After that exquisite strike, time seemed to freeze for a moment.
Watching Corleone standing proudly in the arena, the nobles and commoners couldn't help but start whispering; after all, the current situation was truly beyond their expectations.
"By the Seven… he caught it?"
Ser Balman rubbed his eyes, his tone filled with disbelief.
You have to understand, that was The Mountain, Gregor Clegane!
Back at the tourney, he had been very "fortunate" to joust against The Mountain, and Ser Balman swore that he would never forget the force behind the opponent's lance for the rest of his life.
If it hadn't been for the fact that the training lances used in the tourney were very brittle and broke at the slightest touch, that one strike might have cost him his life!
But now… this strike, Corleone had actually taken it head-on, and it looked so effortless.
How is this possible!
"It's more than just catching it!" a slightly older knight nearby whispered: "Did you see? He actually deflected Ser Gregor's sword!"
"But that's impossible!"
"The strength of that strike from Ser Gregor is enough to cleave a warhorse in two; I've seen it with my own eyes!"
"Luck!"
A shrill voice rang out: "It's absolutely luck!"
"Didn't you see? Ser Gregor was standing right on a seam between the flagstones; the ground might have been a bit slippery. It's obvious he just lost his footing!"
This seemingly reasonable explanation quickly gained widespread agreement among the crowd.
"Right, that must be it!"
"The ground was too slippery, otherwise that strike would have been enough to cut him in two!"
"A knight of Farmer origin, knighted only a few days ago—how could he possibly have that kind of skill?"
"Heh, a commoner is a commoner. Just a stroke of luck. Not everyone can have the talent of Ser Duncan the Tall!"
The murmurs grew louder, quickly sliding from initial shock to skepticism, disdain, and even mockery.
The class hierarchy in Westeros is deeply entrenched. In the subconscious of the crowd, there is an insurmountable chasm between a commoner—even a newly knighted one—and a monster like The Mountain, who, despite his brutality, hails from a noble knightly house and possesses a terrifying combat record.
Thus, that stunning strike was quickly dismissed as a fluke under the cover of a "reasonable" explanation.
In the crowd, Jaime Lannister's furrowed brows deepened.
Just a moment ago, he had indeed been shocked by Corleone's swordsmanship.
But now, listening to the "well-reasoned" analysis around him, the absurd guess in his heart began to subside.
Yes, two months…
He remembered at the Harrenhal training grounds, after Corleone had swung his sword only a few dozen times, he was already panting and his arms were trembling.
Even if Corleone were a genius, how could the accumulation of physical strength and the formation of muscle memory happen overnight?
That much couldn't be faked.
Perhaps The Mountain had underestimated his opponent, or perhaps the ground… Jaime's gaze swept over the flagstones beneath The Mountain's feet.
Thinking this, his left hand involuntarily tightened around the hilt of his sword.
Luck would not strike twice; The Mountain's next attack would be devastating, and he was now left with only his left hand.
"Hmph…"
Just as Jaime struggled internally, The Mountain's broad chest heaved violently, his eyes now red enough to drip blood.
It wasn't from fatigue, but from rage!
He looked down at his greatsword, which had been deflected and slammed into the ground, then looked up and stared fixedly at Corleone, his eyes revealing undisguised fury and brutality.
He, Gregor Clegane, the nightmare that no one in The Seven Kingdoms dared to look directly at, the most loyal and brutal hound of Lord Tywin!
At only seventeen, he had followed the Lannister army to sack King's Landing and charged straight into the Red Keep to begin a slaughter.
During the War of the Five Kings, The Mountain had led elite cavalry to burn, kill, and pillage countless towns and villages in the The Riverlands!
But now, he had actually… actually failed to cut this guy, who wasn't even a third of his size and as thin as a sparrow, in half with one stroke!!
He had even stumbled during the clash!
Although he didn't have much of a brain, The Mountain knew clearly that his ability to kill and play as he pleased on a daily basis relied entirely on the backing of Lord Tywin.
If he were to see that he hadn't even been able to easily defeat such a fellow, then…
"Vito Corleone, I want you dead!!!"
Intuition told him that he could not hold anything back, nor could he have any playful mindset.
He gripped the hilt of his greatsword with both hands; that weapon, far too large for an ordinary person, seemed quite light in his hands.
He stepped forward a few paces and swung in a side-slash from bottom to top, the blade aiming straight for Corleone's waist and abdomen!
