The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Widened eyes, horrified expressions, gaping mouths, trembling hands, gushing blood…

The Ironborn who was stabbed was even taller and stronger than the bald, neurotic man. His face was as rugged as black rock, but now, his strength and honor were rapidly withering with the splatter of blood… His eyes were filled with terror… Even the faith that the dead do not die could not stop his fear of death.

Two women screamed, broke free from the arms of the other two Ironborn, and fled as fast as they could, running with anything but ladylike grace…

"He kept demanding it!" the bald, neurotic man said, trembling, himself frightened by the blood.

His eyes were also full of horror! It was as if he had underestimated the amount of blood that would gush out when a knife was stabbed into a body, and he was shocked.

Also shocked were the dockworkers, sailors, captains, Ironborn, and small vendors along the dockside street.

When this blood-soaked Ironborn fell, his two companions stared with disbelieving eyes.

The Ironborn on the ship also widened their eyes and gaped their mouths, everyone a little slow to react. Originally, they were watching a joke, but the joke turned into bloody violence. The neurotic man's speed was too fast, exceeding everyone's expectations.

"His ring, necklace, short sword, dagger, should all be mine now," the bald man said timidly, one side of his face twitching. "I paid the iron price."

Paying the iron price was the only correct way for Ironborn to buy things.

But this sentence was dangerous.

Two Ironborn woke up from their shock. Swish, swish, they drew their short swords, one stabbing at the bald man's chest, the other stabbing at his abdomen.

The bald man was so frightened that he fell to the ground, screaming in horror. He flailed his short sword wildly, instantly stabbing one of the Ironborn's legs countless times. He was terrified, like a chick pecking at rice, the knife in his hand moving so fast that it created afterimages, puff, puff, puff, constantly stabbing at one of the Ironborn's legs.

This Ironborn had only managed to stab once, and hadn't even retracted his attacking knife, when the terrified bald man stabbed his thighs many times. The other Ironborn, after missing with his stab, quickly came to his rescue, taking a half step forward, bending over, and thrusting the knife in his hand towards the bald man's neck.

However, his movement suddenly froze.

Someone shouted something, and without even turning his head, the neurotic bald man very suddenly backhanded with his knife, hitting him squarely in the abdomen. This stab was swift and ruthless, the entire blade plunged in. The bald man was tall, and his arms were unusually long. After stabbing once, he sat down and turned around, as fast as a monkey, his movements never stopping, puff, puff, puff, continuously stabbing the Ironborn's abdomen and crotch, his movements were so fast that there was absolutely no pause in between.

The Ironborn, whose legs had been stabbed, barely took half a step forward, then swayed and collapsed with a crash. In just an instant, blood stained his legs red, and he convulsed on the ground.

The other Ironborn stood stiffly like a wooden puppet for a very brief moment, as if pausing, then fell down, still holding the knife in his hand, his eyes wide, already dead.

His abdomen and crotch had been stabbed to a pulp by this madman in the blink of an eye.

The Mountain watched all of this happen from upstairs, without saying a word.

He knew that Polliver's knife would definitely kill someone.

*

The Duke told the Mountain not to interfere in this matter, but the Duke knew in his heart that the Mountain would come. However, with the instruction not to interfere, the Mountain, who originally wanted to take action himself, turned it into his subordinates taking action. If the Duke nodded and said it was okay, the Mountain would likely kill all these Ironborn.

That was the difference between a nod and a shake of the head.

The Mountain and the Duke had lived together day and night for twenty years and already had an inherent understanding that was difficult for others to comprehend.

When the Duke said no, perhaps the real meaning was the opposite. Others couldn't hear it, but the Mountain could understand it. Sometimes, the Duke needed someone to do some dirty work, and with just a look, the Mountain could understand.

That was understanding!

Similarly, when the Mountain instructed his subordinates to break the Ironborn's legs and arms, the subordinates understood perfectly. If the Mountain said to kill a few Ironborn, then it wouldn't just be Polliver taking action alone. These killing gods would let the Ironborn see what was called 'blood and terror'.

