In the forest, the atmosphere was so heavy it felt like water could be wrung from it.
Mance Rayder's face was grimmer than the stones in the ruins of The Bloody Gate.
He stared intently at Tormund, his gaze as if he wanted to skin him alive.
"I'm telling you again, I just let him touch it..."
Tormund's voice grew softer and softer, finally fading completely under Mance's murderous gaze.
He was in the wrong.
What he did was indeed a bit over the top.
Lynn's order was to harass, to delay, to be a group of annoying flies.
But he, on the other hand, directly demolished their house.
"What do we do now?"
A wildling chieftain asked cautiously, breaking the suffocating silence.
"The gate is open, we... can't just leave, can we?"
Everyone's eyes focused on Mance.
Entering would be disobeying military orders.
Not entering, when the gate is wide open for you!
It felt like you had gone to great lengths to pry open a girl's bedroom door, only to say goodnight to her at the entrance and do nothing else.
No matter how you thought about it, it was frustrating.
Mance took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the anger in his heart.
He closed his eyes, his mind rapidly processing.
What was Lynn's core strategy?
It was containment.
To use their surprise force to firmly pin down the main forces of The Vale at The Bloody Gate, creating opportunities for Lynn's actions in The Eyrie and Robb's actions in The Riverlands.
Now, although the gate was gone, the Vale's army was still there.
Ser Nestor Royce's army was probably still on its way.
Their mission had not ended with the collapse of a gate.
"Our mission is not to attack the city."
Mance opened his eyes, his voice returning to its usual composure.
"It's to hold back the Vale's army."
"The Bloody Gate is gone, but the people are still here."
"The plan remains unchanged."
"Continue to harass."
"Huh?" Tormund immediately became displeased upon hearing this.
"Still harassing?"
"Their main gate is gone, and we're still going to curse at their doorstep?
Isn't that just plain crazy?"
"This is an order."
Mance gave him a cold glance.
"And from now on, you stay quietly in the back. If you dare to act on your own again, I'll tie you to a tree and let the Frost Giants use you as a toy."
Tormund shrank his neck, not daring to speak further.
He had personally witnessed what happened to that big guy's "toys"... Night fell once again.
Above the ruins of The Bloody Gate, the Vale soldiers lit bonfires.
Their morale was at an all-time low, and everyone's face was filled with confusion and fear.
Commander Ser Ronald was sitting on a huge rock, staring blankly at the flattened pass.
One punch.
Just one punch.
A thousand years of glory turned to dust.
He still couldn't understand why the opponent, after demonstrating god-like power, had silently retreated.
This feeling was even worse than being directly killed!
It was like a strong man kicking open your front door, and then, under the terrified gaze of your whole family, he just picked up an apple from your table, wiped it, put it back, and then turned and left.
Extremely insulting, he could already picture it.
Since the opponent hadn't attacked, he couldn't abandon his post. He still had to be stationed at "The Bloody Gate."
"Hey! Grandchildren! Your grandpa is back again!"
The familiar loud voice came from the forest once more.
Tormund, with a group of bored wildlings, resumed their daily task.
However, this time, things were a little different.
The Vale soldiers behind the ruins just looked up, numbly glanced at them, and then... nothing else happened.
There were no angry curses, no tense vigilance, not even anyone raising their shields.
They just stood there, like a group of soulless puppets, letting the wildlings' foul language drift over their heads.
The other side had the power to destroy this place ten times over, yet they were still playing these disgusting games, clearly just toying with them.
They couldn't even be bothered to draw their swords now.
"Fuck!"
Tormund cursed.
He felt like he was punching cotton.
What was the fun in fighting?
It was about exchanging blows, you curse me, I stab you.
Now the other side had just laid down, letting you do whatever you want. How was that any fun?
"Hey! Are you dead? Give me some reaction!"
Tormund, not believing it, picked up a stone and threw it over.
The stone hit a soldier's helmet with a crisp 'thwack'.
The soldier shook his head, rubbed his neck, and then... continued staring blankly at the bonfire.
Tormund: "..."
The wildlings behind him also looked at each other.
This job, they couldn't do it anymore.
This feeling was even more boring than cursing at those eunuchs from the Nights Watch.
Next, the situation became increasingly bizarre.
The wildlings showed up on time, spewing insults at the ruins.
The Vale soldiers gathered to watch every night, their eyes filled with a calm indifference that seemed to say, "Do you think I care?"
Gradually, the wildlings also found it uninteresting.
The curses turned into conversations.
"Hey, you guys over there, what did you eat for dinner?"
"Black bread and salted pork soup, what about you?"
"Roasted venison leg! It was delicious!"
By the third day, Tormund couldn't take it anymore.
He watched a soldier on the other side drinking from a waterskin, and he himself was parched.
He boldly walked out of the forest, approaching the ruins step by step.
Everyone became tense.
The Vale soldiers gripped their spears, and the wildlings pressed their hands to the battle-axes at their waists.
Tormund stopped in front of the ruins, pointed to the waterskin in the soldier's hand, and then pointed to his own mouth.