The power of this strike was even greater than before, and the speed was even faster!
But just as Corleone intended to step forward with his sword.
"Stop!!!"
A sharp shout rang out, followed immediately by a pure white figure rushing between the two!
Clang!!!
A crisp, jarring sound of metal on metal rang out!
A gorgeous, gold-decorated longsword was knocked from his hand, flying high into the air, tracing an arc in the firelight before landing with a heavy clatter on the ground in the distance.
However, a one-handed sword against a two-handed greatsword—the disparity in power was immense.
After knocking the longsword away, The Mountain's greatsword only paused slightly, continuing to slash downwards with its momentum!
In the blink of an eye, a golden-forged right hand, without deviation, perilously and narrowly caught the blade of the greatsword!
Screech!!!
A hair-raising sound of metal grinding!
A shower of sparks between the golden prosthetic hand and the greatsword actually managed to bring this terrifying strike to a complete halt!
The Mountain's massive body faltered slightly as his attack was blocked.
His scarlet gaze fell upon that gleaming golden right hand, then moved upward, bringing a resolute and handsome face into view.
Jaime Lannister!
The scene froze once again.
Only then did the people see clearly that the one blocking in front of Corleone was none other than the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!
At this moment, the web of his left hand was split, his white Kingsguard cloak was stained with mottled blood, and his figure swayed slightly, yet he still stood firmly in place, shielding Corleone behind him.
A low growl emanated from The Mountain's throat, like a beast deprived of its prey.
This face, this white cloak—he was all too familiar with them.
Even with The Mountain's simple brain filled with rage, he knew very well just how serious the consequences of harming Jaime in public would be.
Suppressing the urge to swing his sword immediately and cut them both down, The Mountain withdrew his greatsword, dragging it on the ground, and warned in a muffled, rumbling voice.
"Move aside, Ser Jaime!"
Facing The Mountain's bloodshot eyes, Jaime could feel warm blood dripping down his left fingers, as well as the pain of flesh being torn at the connection of his prosthetic limb.
But he forced himself to stand steady, raised his head to stare fixedly at The Mountain, and spoke firmly: "Gregor Clegane!"
"In the name of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I command you… get out of here!"
As soon as these words were spoken, the entire scene fell silent.
The light in many people's eyes dimmed, and they shook their heads in disappointment.
With Lord Tywin's eldest son, Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard, stepping in, it seemed there wouldn't be any more spectacle to watch.
But clearly, The Mountain did not want to disappoint the audience.
"Hahaha…" He grinned, revealing uneven yellow teeth, and let out a sound full of malice and mockery.
"The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard?"
He repeated the term, then suddenly raised his volume, his tone filled with undisguised contempt: "A 'Commander' who can't even hold a sword and has to rely on a prosthetic hand to block strikes?"
"A cripple who has lost his sword hand, hahahahaha!!!"
The incredibly arrogant laughter almost echoed through the entire block, and the crowd boiled over!
"What the f***, The Mountain is too bold, actually mocking Jaime Lannister in public!"
"Well done! This way we have a show to watch!"
People began to whisper again, and many faces even flushed, clearly very excited.
The Mountain actually dared to!
He actually dared to humiliate Jaime Lannister in such a naked, direct way!
It was… just too satisfying!
As Tywin's eldest son and heir to the Lord of Casterly Rock, countless people were incredibly jealous of Jaime's background.
Being able to see someone of such status humiliated was simply the most gratifying thing for them.
"Your Grace."
Amidst the excited discussion, Margaery Tyrell frowned slightly and couldn't help but ask Cersei beside her: "Isn't Ser Gregor loyal to the Lannisters? Why would he openly mock Ser Jaime?"
Cersei's nails were already deeply embedded in her palms as she watched Jaime's bleeding, trembling back.
Hearing Margaery's seemingly innocent yet sharp question, she turned her head abruptly, cold light flashing in those emerald eyes inherited from Tywin.
"Gregor Clegane?"
"He is nothing more than a mad dog raised by my father; a dog only recognizes the person who gives it meat and the whip!"
"As for Jaime…" She took a deep breath, complex emotions flashing through her mind.
There was heartache, anger, and a trace of resentment toward Jaime—resentment that he hadn't stayed by her side during the Battle of the Blackwater, resentment that he was so incompetent.
Perhaps, she also resented why she wasn't a man, so that she could legitimately inherit Casterly Rock!
"My father's thoughts are not for you to speculate on, Lady Margaery."