Killing one or a few Ironborn was, in the eyes of the Mountain and his loyal fans, a trivial matter.

The Westerlanders had always had no goodwill towards the Ironborn, from the elderly to the children, without exception.

Along the coast, whether it was the people of the Reach's Tyrell family, or the people of the Westerlands, or the people of the North, or the people of the Riverlands' Seaguard, you couldn't find anyone who had any goodwill towards the Ironborn.

*

The Ironborn on the ship let out a strange shout, different from any other place's command: Luo Luo Luo—Luo Luo Luo—Luo Luo Luo—

In the sound of Luo Luo Luo, the Ironborn on the ship jumped onto the dock one after another, with battle axes, long swords, iron hammers, chain hammers, spears, broadswords, spiked clubs, all sorts of weapons.

The Ironborn's weapons were also known for being large, heavy, and long.

Looking at their weapons, you could tell that they focused on brute strength, strong attacks and hard slams, but lacked flexibility and had rough combat skills.

Along with the shouts of Luo Luo Luo, Ironborn ran out of several taverns on the dock, either two people, or three or four people.

These Ironborn all had short swords and daggers.

Because their weapons were heavy axes, it was naturally inconvenient to carry them around while eating, so they were all left on the ship. What they carried with them were short swords and daggers.

They all brandished their swords and ran towards the bald man on the dock.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Someone was hitting their chest with a sword scabbard.

That was the most valiant of the Clegane men, Dunsen, slightly shorter than the bald Polliver, and also slightly 'slimmer', but his swordsmanship and accuracy in killing were still above Polliver's.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

Sweetmouth Rafford, who had been squatting to watch the excitement, also stood up, drew his long sword and struck it against his arm armor.

They weren't dressed as soldiers, but that didn't prevent ordinary people from also wearing armor.

The armor only protected parts of the body, such as the neck, elbows, and calves, rather than 'clothing-like protection' like full plate armor.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

Among the Westerlanders who were watching, several young men with unfriendly faces drew their swords. They held a sword in one hand and a scabbard in the other, the back of the sword striking the scabbard, making a sound.

The Ironborn, who wanted to chop the bald man into mincemeat, paused for a moment, because five or six Westerlanders with weapons walked out with the same rhythm and stood with the bald man.

This was, after all, the Westerlands.

Duke Tywin was not someone to be trifled with either.

They could still argue if they just dealt with the murderer, but suddenly there were several more Westerlanders…

With just a slight hesitation, more Westerlanders stood up from the streets, docks, taverns, small vendors, and dockworkers, holding whatever weapons they could find, whether it was a knife, a sword, or a wooden stick, and tapped them together.

The rhythm of Clang, Clang, Clang turned into the rhythm of Boom, Boom, Boom.

The dozen or so Westerlander mercenaries who made a living on these docks also appeared, drew their weapons, and clapped them against their chest armor.

The Westerlanders stood together in solidarity. Facing the twenty or so Ironborn who wanted to commit violence, they all stood up, tapping the same rhythm, their eyes fixed on the Ironborn. Their numbers were growing, quickly surrounding the Ironborn.

The situation was on the verge of erupting.

As long as the Ironborn dared to touch the bald man, this place would turn into a bloody brawl.

On the five iron ore ships, more Ironborn with weapons emerged. However, the port guard also arrived. A squad of soldiers received a report that the Ironborn were molesting Westerlander women on the dock, causing a fight and murder. The port guard had never had any goodwill towards the Ironborn. The soldiers were furious when they heard this, their blood boiling, and they immediately rushed over.

The centurion in charge of managing the port docks was a distant branch of the Lannister family: Archill Lannister.

Holding back a bellyful of anger, Archill led the angry soldiers over. From afar, he saw Dunsen, Rafford, and Polliver, these three killing gods, here, and was immediately taken aback.