The soldier was stunned for a moment, then looked back at his commander, Ronald.
Ronald was silent for a moment, then nodded.
The soldier unfastened his waterskin and threw it forcefully towards Tormund.
Tormund caught it, pulled out the stopper, sniffed it to confirm it wasn't poisoned, then tilted his head back and guzzled.
The cool, clear water slid down his throat, and he let out a contented burp.
"Thanks, brother!"
This heartfelt thank you was like a stone dropped into a calm lake.
The barrier was broken at this moment.
No one wanted to pay the price for a ruler's war.
Everyone was just an ordinary person who wanted to live.
A wildling pulled out a piece of charred, fragrant dried meat from his 懷 and threw it over.
A Vale soldier hesitated, then unfastened a small knife from his waist as an exchange.
Soon, the two sides of the ruins became a temporary trading market.
The wildlings exchanged northern specialties for exquisite southern trinkets.
The atmosphere became unprecedentedly harmonious.
Some bolder individuals even draped their arms over each other's shoulders, chatting across the ruins about their wives back home.
Mance Rayder stood in the distance, silently watching this scene, complex light flickering in his eyes.
He knew that the opportunity had come.
He straightened his robes and walked alone towards the ruins.
"I am their leader, Mance Rayder."
He looked at the Vale commander, Ser Ronald, who was also walking forward.
"I think we can talk."
Ronald looked at the man before him, who had a refined demeanor and didn't resemble a wildling at all, and nodded.
"What... exactly do you want to do?"
This was the question Ronald most wanted to ask.
"We?"
Mance smiled, a hint of self-mockery in his expression.
"We just want to survive."
He didn't preach directly, but instead asked a rhetorical question.
"Ser Knight, aren't you curious?"
"Why are we outside the Wall."
"Why are we abandoning our homes and moving south with our families?"
"Why do we, who possess the power to destroy The Bloody Gate with a single punch, merely sit here and chat with you?"
Each question struck Ronald's heart.
Yes, why?
"Because the true enemy is not us."
Mance's voice deepened.
"It's the Long Night, it's the Others, it's the winter that can swallow all of Westeros."
"Our king, Lynn, is fighting for all of Westeros."
"But what about you?"
Mance's gaze sharpened.
"What is your Lysa doing?"
"She poisoned her own husband, Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King."
"She framed the Lannisters, trying to ignite the War of the Five Kings and make the entire continent flow with blood."
"She even stabbed Lord Lynn in the back while he was heading north to fight the Others, to buy everyone a chance at survival!"
"She wants to cut off all supply lines to the North, not only forcing us to face the dead alone but also to starve us to death in the ice and snow."
"All of this is just for her ridiculous lust for power and her pathological obsession with a man who doesn't love her at all!"
Ronald's face turned pale.
Although he had already guessed some things from Lynn's actions in The Eyrie.
But when these words came from the mouth of an "enemy," the impact was still unbearable for him.
"You... what evidence do you have?" he asked with difficulty.
"Evidence?" Mance smiled.
He pointed to the ruins.
"That is the best evidence."
"If our king were a brutal conqueror, you would all be cold corpses by now."
"How could you be sitting here chatting and drinking in peace?"
"Lynn could have ordered the Frost Giants to flatten you along with the entire valley."
"Then scorched The Eyrie with dragonfire, turning your homeland into an inferno."
"But he didn't."
"He is merely giving you a warning, and also a final chance."
"He wants to end this war, which was started by Lysa, should not have happened, and is inherently unjust, with the smallest possible cost."
"This is the benevolence of our king."
"Ser Knight, now you tell me, who is the real victim?"
Ronald fell completely silent.
Yes, if they had Lynn's overwhelming power, they would have long since indulged themselves.
But Lynn did not do that.
The Vale soldiers behind him had also heard these words.
Their faces were filled with shock, anger, and a... dawning shame.
They had always believed they were fighting for honor.
But after hearing Mance reveal Lysa and Petyr's schemes, they understood everything.
They were merely pawns in a madwoman's conspiracy.
A butcher's knife aimed at a true hero!
And the king they regarded as an enemy, despite having an absolute advantage, chose the most merciful approach.
The grace of not killing.
These four words weighed heavily on the heart of every Vale soldier.
Their gazes towards the wildlings opposite them no longer held hostility, but rather a hint of respect and gratitude.
Just then, a scout galloped from behind the mountain path, looking panicked.
"Lord Ronald!"
"Ser Nestor Royce's army... has reached the mountain pass!"
What?!
Ronald's heart sank.
He instinctively turned and looked at Mance Rayder.
Mance's face still held that calm, indifferent smile, as if he had anticipated all of this.
Ser Nestor Royce had arrived.
Would this old general, the most stubborn and loyal to the House Arryn in The Vale, believe all of this?
A new conflict seemed imminent.
Sweat beaded on Ronald's hand gripping his sword hilt.
How should he choose?
Should he continue to carry out Lysa's orders and be an enemy to these "enemies"? Or... follow his inner sense of justice and side with this benevolent Lord Lynn?
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