She didn't explain, but gritted her teeth and tossed out a warning.
However, after saying this, Cersei couldn't help but turn back, looking anxiously at her father inside the Hall of Order.
She saw Lord Tywin remaining as steady as a mountain, seemingly turning a deaf ear to the conflict outside and the humiliation Jaime was suffering.
Father… could he really be ignoring Jaime?
Or perhaps, he had already given up on Jaime. If that were really the case, that damned dwarf could definitely not inherit Casterly Rock, perhaps…
"Hahahaha!"
The Mountain's laughter continued.
Jaime's chest heaved violently; he could clearly hear those sounds around him—words like "cripple," "prosthetic hand," "ridiculous"—and countless gazes piercing his back like needles.
He lowered his head, staring fixedly at his long-gone right wrist; phantom limb pain struck suddenly, the tearing agony almost making him faint.
Right hand… my right hand…
If it were still there, he would definitely be able to easily defeat The Mountain and save Corleone!
Damn it… damn it!!!
Despair and humiliation almost consumed Jaime, but he gritted his teeth hard, did not retreat, and instead took another step forward, growling: "I said… get out of the way, The Mountain!"
"Corleone… is my friend!"
Unfortunately, these words didn't sound like a command at this moment, but more like the desperate cry of someone who had fallen to the bottom, using their last ounce of dignity to make a final stand.
It appeared incomparably pathetic and desolate.
Just at this moment.
"…And me!"
A firm female voice rang out suddenly.
The crowd stirred again and turned to look; a figure clad in armor walked out with steady steps.
She was a woman, but her stature was enough to make the vast majority of men look up to her.
She wore a helm with a nasal guard, covering most of her face, revealing only a pair of eyes as blue as gemstones, burning with a flame of determination.
"It's Brienne of Tarth, that freak!"
"Seven Hells! Is this really a woman??"
"That armor looks so heavy, how can she move so freely!"
For a moment, countless disdainful, curious, and lecherous gazes gathered on Brienne, as if wanting to peel away her armor.
In the minds of the vast majority, a woman—especially one who was exceptionally tall, ugly, and attempted to take up a sword and don armor—was in itself a flagrant defiance of the order set by the gods.
She was a monster, a laughingstock, the best topic of conversation for after-dinner tea.
Those past "disgraceful" histories of service were magnified infinitely at this moment, becoming excellent evidence to support her actions as a monster.
However, Brienne seemed to turn a deaf ear to everything around her.
She simply walked silently to Jaime's side, not looking at him, but standing slightly ahead, using her broader shoulders to block some of the pressure coming from The Mountain for him.
Brienne's appearance caused Jaime's spine to straighten slightly, as if he felt some kind of support.
Shing~~~
In front of everyone, Brienne slowly drew Oathkeeper, the unique patterns of the Valyrian steel looking incredibly eerie in the firelight.
She did not point her sword tip directly at her opponent like a typical knight before a duel, but instead adopted a more stable, defensive starting stance.
"Sir Corleone is also my friend. I owe him favors, many favors—perhaps I won't be able to repay them in this lifetime."
"His own mastery of swordsmanship might not be very high; he only touched a training longsword for the first time two months ago."
Brienne stated the facts, her back, more burly than Jaime's, blocking The Mountain, her tone incomparably firm: "But, if you insist on picking a fight and want to brawl…"
"I can accompany you to the end, and then, in front of everyone, chop off that ugly head of yours."
Saying this, she turned her head slightly and exchanged a glance with Jaime; both nodded almost simultaneously.
Just like that, a crippled former legendary knight and a mocked "female knight" stood side by side, blocking the path between The Mountain and Corleone.
This scene was absurd, tragic, and carried a soul-stirring power.
The Mountain seemed enraged by these repeated surprises; he licked his thick, everted lips, his gaze sweeping back and forth between Jaime and Brienne, as if enjoying an absurd and ridiculous play.
"Hahahaha!"
"Vito Corleone, you son of a bitch, you really have a lot of friends!"
"Look at you, you wretch. Your order and honor—is it all just hiding behind the ass of a cripple with a missing hand and a gender-bending monster bitch!!!"
His roar swept over everyone's eardrums, filled with disdain: "Where is your sword? Didn't you say you were going to use that thing to make me kneel?"
"Take it out!"
"Or are you only fit to let a waste who relies on a prosthetic hand to save face and a cow that no one wants die for you, while you shrink in the back, trembling like a spineless eunuch?"
