Petyr Baelish looked at the nobles he had once called friends, those with whom he had shared secrets and profits.
Now, they avoided him like the plague, lowering their gazes to study the patterns on the stone floor.
When the wall is about to fall, everyone gives it a shove.
This was King's Landing.
The reality of King's Landing.
Petyr's heart sank inch by inch into the abyss.
He knew he was already a political corpse.
No one would bet their life on a dead man.
In his despair, his gaze finally landed on a corner of the hall.
A massive figure standing like a mountain range.
Gregor Clegane.
"The Mountain."
The fiercest, cruelest, and most loyal mad dog of House Lannister.
His combat prowess was unquestionable.
Gregor stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his heavy steel armor glinting coldly in the torchlight.
His expression was hidden by the shadow of his helm.
But everyone could feel the pure, suffocating aura of brutality radiating from him.
A flicker of hope reignited in Petyr's eyes.
He knew the Mountain only obeyed Tywin Lannister, and only cared about gold and killing.
And he happened to have both.
Even though he had lost his assets in King's Landing to Lynn, he still had cards he hadn't played!
A qualified politician always prepares an escape route.
Clearly, Petyr was qualified.
"I choose..."
Petyr's voice carried the madness of a desperate gamble.
"I choose Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, as my champion!"
The entire hall fell dead silent.
Everyone sucked in a cold breath.
The Mountain!
He dared to choose the Mountain!
The monster who could tear a man in half with his bare hands!
Ned Stark's face turned incredibly grim.
He knew the horror of the Mountain better than anyone.
Elia Martell and her children had died at this beast's hands.
But the Mountain belonged to House Lannister. Would he fight for Littlefinger?
Jaime Lannister frowned as well.
He glanced at Cersei beside him, a question in his eyes.
The moment Cersei heard the name, her expression turned ugly.
She instinctively glanced at Lynn.
Lynn stood there calmly, not 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 any further!
"Ser Gregor."
Petyr gave Cersei no chance to speak.
With all his strength, he wheeled himself in front of the Mountain.
Looking up at the giant who towered two heads above him, his voice dripped with seduction.
"I know you serve House Lannister, but even the most loyal knight needs gold dragons."
"Ten thousand gold dragons."
Petyr held up a finger.
"Win this duel for me, and I give you ten thousand gold dragons!"
Ten thousand gold dragons!
A suppressed gasp went through the hall.
This sum was enough to buy a whole street of shops in King's Landing, enough to arm an elite mercenary company of five hundred men with fine steel!
Even the Mountain's eyes, hidden behind his helm, seemed to glint with greed.
His deep voice rumbled.
"I serve Lannister."
His answer was simple, but clear.
He was a Lannister dog.
If his master didn't speak, he wouldn't move.
"Your Grace, Queen Cersei."
Petyr turned immediately to Cersei.
He forced an ingratiating smile onto his pale face.
"This is merely a fair duel, unrelated to the honor of House Lannister."
"I only wish to borrow Ser Gregor's strength to prove my innocence to the Gods."
"Your innocence?"
Cersei's cold voice rang out with a sneer.
"Your innocence is worthless before the Gods."
Cersei stepped forward, standing before the Mountain, speaking in a tone that brooked no argument.
"Ser Gregor is a bannerman of House Lannister. His sword swings only for Casterly Rock and King Robert."
Cersei's gaze swept over Petyr's stunned face, her voice full of contempt.
"Not for a gutter rat skilled only in manipulating hearts!"
Cersei's refusal was decisive and humiliating.
She didn't look at Lynn while saying this.
But everyone in the hall understood who these words were meant for.
She was actually currying favor with Lynn, eager to distance herself from Petyr!
Realizing this, the way everyone looked at Lynn changed completely.
Petyr's face turned liver-colored.
Humiliation, utter humiliation!
He was the Master of Coin!
Who didn't speak softly to him before?
Now that he had lost power, even Cersei, a bitch with no real authority, dared to humiliate him?
Petyr gripped the arms of his wheelchair tightly.
It was over.
It seemed he didn't even have a last chance.
Just as everyone thought this farce would end in Petyr's despair...
"Twenty thousand gold dragons!"
Petyr practically roared the number.
"Plus all the profits from my shops and fleets in Essos for the next ten years!"
He was mad!
He had gone completely mad!
Varys's hands, hidden in his sleeves, trembled slightly.
He had informants in Essos; he knew better than anyone how massive Petyr's assets there were.
That was a true mountain of gold!
The Mountain's massive body moved visibly.
His breathing grew heavy.
Cersei's face grew even uglier.
She hadn't expected Petyr to be willing to pay such a price!
"Gregor!"
Cersei's voice carried a warning tone.
However, Petyr's eyes flashed with the madness of a gambler who had lost all his chips and was now betting his life.
Indeed, he had no choice but to bet everything.
