That sword—not a slash, more like a battering ram's impact! Too fierce. That wide blade carried thunderous momentum. Even emitted teeth-aching howls!
Facing this terrifying strike that could split a man in two, Sandor Clegane wisely chose not to block head-on. His relatively "small" body slid sideways-backward with shocking agility. Longsword angled upward. Precisely struck the Mountain's greatsword's side.
CLANG——!!! An earsplitting clash of steel. Sparks flew. Sandor felt an irresistible force transmit through his blade. Numbed his grip. His entire arm instantly lost feeling. He staggered backward from that brute force. Stone slabs beneath his feet cracked.
Such powerful strength! Missing the first strike, the Mountain didn't pause. His massive body displayed flexibility completely inconsistent with his size. One step forward. Greatsword swept horizontally. Brought a gust of wind. Straight for Sandor's waist.
Sandor just steadied himself. Corner of his eye glimpsed that death's cold light. No time to think. Could only raise his longsword before him. Simultaneously pushed his shield up with all strength.
BANG——!!! Another dull, heart-stopping boom. The thick wood-and-iron shield in Sandor's hands—before the Mountain's greatsword—fragile as dry bark. Shield split straight down the middle! Broken wood chips and iron shards scattered. Sandor was swept flying. Rolled several times on the ground before barely stopping.
He felt his organs displaced. Throat sweetened. A mouthful of fresh blood uncontrollably sprayed out.
The entire field fell deathly silent. Then came tsunami-like gasps and screams! Too fast! Too strong! From duel's start to now—barely two breaths! The Hound, Sandor Clegane—this warrior with fierce reputation throughout Westeros—had no power to fight back. Completely crushed by Gregor!
On the high platform, Joffrey's face showed morbid wild joy. He excitedly clenched his fists. Lyana frowned. If she wasn't mistaken, wasn't the Hound Joffrey's man? He wanted to cheer for Gregor? Was this right?
Lyana imperceptibly glanced at Joffrey. Secretly shook her head. What a fool. No wonder Lord Lynn played him like a puppet. Pitiful.
Cersei watched two retainers slaughter each other. Proud chest heaving violently. What was this all about! Ned Stark frowned deeply. Hand unconsciously pressed his sword hilt. Sansa beside him—already pale with fright—instinctively closed her eyes. Couldn't watch.
Only Arya stared hard at that struggling figure trying to rise. Small fists clenched tight. The Hound absolutely couldn't lose. If he lost—Lynn also lost!
At the noble seats' other end, one figure clashed with the surrounding tense atmosphere. "Littlefinger" Petyr Baelish. He sat calmly in his seat. Didn't even lean forward. Face wore a faint smile. Those gray-green eyes—undisguised smugness and contempt.
His gaze didn't even lock on the field's duel. Instead drifted lightly toward Lynn's direction. That look seemed to say: See? This is the price for challenging me! Before absolute strength, any schemes are jokes!!
He leisurely adjusted the silver mockingbird pin on his collar. As if appreciating a play whose ending he already knew. Relaxed and comfortable.
"Kill him! Kill him!" In the crowd, people began shouting madly. They'd bet on the Mountain. Now cheered this human beast's brutality.
The Mountain ignored everyone's reactions. Behind his helmet—no one could see his expression. But those eyes through the visor's gaps—only cold, bloodthirsty killing intent. He took heavy steps. One by one toward Sandor on the ground. Like appreciating prey's final struggles before death.
He would torture him slowly! Just like childhood—when he pressed Sandor's face into the brazier. He'd make this damned brother die in endless pain and despair!
Sandor coughed bloody spit. Used his sword to support himself. Shakily stood. His left arm couldn't lift anymore. Broken shield hung uselessly. Chest armor dented deeply. He looked at that mountain-like brother approaching. Those gray eyes held no fear. Instead—eerie calm.
Twenty years. This nightmare figure haunted him for twenty years! Every time he closed his eyes, he smelled his own flesh burning. Saw Gregor's face twisted with excitement. God knew how he survived these years! He hated him. He feared him. But today—he didn't want to fear anymore!
