The smoke and dust slowly dissipated, revealing a miserable expanse of ruins.
The Bloody Gate, which had guarded the Vale for a thousand years and was reputed to be impregnable, was now... nothing more than a field of rubble.
Tormund stood with his mouth agape.
That mouth, large enough to fit a fist, was currently unable to utter a sound.
He just stared blankly at the behemoth, which looked utterly innocent and even scratched its icy crystal head.
He... he just wanted it to touch it.
Yes, truly, just a light touch.
Who the hell knew that its "gentle touch" could completely obliterate an entire city wall?!
"Tormund!"
Mance Rayder's voice carried an uncontrollable rage.
He grabbed Tormund by the collar, veins bulging on his usually composed face.
"You've messed up big time!"
"We are an army now! Do you think you can still do whatever you please, peeing wherever you feel like it, just like before?"
Mance pointed at the ruins, which had turned into a pile of rubble, his finger trembling.
"What was Lynn's order?"
"It was to delay them!"
"Not to fucking demolish the gate!"
"I... how was I supposed to know it was that strong?"
Tormund shrank his neck, feeling a rare pang of guilt.
He looked at the Frost Giant's still pure and innocent blue eyes and felt tremendously wronged.
"I just... saw it was bored, so I told it to touch it, just touch it..."
"Is that your idea of a touch?!"
Mance was so angry he nearly choked.
Now, the whole plan was ruined.
With The Bloody Gate broken, the entrance to the Vale was wide open.
Should they advance or not?
If they advanced, they would be disobeying Lynn's order and unilaterally changing the strategy.
If they didn't?
The gate has been torn down, and you still won't enter? Are you staging performance art?
The surrounding wildling leaders were also completely dumbfounded.
They exchanged glances, looking at the unobstructed passage, unsure whether to cheer or be afraid.
"Retreat!"
Mance Rayder finally gritted his teeth and squeezed the single word out.
"What? Retreat?"
Tormund's eyes nearly popped out of his sockets.
"The gate is open, shouldn't we go in and have a look around?"
"Maybe there's good wine inside!"
"Look around my ass!"
Mance kicked him in the butt.
"Lynn's plan was to feint to the east and strike to the west! The bigger the commotion we make here, the less pressure there is on other fronts!"
"Great! Now The Bloody Gate has been obliterated by one punch!"
"Our mission is to delay! To pin the Vale's army firmly here! Not to fucking assault the castle!"
Mance took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
He knew this was not the time to assign blame.
"Everyone, retreat immediately!"
"Fall back into the depths of the mountain forest and hide your tracks!"
"Until Lynn returns, no one is allowed to approach this place again!"
Mance's command was absolute.
Although the wildlings were reluctant, they quickly executed the order and disappeared into the dense forest with the main force.
The Frost Giant, too massive to hide, reluctantly glanced at the "toy" it had broken.
Then, it took heavy steps and went to a spacious area for a nap.
The entire valley returned to silence.
Only ruins remained, along with the Vale soldiers on the wall who had been completely petrified.
"He... they... just left like that?"
A young sentinel asked his comrade, his voice trembling.
"It... it seems so..."
"Why?"
This question stumped everyone.
Why?
They used a near-godlike power to destroy The Bloody Gate with a single punch.
They could then use those terrifying Giant Riders to charge and crush them head-on.
And then... they just left?
What was this supposed to be?
Was this rational?
Did a demolition crew show up only to realize they had the wrong address?
Ronald, the commander of The Bloody Gate, was currently slumped amidst the ruins.
His mind was blank; he couldn't comprehend what had just happened.
Just moments ago, he thought he was dead.
When the Frost Giant raised its fist, he could practically smell death.
Yet now, he was alive.
The enemy didn't even spare them a glance before turning and leaving.
A thought, utterly absurd yet deeply convincing to him, began to grow wildly in his mind.
This was not an attack.
This was a... warning.
It was a blatant display of force!
The king-beyond-the-wall, Lynn, was using this method to tell the entire Vale:
"I can easily crush you, as simple as crushing an ant."
"But I chose not to."
"Out of mercy?"
Ser Ronald's body trembled violently.
It wasn't fear, but a shiver mixed with awe and relief.
He recalled that single punch.
The giant's movement had been so casual, so... effortless.
As if it had merely reached out to brush a speck of dust from its clothes.
Yet that single "speck of dust" was the formidable pass the Vale had prided itself on for centuries!
What a terrifying disparity in power!
This was no longer a force mortals could resist!
He could think of no other explanation than that they had been spared.