If he lost, he would die, and he couldn't take his wealth to hell.
"Not enough?"
Petyr stared fixedly at the Mountain.
"Then I add everything I have!"
"My ancestral keep!"
"All my lands in the Fingers!"
"Win, and you are no longer Ser Gregor Clegane!"
"You will be the new Lord of the Fingers!"
"You will still serve the King, and as for whether you want to remain a bannerman to House Lannister, that is up to you!"
Boom——!
If the gold was merely temptation, the lordship was enough to cleave any loyalty!
A knight, through battle merits and rewards, might amass a fortune in a lifetime.
But to become a lord with his own castle and lands, to gain a hereditary title? That was nearly impossible!
Only an anomaly like Lynn could achieve it!
And now, the opportunity lay before the Mountain.
If he won, all this would be his!
The Mountain turned his head slowly, the eyes hidden beneath the helm looking at Cersei.
His voice lost its earlier deference, gaining an undeniable pressure.
"Your Grace."
"I need an answer."
Cersei's heart sank.
She knew the Mountain was tempted.
No, he had already made his choice.
He wasn't asking; he was notifying.
If she refused again, this mad dog might bite the hand that fed it right here and now!
Tywin wasn't here, and she had little power in her hands.
Cersei's gaze drifted uncontrollably to Lynn.
She hoped to see anger, or a threat, on Lynn's face.
But she saw nothing.
Lynn stood there quietly, the corners of his mouth even curving into a faint smile.
That smile looked as if he were watching a farce that had nothing to do with him.
Cersei understood.
Lynn didn't care!
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 the word through her teeth.
She felt her dignity being trampled and crushed by Lynn, the Mountain, Petyr, Robert... one after another.
"Since Ser Gregor is willing, I have nothing to say."
With that, Cersei turned, face green with rage, and stormed back to her seat, as if staying a second longer would suffocate her.
Having received permission, the Mountain let out a satisfied growl.
He turned, his massive body like a wall, blocking Petyr's wheelchair.
He accepted.
On Petyr's twisted face, a look of ecstatic survival finally appeared.
He had won.
He had used everything he had to win a chance at life!
With the Mountain here, who could defeat him?
In all of Westeros, who dared face this humanoid beast?
His gaze turned provocatively to Lynn.
Come on!
Now, it's your turn!
Your turn to choose who will die for you!
The eyes of the entire throne room focused on Lynn once more.
The Mountain.
The name weighed on everyone's heart like a boulder.
Ned's heart was in his throat.
He was ready. If Lynn asked, he would take the field himself.
Even if he had to stake the honor of House Stark and his old life, he would win this duel for Lynn!
Though he was older now, he was still a formidable knight!
On the Iron Throne, Robert's massive body leaned forward, his eyes flickering with excitement and worry.
"Lynn."
Robert's voice echoed through the hall.
"Who do you choose as your champion?"
"I can have Barristan or Jaime fight for you!"
Lynn smiled.
He looked around the room, at the nervous, worried, and gloating faces.
Finally, his gaze landed on Gregor Clegane, standing like a mountain peak.
"Your Grace."
Lynn's voice was calm and clear.
"I actually do not need a champion."
What?
Everyone froze.
Even the Mountain let out a confused grunt.
Lynn took a step forward, walking to the center of the hall, facing the Mountain from a distance.
He reached out and slowly drew the Valyrian steel sword with the wolf-head pommel from his waist.
Longclaw's blade flowed like water in the torchlight.
Jaime looked at Longclaw with envy.
The Lannisters dreamed of owning a Valyrian steel sword as their ancestral blade.
But even the poorest houses refused to sell to them...
Lynn's voice rang out.
"This trial began because of me."
"Naturally, it should be ended by me."
"Madness... he must be mad!"
A noble from the Reach muttered instinctively.
Ned Stark's heart almost leaped out of his chest.
He wanted to rush up, grab Lynn by the shoulders, and shake him awake.
He knew Lynn was strong.
In the Seven Kingdoms, Lynn's horsemanship and lance skills were recognized as peerless.
But this was a test of comprehensive combat ability.
A duel to the death!
His opponent was the Mountain!
The monster who could wear a hundred pounds of plate armor and wield a six-foot greatsword with one hand!
The demon who could crush a man's skull like a grape!
That was not a power a mortal could defeat!
In stark contrast to Ned's horror, Robert Baratheon on the Iron Throne had a look of near-manic brilliance in his cloudy eyes!
"Hahahaha!"
Robert laughed loudly, his belly shaking.
"That's right! That's the way!"
"That's the Northman I know!"
"Speaking with steel, not flapping lips like these southern maids!"
He stood up excitedly, pointing a fan-sized hand at Lynn, then at the Mountain, his flushed face full of bloodlust and desire.
"This is a duel fit for a King! This is a true warrior!"
