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Gavin scanned the surroundings and quickly spotted the Hightower family on the opposite side.
The flag bearer, a tall soldier, stood at the center, surrounded by four figures who subtly guarded him from all sides. They were all clad in fine plate armor.
As if sensing something, the flag bearer turned his gaze towards Gavin's team. His eyes locked with Gavin's from across the crowd, and in that moment, an invisible spark seemed to fly between them.
The referee, riding a horse, slowly approached the center of the field and loudly announced the rules. However, no one in the crowd paid much attention.
Every person's nerves were stretched to the breaking point, and the heavy atmosphere made it hard to breathe. The tension was thick, hanging in the air like a suffocating fog.
Afterward, the referee rode away from the field on horseback. As he grew farther and farther from them, the tension seemed to grow even more intense, like an invisible net tightening around everyone.
The moment he had completely left the area, a loud horn sounded, signaling the official start of the competition and instantly igniting the flames of battle.
A few closely allied families began to cautiously move closer, looking to consolidate their strength in order to secure their survival and eliminate their rivals early in the fierce competition.
The other, weaker teams saw this and knew immediately they couldn't let their opponents' strategy succeed.
Without hesitation, they launched their attacks. The teams further away also rushed toward the ones they thought they could defeat.
A team on Gavin's left suddenly launched an attack. A fierce warrior, holding a spear, lunged at Gavin like a venomous snake. The spear cut through the air with a sharp whoosh, clearly aimed to kill Gavin in one blow.
However, before the three gladiators could even react to the sudden assault, Gavin had already moved with astonishing speed. In the blink of an eye, he darted out of the way, and his spear, like a powerful wave surging forward, swiftly knocked the opponent's helmet away with precision and force.
Then, with a powerful swing of his arm, Gavin brought his spear down with the force of a thunderstrike, knocking the opponent out cold before he could even let out a scream. The three gladiators behind Gavin also immediately attacked, charging toward the enemy team.
Gavin wasted no time, launching into the fray with breathtaking speed. His movements were lightning-fast, his spear striking, thrusting, sweeping, and slashing with overwhelming power.
In mere moments, he knocked the enemies down one after another, leaving them sprawled on the ground.
Some of those who had fallen were groaning in pain, while others had already fainted. The sight left the nearby teams, who had been watching, terrified. They quickly retreated, fearful of becoming Gavin's next target.
The battle raged on, chaos erupting across the field. The sounds of battle—shouts, clashing weapons—filled the air, deafening and relentless.
Seeing no one coming close, Gavin and his team chose to wait, standing quietly on the sidelines, observing the unfolding situation on the field.
The Hightower family, however, did not attack anyone else. Instead, they formed a defensive formation, surrounded by numerous allies. Teams were positioned behind, to the left, and to the right—not too close, but working in perfect unison to guard against any sneak attacks, creating a solid and impenetrable defense.
Gradually, the situation on the field reached a stalemate. There were now four or five teams like the Hightower family, each huddling together for strength.
One particular team, holding a Hunter's Flag, was especially strong. They had already defeated two teams on their own and had now gathered two allied teams, making a total of 13 members. No other team dared approach them. At that moment, they were less than 30 meters away from Gavin's team.
Noticing Gavin standing off to the side, the Hunter's Flag team wasted no time. They immediately charged at him, like a pack of predators spotting new prey.
Gavin and his team, without hesitation, met them head-on. Both sides moved quickly, their eyes gleaming with intent, ready for the fierce clash that was about to unfold.
In the main viewing stand, a group of nobles was watching the battle. Under the Hunter's flag, Randyll Tarly looked at his eldest son, Samwell, and saw that his face was pale and his body trembling uncontrollably, clearly terrified by the bloodshed before them.
His round, pudgy face was full of fear, his fat shaking slightly, and his thick arms also trembling. "It's too brutal," he murmured,
Seeing this, Randyll Tarly angrily scolded, "You worthless fool! Don't bring such cowardice here and tarnish our family's reputation!" Afterward, he turned away in frustration and glanced at his second son, Dickton, who stood beside him. Dickton, with sharp eyes, was intently watching the battlefield, showing no sign of fear.
Randyll Tarly couldn't help but feel frustrated. In his mind, he muttered, "Why couldn't Dickton be the eldest? Why are the Seven Gods so unfair, giving me such a cowardly heir?"
He then patted Dickton on the shoulder and pointed to the hunting flag advancing toward Gavin's team. In a serious tone, he said, "Dickton, that's our family motto—First in Battle. Remember, the glory of the Tarly family depends on this. No matter the enemy, we must always lead the charge." Having completely given up on his eldest son, he at least took comfort in having a capable younger son to train.
Just as Randyll Tarly was about to continue imparting his wisdom, he was abruptly interrupted by Dickton's startled exclamation.
Randyll immediately turned to the field. To his surprise, despite facing enemies who outnumbered them more than two to one, Gavin and his team launched a counterattack, and in an instant, the two teams collided.
Among them, a young man, moving like a ghost, wielded a spear and swiftly penetrated the enemy's ranks.
His spear tip darted like a venomous snake, stabbing and sweeping with precision, throwing the enemy's formation into chaos. The opposing soldiers scrambled to defend, but they could not stop his onslaught.
Then, the young man dropped his spear and drew a sword, which seemed to transform into an instrument of death in his hands.
His swordsmanship was flawless, each strike as swift as the wind, aimed precisely at a vital point. Moving through the crowd like a shadow, the blade flashed in and out, blood splattering with every swing.
Even as the enemy fought desperately, their movements appeared clumsy compared to the young man's refined swordplay.
His sword was like lightning, each strike felling a soldier, leaving them unable to resist the storm of attacks. The remaining soldiers, their morale shattered, began to retreat instinctively.
In a matter of moments, the previously unapproachable and ferocious team lay sprawled on the ground.
The young man's armor was stained with blood, yet he showed no sign of exhaustion. Instead, he radiated a chilling aura, one that instilled fear in anyone who looked at him.
The air was thick with the smell of blood, and the sounds of battle seemed to fade into the background. Amid the carnage, the young man stood like a god of war, inspiring awe and reverence.
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[Chapter End's]
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