Petyr looked at the nobles who had once called him brother, sharing secrets and interests with him.
Now, however, they all lowered their eyes as if avoiding a plague, studying the patterns of the flagstones beneath their feet... A falling wall is pushed by everyone.
This is King's Landing.
The realistic King's Landing.
Petyr's heart sank deeper and deeper into the abyss.
He knew he was already a political corpse.
No one would stake their life for a dead man.
In despair, his gaze finally fell on the corner of the Throne Room.
That huge figure, standing like a mountain.
Ser Gregor Clegane.
The Mountain.
House Lannister's most vicious, most brutal, and most loyal mad dog.
His combat prowess was beyond doubt.
Gregor stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his heavy steel armor gleaming with a chilling light in the fire.
The expression on his face was shrouded by the shadow of his helmet.
But everyone could feel the pure, suffocatingly violent aura emanating from him.
A glimmer of hope reignited in Petyr's eyes.
He knew that The Mountain only obeyed Tywin Lannister and only cared about money and slaughter.
And he happened to have both of those.
Even if his assets in King's Landing had been lost to Lynn, he still had trump cards he hadn't used!
A qualified politician always plans his escape route in advance.
Evidently, Petyr was qualified.
"I choose..."
Petyr's voice carried a hint of desperate madness.
"I choose The Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane, as my champion!"
The entire Throne Room fell silent.
Everyone gasped.
The Mountain!
He actually dared to choose The Mountain!
That monster who could tear a man in half with his bare hands!
Ned Stark's face turned incredibly grim.
He knew better than anyone how terrifying The Mountain was.
Elia Martell and her children had died at the hands of this beast.
But The Mountain was a Lannister; would he fight for Littlefinger?
Jaime Lannister's brow also furrowed.
He glanced at Cersei beside him, a hint of inquiry in his eyes.
Cersei's face had turned incredibly grim the moment she heard The Mountain's name.
She subconsciously glanced at Lynn.
Lynn still stood there calmly, not even a ripple on his face.
But Cersei read a chill more terrifying than rage in that calmness.
She remembered Lynn's warning, remembered her daughter Myrcella, far away in the North.
She could not provoke this Direwolf, who had already bared his fangs!
"Ser Gregor."
Petyr didn't give Cersei a chance to speak.
He used all his strength to drive his wheelchair to The Mountain's front.
He looked up at the giant, who was two heads taller than him, his voice filled with allure.
"I know you serve House Lannister, but even the most loyal knight needs gold dragons."
"Ten thousand gold dragons."
Petyr held up one finger.
"If you win this duel for me, I will give you ten thousand gold dragons!"
Ten thousand gold dragons!
A suppressed gasp echoed through the Throne Room.
This sum of money was enough to buy an entire street of shops in King's Landing, enough to arm a five-hundred-man elite mercenary company with excellent equipment!
Even in The Mountain's eyes, hidden beneath his helmet, a hint of greed seemed to flash.
His deep voice rumbled.
"I serve House Lannister."
His answer was simple, yet clear.
He was House Lannister's dog.
He wouldn't move until his master spoke.
"Your Majesty the Queen."
Petyr immediately turned to Cersei.
A fawning smile was squeezed onto his pale face.
"This is just a fair duel, unrelated to the honor of House Lannister."
"I merely wish to borrow Ser Gregor's strength to prove my innocence to the gods."
"Your innocence?"
Cersei's cold voice rang out, and she sneered before saying,
"Your innocence is worthless before the gods."
Cersei stepped forward to The Mountain's front and said in an undeniable tone,
"Ser Gregor is a sworn bannerman of my House Lannister; his sword is wielded only for Casterly Rock and His Majesty King Robert."
Cersei's gaze swept over Petyr's stunned face, her voice filled with contempt.
"And not for a worm who plays with people's hearts in a gutter!"
Cersei's refusal was decisive and humiliating.
She didn't look at Lynn when she said this.
But everyone in the Throne Room understood who she was speaking to.
