Chapter 303: The Red Viper

The wind blew from the north, carrying an increasingly obvious chill, brushing past the towering towers of the Red Keep and the leaves in the courtyard that were beginning to turn yellow.

Aegon stood under the corridor outside Maegors Holdfast, tightening the long black cloak on his shoulders.

His gaze crossed the layered rooftops of King’s Landing, looking toward the leaden gray on the northern horizon.

If one could feel the chill even in King’s Landing, the North must be even colder.

What would the scene be like over at the Wall?

He recalled that after defeating Stannis, nearly a thousand defeated soldiers chose to don the black and head to the Wall.

With this fresh force as reinforcement, the situation of the Nights Watch should be much better than in the original story.

He withdrew his gaze and pushed these thoughts aside for the moment.

There was something more important today.

It had been nearly a month since he issued the order to recruit for the Kingsguard.

The order had spread throughout the Stormlands, The Crownlands, and the newly incorporated The Riverlands under his rule.

A month was enough time for knights from all over to hear the news and gather in King’s Landing.

After initial screening and preliminary trials, the best candidates were now standing on the training grounds of the Red Keep, waiting for his final inspection.

He wanted to see for himself what kind of caliber these candidates, who might soon become his “white knight”s, truly possessed.

He took a few attendants and walked out of Maegors Holdfast, passing through gardens and corridors.

From afar, he could hear the sounds of weapons clashing and horses neighing from the direction of the training grounds.

As he approached, the sounds had ceased, and there was complete silence.

On the training grounds, a line of fully armed figures stood quietly.

They were wearing their best armor; some were polished like mirrors and adorned with carvings, while others were simple, bearing the marks of combat wear.

There were eleven in total, varying in height and build, all standing straight.

On the side of the training grounds, attendants and several older knights stood with their hands at their sides.

Seeing Aegon’s figure appear at the entrance of the training grounds, everyone, including the eleven candidate knights, bowed or placed their hands on their chests in salute.

“Good day, Prince Aegon Targaryen.” The attendant in charge of the Herald announced loudly.

Aegon walked to the high platform in the center of the training grounds and stood, his gaze slowly sweeping over those eleven faces—some young, some steady, some with a hint of nervousness.

He spoke, his voice not loud, yet it reached everyone’s ears clearly:

“The Kingsguard was founded by Aegon the Conqueror and Queen Visenya.”

“Seven sworn brothers, renouncing lands, renouncing marriage, dedicating their lives to the duty of protecting the King.”

“Today, I intend to select the best among you, bestow the White Cloak upon him, and make him my first Kingsguard, and leader of the future royal guard.”

He paused, then announced briefly: “Begin.”

Following the Herald’s call of the name, the first knight stepped forward from the line.

He was tall and sturdy, with excellent armor, and wore a surcoat embroidered with an owl pattern.

He took off his helmet, revealing a face with sharp features and the unique tenacity of a Stormlands man, and bowed with his hand on his chest to salute Aegon.

“Respected Prince Aegon Targaryen, my name is Rodrik Caron, from House Caron of Nightsong.”

The scribe on the side quickly opened the register and added:

“Sir Rodrik Caron, second son of the Lord of Nightsong, highly skilled in martial arts, especially swordsmanship. He served as a squire to the Lord of Longbow Hall and was knighted by him; he is a famous warrior of the Stormlands.”

Aegon looked at this Sir Caron, nodded, and signaled for him to return to the line.

Rodrik Caron put his helmet back on and returned to his original position.

Next, the second knight stepped out.

He was stocky, wearing a set of polished plate armor, with a striking yellow surcoat embroidered with a black sleeping lion.

“Horton Grandison, from House Grandison of Grandview.” The knight took off his helmet, revealing a round face, and saluted Aegon.

The scribe continued to introduce: “Sir Horton Grandison, a veteran knight, who long patrolled the Kingswood area, repeatedly defeating and capturing bandit gangs that plagued the area, very experienced.”

Aegon nodded in acknowledgment as well, and Sir Horton returned to the line.

As the Herald called their names, one knight after another stepped forward.

There were nephews of some lord from The Riverlands, estate owners from the borders of the Stormlands… their resumes were read out one by one by the scribe, and they all sounded like the best of their respective regions.

But as Aegon listened, his heart did not stir with much excitement.

He observed them calmly.

Among these people, there was no one who made his eyes light up or could be called stunning.

Not to mention compared to the Kingsguard during his grandfather, The Mad King Aerys II, which was called the “greatest in history.”

Even compared to the team during the time of Robert Baratheon, whose reputation was mixed… although there was the “Kingslayer” like Jaime Lannister, and the Old Knight like Barristan Selmy, who had served two monarchs but whose strength was unquestionable.

The resumes and demeanor of the candidates before him all seemed a bit… mediocre.

As time passed, it was the turn of the last knight.

His movement in stepping out was more rugged than the others’ crisp movements.

He wore a relatively old brigandine armor that was worn white in some places, had a thick, bushy beard, and his face was roughened and tanned by sea winds and the sun, making him stand out in sharp contrast to the other knights with their polished armor.

The scribe flipped through the register: “This is a knight from House Boggs of Crackclaw Point.”

“He has led teams many times to defeat clans in Crackclaw Point that refused to submit to royal authority, and achieved victory in a battle where he was outnumbered.”

Outnumbered? Aegon frowned slightly.

Just then, a voice with a Dornish accent came from the edge of the training grounds:

“Ha! Look, what kind of motley crew is this? Some who have fought a few bandits, caught a few thieves, and… half-savages defeating savages?”

“When did the standards of the Kingsguard drop to such a level?”

Of the eleven knights standing at attention, except for a few who could restrain themselves, most showed displeasure and turned to look at the source of the voice.

Sir Boggs from Crackclaw Point was even more flushed, clenching his fists.

Aegon raised an eyebrow and looked over.

Oberyn Martell was walking over in a casual gait.

He was wearing a well-fitted Dornish-style leather armor today, with dark brown and reddish-brown leather stitched together, which set off his tall and vigorous figure perfectly.

He carried a spear, the shaft dark and dull, with the spearhead gleaming with a cold, poisoned light.

His pointed leather boots stepped on the sandy ground, making a rhythmic sound.

A smile mixed with mockery and nonchalance was on his face.

Oberyn walked closer, his gaze sweeping contemptuously over the eleven knights with their various expressions:

“The armor is polished quite bright, but I wonder if what’s inside is a knight, or a scarecrow?”

“You!” Sir Boggs could no longer hold back, roared, stepped out from the crowd, and glared at Oberyn, “You Dornishman, what skills do you have to dare to spout such nonsense here?!”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow: “Just by this spear in my hand.”

“You look down on us people of Crackclaw Point?!” Sir Boggs was shaking with anger, suddenly drew the greatsword from his waist, pointing the blade at Oberyn, “Do you dare to spar with me?!”

Oberyn didn’t even look at him, and slowly added a sentence: “Don’t misunderstand, I’m not targeting you. I mean, everyone here… is trash.”