratheon and Robb Stark, the heir of Winterfell. The crowd had gathered early, the buzz of excitement growing with each passing moment.
Joffrey and Robb stood at opposite ends of the arena, clad in their armor and bearing their weapons.
The tension was palpable as they exchanged wary glances, both understanding the significance of the match.
It wasn't just a fight between two contenders; it was a symbol of their houses, their families, and their prowess.
The herald's call rang out, and the match began. Joffrey and Robb clashed with a resounding clash of steel against steel...
.
.
.
---------------
Present moment
Negary Pov :
With a nod of respect, I extended a hand to Robb, helping him to his feet.
The two of us exchanged a brief but meaningful glance, acknowledging the skill and determination that had brought us to this moment.
He was an ok kid...I won't kill him if it doesn't benefit me.
As we left the arena, the crowd's applause followed us , a testament to the intensity of our duel and the undeniable talent displayed by both of us.
Though I didn't need to try at all...
Maybe my training with Barristan raised my standards way to high , or my higher than normal reflexes were playing their part , but I didn't feel challenged at all in these fights.
This might also be because this was a ragtag tourney , which was barely announced three days ago , so the actually good swordsmen didn't get to participate.
But that's all right , in the semifinals I would be facing my teacher , ser Barristan.
I'm sure he will give me a good fight...
'*Chuckles* I'm in danger...'
But that's a problem for future me to solve.
Now I got up to the dais my ,,father,, was resting his fat ass into , and was pulled into a bear hug just as I neared him.
"Good job boy! I knew you could do it!" The Fat King said as he patted me on the back affectionately.
Gee , thanks dad , it's not like you put me against Barristan in the semifinals so that I would lose to the best swordsman around and protect my reputation.... though that plan might also have been my mother's , now that I think about it.
Who knows , who cares?
Certainly not me , because now I had an interesting fight to watch.
.
Eddard Stark , The Warden of the North
Versus
Jaime Lannister, the King Slayer
.
Now... let's see who will face me in the finals...
---------------
A.N :
"A king never doubts
A king never yields
A king never relies
And a king...
...NEVER SURRENDERS '
-Qin Shi Huang - Record of Ragnarok