The Mountain walked before Sandor. Stopped. Looked down at this struggling brother. Seemed to enjoy this cat-and-mouse game. "Kneel." The Mountain's voice from beneath his helmet. Dull like from a grave's depths. "Beg me for mercy. Then I'll give you a quick death."
Sandor grinned. That hideously burned half-face made his smile especially twisted and terrifying. He spat blood on the ground. "Fuck you. Beg you for mercy? You beast can dream on!"
"ROAR——!!!" The Mountain was completely enraged! He unleashed an earth-shaking roar. Raised his greatsword again. Directly slashed down! He'd smash this ignorant bastard—man and sword—into meat paste!
On the high platform, everyone instinctively held their breath. King Robert shot up. Seemed to want to stop it. But too late!
Just when everyone thought the Hound was doomed—sudden change! Facing that fatal strike, Sandor didn't retreat. Instead stepped forward! His body twisted at an eerie angle. Barely avoided that howling blade. The greatsword—with tremendous force—slammed into stone slabs behind him.
BOOM! A huge crash. Shattered stone flew! But Sandor appeared at the Mountain's left side! The Mountain's blind spot!
Sandor's eyes exploded with unprecedented brilliance! He'd waited for this moment too long! From Gregor's first charging step, he'd been calculating, luring! He used his injured body. Feigned weakness. Lured this arrogant beast into using his most powerful yet most flawed move!
Gregor's swordplay—wide open, unstoppable. He never defended. Because he believed no one could survive his storm-like attacks! This was his greatest advantage. Also his deadliest weakness! Sandor had studied Gregor too long! Today was the day to settle grudges! This day—he'd waited too long!
Sandor's longsword thrust out viciously! Sword tip's target—not that heavy armor. But the armor's connection point. That narrow gap! The Mountain's left knee's back—the popliteal fossa!
SQUELCH! Blade entering flesh—in the silent tourney ground—especially clear. Sandor's longsword precisely pierced that weak chainmail layer. Sank into the Mountain's thigh!
"AAAHHH——!!!" The Mountain unleashed an agonized roar! His massive body violently trembled. Left leg weakened. Uncontrollably knelt on one knee!
This sudden shocking reversal stunned everyone! The previous second—controlling everything, god-demon-like Gregor Clegane—actually... injured?!
On the high platform, Petyr Baelish's confident smile instantly froze. Those always-calculating gray-green eyes—for the first time—showed incredulous shock. He shot up from his seat. Body leaning forward. Stared hard at the kneeling Mountain. As if his gaze could lift him back up.
How was this possible? House Lannister's fiercest mad dog—how could he be injured by his worthless brother? The script wasn't written this way!
In stark contrast to his loss of composure—Lynn. Lynn drained his wine cup. Face showed satisfied smile. He knew—the good show just began. The undead Mountain was the most terrifying existence. But even so, Sandor could achieve ultimate mutual destruction.
Sandor's potential exceeded this. Let alone the Mountain who could still feel pain now. The Mountain underestimated Sandor's determination to kill him. He studied day and night how to kill him.
Here, Sandor struck successfully. No lingering. He yanked out his longsword. Brought out a spray of scalding blood. Simultaneously retreated rapidly. Again opened distance from the Mountain. His flame-destroyed face—no joy from success. Only calm!
He knew—this wasn't enough. To kill this monster—just injuring his leg was far from enough!
"Bastard... you damned bastard..." The Mountain knelt on one knee. He slowly turned his head. Those eyes through the visor's gaps already blood-red. That was a beast completely enraged—most primitive, most insane killing intent!
Gregor threw away his heavy greatsword. Used both hands to support himself. Slowly stood. His left leg bleeding. Steps somewhat staggering. But his aura—more terrifying, more horrifying than before! Like a wounded beast—completely entering frenzy!
"I'll... crush... your head!!!" The Mountain roared. Abandoned weapons. Bare-handed charged at Sandor! Those two arms—thicker than normal thighs—were the most terrible weapons! He'd use his own hands to crush alive this brother who dared hurt him!
Facing the frenzied charging brother, Sandor's eyes flashed solemnity. But he didn't retreat. Sandor gripped his longsword with both hands. Body slightly sank. Assumed standard duel stance.
He knew—true life-death struggle just began. He'd use twenty years' accumulated hatred to draw a bloody, complete end to his childhood!
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