She was actually trying to curry favor with Lynn, eager to distance herself from Petyr!
When everyone understood the situation, their gazes towards Lynn had completely changed.
Petyr's face, meanwhile, had turned a liverish purple.
Humiliation, extreme humiliation!
He was the master of coin!
Who didn't speak softly to him?
Now that he had lost power, this stinking bitch Cersei, who had no real power, dared to humiliate him?
Petyr gripped his wheelchair tightly.
It was over.
It seemed he didn't even have a last chance.
Just as everyone thought this farce would end with Petyr's despair.
"Twenty thousand gold dragons!"
Petyr almost roared the number.
"Plus all the future ten-year profits from all my shops and fleets in Essos!"
He was mad!
He was completely mad!
Varys's hands, clasped within his sleeves, trembled slightly.
He had informants in Essos; he knew better than anyone how vast Petyr's holdings in Essos were.
That was a true mountain of gold!
The Mountain's huge body visibly stirred.
His breathing grew heavy.
Cersei's face grew even grimmer.
She hadn't expected Petyr to be willing to pay such a heavy price!
"Gregor!"
A note of warning entered Cersei's voice.
However, Petyr's eyes gleamed with the madness of a gambler who had lost all his chips and no longer cared about his life.
Indeed, he had no choice but to fight for his life now.
If he lost, he would die, and no amount of property could be taken to hell.
"Still not enough?"
Petyr stared intently at The Mountain.
"Then I'll add everything else I own!"
"My castle!"
"All my lands in the Fingers!"
"If you win, you will no longer be Ser Gregor Clegane!"
"You will be the new Lord of the Fingers!"
"You will still swear fealty to His Majesty the King, and whether you wish to remain a bannerman of House Lannister is entirely up to you!"
Boom—!
If the money before was merely temptation, then a title was enough to cleave any loyalty!
A knight, through deeds of valor and rewards, might accumulate a considerable fortune in his lifetime.
But to become a lord with his own castle and lands, or even to gain a hereditary title, was almost impossible!
Only Lynn, this anomaly with his cheat-like abilities, could achieve it!
And now, this opportunity lay before The Mountain.
As long as The Mountain could win the duel, all of this would be his!
The Mountain slowly turned his head, his eyes, hidden beneath his helmet, looking at Cersei.
His voice no longer held the previous deference, but rather an undeniable sense of pressure.
"Your Majesty the Queen."
"I require an answer."
Cersei's heart sank sharply.
She knew The Mountain was tempted.
No, he had already made his choice.
He wasn't asking; he was informing.
If she refused again, this mad dog might turn on her on the spot!
Tywin wasn't here, and she had little power now.
Cersei's gaze involuntarily drifted to Lynn.
She hoped to see anger, to see a threat on Lynn's face.
But she saw nothing.
Lynn merely stood there quietly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile even playing on his lips.
That smile was like watching a farce that had nothing to do with him.
Cersei understood.
Lynn didn't care at all!
He didn't care who Petyr's champion was!
Whether it was The Mountain or anyone else, it made no difference to him!
"Fine."
Cersei squeezed out a single word through gritted teeth.
She felt her dignity being trampled, crushed, and ground to dust by Lynn, by The Mountain, by Petyr, by Robert... one after another.
"Since Ser Gregor is willing himself, I have nothing more to say."
After Cersei finished speaking, her face turned ashen, and she angrily returned to her seat without looking back, as if another second there would suffocate her.
The Mountain, having received permission, let out a satisfied low growl.
He turned, his massive body like a wall, blocking Petyr's wheelchair.
He had accepted.
On Petyr's distorted face, a look of wild joy, as if snatched from the jaws of death, finally appeared.
He had won.
He had won a chance to live with everything he had!
As long as The Mountain was there, who could be his opponent?
In all of Westeros, who would dare to oppose this humanoid beast?
His gaze provocatively met Lynn's.
Come on!
Now, it's your turn!
It's your turn to choose who will die for you!
All eyes in the Throne Room once again focused on Lynn.
The Mountain.