"Hahahaha!!!"
The Mountain laughed crazily, every word dipped in the most vicious curses; he wasn't just insulting these three people, he was forcing Corleone to step out and fight!
If Corleone still chose to avoid the fight, then even if The Mountain eventually chose to retreat, the order and influence he had painstakingly built would still become a laughingstock!
In an instant, the focus of everyone's gaze and the core of the pressure all converged on the figure protected by the "woman and the cripple."
Under such a huge disparity in power, what would he choose?
However, the expected retreat, anger, or defense did not appear.
Under everyone's gaze, Corleone moved.
AI Model: gemini-3.0-flash
He paced forward, raising his hand to rest on Jaime's shoulder, which was trembling slightly with anger.
Then, his other hand pressed just as steadily onto Brienne's armored shoulder.
"Relax, you two."
Corleone's palm was warm and dry, and his voice carried a strange, reassuring power.
Just as it had during all the upheavals and hardships they had encountered in the The Riverlands.
"Leave this to me."
Hearing this, the two suddenly turned their heads to look at Corleone. Jaime was the first to speak up in anxious protest: "But you..."
"You've only been practicing swordsmanship for two months!"
"That guy is Gregor Clegane. He's not like those thugs you dealt with in Flea Bottom. I know and trust your wisdom and ability, Corleone, but..."
95
Hearing Jaime's concern, Brienne also firmly tried to dissuade him: "Believe me, Corleone, I can handle him!"
"This is the sword Jaime gave me. It keeps oaths, and it's also enough to protect friends!"
Hearing this, Corleone felt a slight warmth in his heart.
These two...
However, he said nothing more, merely applying a slight pressure with his hands.
Jaime and Brienne simultaneously felt an irresistible force coming from their shoulders, causing them to involuntarily step apart to either side!
A flash of astonishment crossed both their faces. Brienne, in particular, was extremely confident in her own strength and the stability of her legs; even two or three men would find it difficult to push her when she was clad in heavy armor.
Yet Corleone had separated them... so effortlessly?!
"This is my fight, my friends."
Corleone walked between them, turning his head slightly to look back.
The firelight illuminated his profile. There was no tension, no anger, only a depth of calm and confidence that bordered on the absolute.
"Don't forget."
The corners of his mouth curled into a convincing arc as he said softly, "I am... Vito Corleone."
His voice was so steady, as if he were merely stating a perfectly natural fact.
Seeing this, Jaime and Brienne could only grit their teeth and choose to believe him.
"Hey, Corleone!"
Just then, a voice with a thick Dornish accent rang out from the edge of the crowd.
Prince Oberyn Martell had at some point sheathed his scimitar and was leaning against a doorpost with his arms crossed. His handsome, brooding face now wore a playful, eager expression.
"Let me teach this damn beast a lesson for you, shall I?"
The Red Viper tilted his head, his dark eyes flashing. "This matter started because of me anyway. That bastard insulted my sister, and he insulted you."
"Let me settle this, consider it returning the favor, how about it?"
"I promise, I'll make him die... very creatively."
As he spoke, he licked his lips, his eyes gleaming with the viciousness and excitement of a venomous snake.
But Corleone didn't stop, nor did he even turn his head; he simply gave him a side-eye.
This fellow who just wanted to see the world burn.
If he really let him fight the Mountain, then everything he had just done would be in vain, and things would be right back where they started.
"Rest assured, Prince Oberyn."
Corleone's voice remained flat. "You will have your chance to teach this fellow a lesson sooner or later, I promise you. But not now, and not here."
Having said that, he no longer paid attention to the various reactions of the people behind him and walked straight forward, stopping a few paces away from the Mountain.
This distance was extremely dangerous given the reach of the Mountain's greatsword.
However, Corleone simply stopped and slowly raised the seemingly unremarkable knight's longsword in his hand, the tip pointing diagonally toward the ground, his posture so relaxed he didn't look at all like someone about to face a life-and-death struggle.
The Mountain's blood-red eyes stared fixedly at Corleone, watching him take the initiative to walk right in front of him, watching the infuriating calm on his face.
"Don't plan on hiding behind women and cripples anymore, like a turtle retracting its head?"
He mocked in a muffled voice, while the tip of his greatsword tapped lightly against the ground, making a dull thudding sound.
eyes, piercing into the Mountain's lower back.
"Stop talking, you damn bastard!!!"
The pain and the torment of
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