"Quick... quickly go report to Ser Nestor Royce!"
"And also, Ser Brynden Tully the Blackfish!"
Ser Ronald scrambled to his feet, shouting hoarsely at the messenger beside him.
"Tell them! The Bloody Gate... The Bloody Gate no longer exists!"
"Tell him we are not facing an army!"
"It's a horde of monsters!"
...Meanwhile.
On the Kingsroad.
Ser Nestor Royce was leading his cavalry unit in a forced march toward The Bloody Gate.
His face was so grim it looked like it could drip water.
The command from that madwoman, Lysa, filled him with immense humiliation and fury.
Abandon the Kingsroad and retreat to defend The Bloody Gate?
This was practically handing The Riverlands over to the North!
But what else could he do?
He was a vassal of the House Arryn; loyalty was etched into his bones.
Furthermore, the appearance of the Frost Giant genuinely filled him with deep unease.
Had Lynn's main force truly turned toward the Vale?
Just as he was feeling distraught, a scout galloped toward him from the front, his face filled with panic.
"Ser! Bad news! The Bloody Gate... something happened at The Bloody Gate!"
"Stop panicking!"
Nestor snapped, but his heart plummeted.
"Did the wildlings start assaulting the castle?"
"I told you long ago, those monsters aren't easy to deal with!"
"No... it's not that..."
The scout gasped for air, his face etched with disbelief.
"The Bloody Gate... it's gone!"
"What did you say?!"
Nestor grabbed the scout, nearly pulling him off his horse.
"What do you mean, 'gone'?! Was the gate breached? Or did the garrison surrender?!"
"Neither!" the scout cried, his voice shaky.
"It's... the entire Bloody Gate, along with the towers on both sides, is completely gone!"
"It was... was obliterated by a giant, with one punch... just one punch!"
"And then?"
Nestor felt his throat go dry.
"Then... then they just left..."
"Left?"
Nestor released his grip, standing frozen in place.
The three thousand Vale Knights behind him also halted, exchanging bewildered looks.
Obliterated it... and then left?
What kind of tactic was this?
Nestor's mind raced, trying to make sense of this unbelievable report.
He had considered countless possibilities.
Wildlings assaulting The Bloody Gate, leading to a bloody battle.
Wildlings bypassing The Bloody Gate and infiltrating through other small paths.
Or even that the wildlings were just a distraction, and Lynn's true target lay elsewhere.
But he had never imagined this possibility.
The enemy just tore down the gate, wiped their hands clean, and left, concealing their merit and fame?
"What about... casualties?"
Nestor asked, clinging to a final thread of hope.
"No casualties."
The scout shook his head.
"Our men... are completely unharmed."
"They just... demolished the gate."
Nestor fell into complete silence.
He felt like a jester.
That foolish woman, Lysa, was still dreaming sweetly in Riverrun.
She had gathered the entire main force of the Vale, preparing for a decisive battle against Lynn at The Bloody Gate.
Yet, the enemy had just stripped off your underwear right in front of you, and then told you:
"What are you looking at? I'm just looking, not going in."
What the hell was this?!
This wasn't war; this was walking the dog!
How could anyone be so humiliating?
An unprecedented sense of powerlessness swept over Nestor.
He suddenly understood.
They had lost from the very beginning.
Not because of troop strength, nor because of tactics.
But because of dimension.
They were still thinking in terms of swords and shields.
While the enemy had already started using "Divine Punishment."
"Ser... should we... should we still proceed to The Bloody Gate?"
An adjutant asked cautiously.
Nestor looked up toward The Bloody Gate, then looked back at the elite knights behind him.
Go to The Bloody Gate?
To do what?
To guard the gate for them?
Or to pick up a couple of stones from the ruins as souvenirs?
But he had to obey Lysa's order.
"Forget it. Pass on my order,"
Nestor's voice sounded weary.
"The entire army... will set up camp and rest here."
He knew he couldn't listen to Lysa anymore.
He had to confirm all of this with his own eyes.
He had to figure out what that man named Lynn was truly trying to achieve!
But right now, what puzzled him most was this:
How had Lynn managed to stop his wildling followers, who lived by blood and savagery, from rushing in to burn, kill, and pillage after tearing down the gate?
It made no sense!
It fundamentally contradicted the wildlings' nature!
Never mind the wildlings; few armies in all of Westeros could resist such a temptation.
In wartime, all great lords turned a blind eye to the cruelty of their subordinates, and ultimately, it was the common folk who suffered.
Unless... a far more terrifying thought surfaced in Nestor's mind.
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