This name pressed down on everyone's hearts like a great mountain.
Ned's heart was in his throat.
He was already prepared to step forward himself if Lynn spoke.
Even if it meant sacrificing the honor of House Stark and his own old life, he would win this duel for Lynn!
Though he was somewhat old now, he was still a powerful knight himself!
Robert's corpulent body leaned slightly forward from the Iron Throne, his eyes flickering with excitement and worry.
"Lynn."
Robert's voice echoed through the Throne Room.
"Who do you choose as your champion?"
"I can have Barristan and Jaime fight for you!"
Lynn smiled.
He looked around, seeing the nervous, worried, and gloating faces.
Finally, his gaze fell upon Ser Gregor Clegane, who stood like a mountain.
"Your Majesty the King."
Lynn's voice was calm and clear.
"I actually don't need a champion."
What?
Everyone was stunned.
Even The Mountain let out a low growl of confusion.
Lynn stepped forward, walking to the center of the Throne Room, directly opposite The Mountain's massive figure.
Lynn reached out and slowly drew the wolf-headed Valyrian steel sword from his waist.
The blade of longclaw shimmered with a watery sheen under the firelight.
Jaime looked at longclaw with envy.
House Lannister dreamed of owning a Valyrian steel sword as their family's ancestral blade.
But even the most destitute families were unwilling to sell them one... Lynn's voice rang out.
"This trial began because of me."
"Naturally, it should also be ended by me."
"Crazy... He must be crazy!"
In the Throne Room, a noble from the Reach unconsciously muttered to himself.
Ned Stark's heart almost leaped out of his chest.
He wanted to rush up, grab Lynn's shoulders, and shake him awake.
He knew Lynn was strong.
In the Seven Kingdoms, Lynn's Riding and jousting were widely recognized as the best, almost unrivaled.
But this time, it was a test of overall ability.
It was a death match!
His opponent was The Mountain!
He was the monster who could wear a hundred pounds of full plate armor and still wield a six-foot greatsword with one hand!
He was the demon who could crush a man's head with his bare hands like squeezing a grape!
That was simply not a power a mortal could overcome!
In Stark contrast to Ned's horror, Robert Baratheon, on the Iron Throne, instantly erupted with a nearly frenzied light in his cloudy eyes!
"Hahahahaha!"
Robert burst into laughter, his corpulent belly shaking violently.
"That's right! That's more like it!"
"That's the Northerner I know!"
"Speak with a sword, not like these Southern women who only know how to run their mouths!"
He excitedly stood up from the Iron Throne, his fan-like hands pointing at Lynn, then at The Mountain, his face flushed with excitement, full of bloodlust and yearning.
"This is the duel a King should watch! These are true warriors!"
Robert was already impatient to see blood, to witness a bloody struggle worthy of epic tales!
Even if Lynn lost, he had a thousand ways to make Petyr's life miserable!
However, just as Robert was about to make the final decision and declare the duel begun, a voice filled with despair and madness cut through the fervent atmosphere.
"His Majesty the King! I have the right to refuse!"
It was Petyr Baelish!
He struggled violently.
Half of his body was leaning out of the wheelchair.
His face, contorted by fear, was as pale as a dead man's skin.
He stared fixedly at Lynn.
Others didn't know, but he did!
He knew Lynn's terrifying nature better than anyone!
This man had come all the way from the North, and every enemy he faced, every seemingly unsolvable predicament, ultimately became a stepping stone for his ascent!
He had investigated everything!
The King-Beyond-the-Wall, the Others, the good master of Astapor, the Targaryen remnants... He was like a gambler who never lost!
Every time everyone thought he would lose everything, he would always smile and reveal his hand, sweeping all the chips on the table into his pocket!
Petyr didn't believe in the gods; he only believed in himself.
He didn't believe in luck either; he only believed in profit and schemes.
It had taken him half a lifetime to climb to his current position.
He couldn't die yet!
He had painstakingly used all his lifelong wealth and future prospects to acquire The Mountain, this trump card for his life!