Robert couldn't wait to see blood, to see a bloody slaughter worthy of epic songs!
Even if Lynn lost, he had ten thousand ways to make sure Petyr didn't survive!
However, just as Robert was about to bang the gavel and announce the start of the duel, a voice filled with despair and madness cut through the heated atmosphere.
"Your Grace! I have the right to refuse!"
It was Petyr Baelish!
He struggled violently.
Half his body leaned out of the wheelchair.
His face, twisted with fear, was as pale as a dead man's skin.
He stared fixedly at Lynn.
Others didn't know, but he knew!
He knew Lynn's terrifying nature better than anyone!
From the North all the way here, every enemy Lynn faced, every seemingly unsolvable deadlock, eventually became a step for him to climb higher!
He had investigated it all!
The Wildling King, the White Walkers, the Good Masters of Astapor, the Targaryen remnant...
He was like a gambler who never lost!
Every time everyone thought he would lose everything, he would smile, reveal his hand, and sweep all the chips on the table into his pocket!
Petyr didn't believe in Gods; he only believed in himself.
He believed even less in luck; he only believed in profit and calculation.
He had spent half a lifetime climbing to where he was today.
He couldn't die yet!
He had traded his life's wealth and future for the Mountain, a trump card to save his life!
He thought Lynn would act like any normal noble and choose a highly skilled knight as a champion.
Whether it was Loras Tyrell, a member of the Kingsguard, or even Ned Stark himself!
Petyr had absolute confidence that the Mountain would tear them to shreds!
But he had calculated everything except that Lynn wouldn't play by the rules!
He was going to fight himself!
In that instant, Petyr's brain, filled with schemes and calculations, spun wildly.
He couldn't let Lynn take the field!
Absolutely not!
Lynn must have some means he didn't know about!
"Your Grace!"
"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 fast as possible.
"Lord Lynn is the accuser! And I am the accused!"
"According to tradition, the accuser and the accused must each choose a champion to decide right from wrong with steel under the gaze of the Gods!"
"If the accused cannot find a knight willing to fight for him, then the accused has the right to fight himself."
"But Lord Lynn... he cannot be both the accuser and his own champion! This... this is against the rules! This is disrespect to the Gods!"
Petyr's words instantly silenced the frenzied hall.
People looked at each other.
Even Grand Maester Pycelle nodded thoughtfully.
"What Lord Baelish says... does seem to have merit."
Hearing this, a flicker of struggle passed through Ned Stark's eyes.
He wished he could hack Petyr to pieces right now, but reason told him Petyr was right.
This was the only chance for Lynn to escape this suicidal duel!
"Your Grace!" Ned stepped forward, his voice heavy.
"Though Petyr's crimes are heinous, his words align with the traditions of the Seven Kingdoms. Lynn indeed cannot take the field himself."
Are you joking? If Lynn really died, how would he face Arya?
Lynn must not die!
"Bullshit!"
Robert's roar echoed in the hall as he kicked over his goblet.
"I am the King! What I say is the rule! What I say is tradition!"
He looked with disgust at Petyr citing scriptures in his wheelchair, then at the solemn-faced Ned.
"When did you become like these nancy boys, whining and moaning?"
"I just want to see a good fight!"
"Anyone who talks nonsense again, I'll rip his head off first!"
Robert's tyranny silenced both Ned and Pycelle.
Petyr's heart sank completely into the abyss.
It was over.
Even his last struggle seemed so laughable and pale.
He slumped in his wheelchair, eyes empty, as if he were already dead.
Just then, Lynn spoke up.
"Your Grace."
"Lord Petyr is right."
What?
Everyone froze.
Even Petyr jerked his head up, looking at Lynn in disbelief.
He... he was speaking for him?
"A trial should indeed follow tradition."
"We cannot break custom because of me."
Lynn's gaze swept over Petyr's stunned face, a playful curve on his lips.
"In that case, I will re-select my champion."
Hearing this, Petyr's dead heart instantly came back to life!
Ecstasy!
Boundless ecstasy!
He didn't have to die!
As long as Lynn didn't fight, no matter who it was, they couldn't possibly defeat the Mountain!
He had won!
He had wrestled a sliver of life from the jaws of death!
Ned also breathed a sigh of relief, looking at Lynn with gratification.
Robert pouted in dissatisfaction, like someone whose roast meat had been snatched from his mouth, but said nothing more.
"Good, very good!"
Petyr trembled with excitement, urging impatiently.
"Lord Lynn, please choose your champion!"
"Is it Duke Stark? Or a warrior of the Kingsguard?"
His gaze swept provocatively across the hall, as if he could already see the dawn of victory.
Because he knew, apart from the inscrutable Lynn, no one present was a match for the Mountain.
Lynn smiled.
He turned, his gaze passing over everyone, landing on the entrance of the hall.
"I choose... The Hound, Sandor Clegane!"