He had thought that Lynn would, like all normal nobles, choose a skilled knight as his champion.
Whether it was Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, or any member of the Kingsguard, or even Ned Stark himself!
Petyr had absolute confidence that The Mountain would tear them to shreds!
But in all his calculations, he hadn't anticipated that Lynn would not play by the rules!
He wanted to fight himself!
At this moment, Petyr's brain, filled with plots and schemes, began to churn wildly.
He couldn't let Lynn fight!
Absolutely not!
Lynn must have some trick he didn't know about!
"Your Majesty the King!"
"Trial by combat is a sacred judgment witnessed by the gods!"
"It has its ancient laws and traditions!"
Petyr forced himself to calm down, organizing his words as quickly as possible.
"Lord Lynn is the plaintiff in this case! And I am the defendant!"
"According to tradition, the plaintiff and the defendant should each choose a champion knight to decide the right and wrong with swords under the gaze of the gods!"
"If the defendant has no knight willing to fight for him, then the defendant has the right to fight himself."
"But Lord Lynn... he cannot be both the plaintiff and his own champion knight! This... this is not according to the rules! This is disrespectful to the gods!"
Petyr's words instantly silenced the previously fervent Throne Room.
Everyone exchanged glances.
Even Grand Maester Pycelle nodded thoughtfully.
"What Lord Baelish said seems... indeed to have some truth to it."
Upon hearing this, Ned Stark's eyes flashed with a hint of struggle.
He wished he could tear Petyr to pieces immediately, but reason told him that Petyr was right.
This was the only chance for Lynn to escape this certain-death duel!
"Your Majesty the King!" Ned stepped forward, his voice heavy.
"Although Petyr is wicked, what he said conforms to the traditions of the Seven Kingdoms. Lynn truly cannot fight himself."
Are you kidding? If Lynn really died, how would he face Arya?
Lynn must not die!
"Nonsense!"
Robert's roar echoed through the Throne Room, and he kicked over a wine goblet beside him.
"I am the King! My word is the rule! It is tradition!"
He looked with disgust at Petyr, who was quoting ancient texts from his wheelchair, and then at Ned, whose face was solemn.
"When did you become like these sissies, whining and complaining?"
"I just want to see a good duel!"
"Anyone who dares to babble on, I'll twist his head off first!"
Robert's domineering attitude silenced both Ned and Pycelle.
Petyr's heart, however, completely sank into the abyss.
It was over.
Even his last struggle seemed so ridiculous and powerless.
He slumped in his wheelchair, his eyes vacant, as if he were already dead.
Just then, Lynn spoke.
"Your Majesty the King."
"Lord Petyr is right."
What?
Everyone was stunned.
Even Petyr himself suddenly looked up, staring at Lynn in disbelief.
He... he was actually speaking up for him?
"The trial should indeed follow tradition."
"The custom should not be broken because of me."
Lynn's gaze swept over Petyr's astonished face, a playful smirk on his lips.
"In that case, I will choose my champion knight again."
At these words, Petyr's heart, which had died, instantly came back to life!
Ecstasy!
Boundless ecstasy!
He wouldn't die!
As long as Lynn didn't fight, no one could be a match for The Mountain!
He won!
He had carved out a glimmer of hope for himself from despair!
Ned also breathed a sigh of relief, his eyes filled with relief as he looked at Lynn.
Robert, on the other hand, pouted in displeasure, as if a piece of roasted meat he was about to eat had been snatched away, but he said nothing more in the end.
"Good, very good!"
Petyr trembled with excitement, urging impatiently.
"Lord Lynn, please choose your champion!"
"Is it Duke Stark? Or one of the brave warriors of the Kingsguard?"
His gaze provocatively swept through the Throne Room, as if he already saw the dawn of victory.
Because he knew that no one present, except for Lynn whom he couldn't fathom, was a match for The Mountain.
Lynn smiled.
He turned around, his gaze passing over everyone, falling on the entrance of the Throne Room.
"I choose The Hound, Sandor Clegane!"
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