One hundred?
Against ten?
And you're asking us to handpick the best hundred men we have?
The advantage is mine!
Ser Gerold Grafton's wrinkled face twitched violently from sheer shock.
He had lived over seventy years, fought in countless tourneys, and witnessed endless duels.
But he had never heard such an absurd, such... ridiculously suicidal request!
This wasn't just arrogance.
This was an insult!
A naked, slap-in-the-face humiliation to the entire knightly class of the Vale!
Who did he think he was?
The Warrior himself come down to earth?
Even the greatest heroes of legend wouldn't dare claim they could face ten knights at once!
And on top of that, the fight only had to last as long as a single candle burned?
Even if these hundred men lined up to let Lynn kill them one by one, how long would that take?
This wasn't a battle. It was a complete farce!
It was a vicious prank played on them by this savage from beyond the Wall!
"You... are you certain?"
Ser Marq Arryn's voice trembled.
He genuinely wondered if the thin air of the Eyrie had frozen Lynn's brain.
Behind him, the expressions on the faces of the Vale nobles were a sight to behold.
Some were flushed red with rage, feeling deeply insulted.
Others had eyes gleaming with calculation, hearts pounding with a wild thought.
What if...
What if Lynn isn't joking?
What if he's actually willing to retreat over such a guaranteed loss?
Then this... isn't this white bread falling from the heavens?
Hand-delivered to their mouths by the Seven themselves!
"I keep my word," Lynn said calmly.
His gaze slowly swept across the crowd, taking in every expression.
Finally, his eyes landed on the black-robed figures behind him—the Winter Ghosts standing as still as statues.
The Vale knights followed his gaze.
Only now did they truly scrutinize the nine "helpers" Lynn had brought.
One of the White Walkers was disguised as Petyr Baelish, so he didn't count as a fighter in their eyes.
The others were shrouded in black cloaks from head to toe. You couldn't see their faces, nor could you see any weapons.
The knights didn't know that these dead men had been powerful warriors in life, only appearing gaunt because death had dried them out.
All they saw were slender figures that didn't look like strong fighters.
They looked more like... mysterious maesters, or perhaps just a group of malnourished servants.
You expect these nine to stand with Lynn against a hundred fully armored, battle-hardened Vale knights?
Madness.
The world has gone completely mad!
"Done!"
Ser Gerold Grafton slammed his greatsword back into the ground with a deafening CLANG!
His cloudy old eyes burned with a light they hadn't held in years!
"On behalf of all the knights of the Vale, I accept your challenge!"
"We won't just pick a hundred!"
"We will release Bronze Yohn Royce!"
"We will gather the strongest warriors in the entire Vale right here!"
"Three days!"
The old knight held up three fingers, his voice shaking with excitement.
"We only need three days!"
"Three days from now, right here in the Moon Garden!"
"Let the Seven bear witness to how the Vale defends its honor!"
"Good."
Lynn nodded, a smile on his face that no one could quite read.
"Then I will be imposing on the Eyrie's hospitality for these three days."
"I hope you can prepare enough cattle and sheep for my dragon."
"He has a bad temper and only eats fresh meat. If his belly isn't full, he gets cranky, and even I can't control him."
"If people start disappearing mysteriously, don't say I didn't warn you."
With that, Lynn ignored the varied expressions of the Valemen, turned, and leisurely walked into the castle.
The ten black-robed figures, including "Petyr," followed him silently.
Only when their backs had completely disappeared into the shadows of the castle did the Moon Garden erupt into a roar of cheers!
"We won! We've definitely won!"
"The Seven preserve us! It's a miracle!"
"Quick! Send ravens to everyone! Let the whole Vale come to witness this victory!"
Nobles embraced each other; knights banged their shields in excitement.
The terror of the dragon, the humiliation of Littlefinger's truths... all of it was forgotten in an instant.
They could already see the scene three days from now: Lynn, humiliated and beaten, dragging his monsters out of the Vale with his tail between his legs.
Ser Marq Arryn watched the frenzy, his lips moving as if to speak, but finally, he just let out a long sigh.
He felt something was wrong. It felt... unfair.
And things were never this simple.
That young man, Lynn... his eyes were too calm.
Calm enough to know he wasn't a gambler about to lose everything.
---
Meanwhile, outside the Bloody Gate.
The Mountains of the Moon stretched like a dragon's spine, cutting the Vale off from the rest of the world.
And the Bloody Gate was the only throat through this natural barrier.
Two square towers of massive stone guarded the narrow pass. Between them stood a heavy gate of iron and weirwood.
For thousands of years, this fortress had seen countless wars but had never been breached from the front.
But today, the defenders of the Bloody Gate felt like they were going insane.
Ever since that legendary Wildling army appeared on the other side of the mountains three days ago, their nightmare had begun.
These Wildlings didn't follow the rules!
They didn't siege, and they didn't challenge them to battle.
During the day, they hid in the woods, not a ghost to be seen.
But once night fell, they turned into a different breed entirely.
Thwip—
A flaming arrow, trailing a long tail of fire, cut through the night sky and landed precisely at the feet of a dozing sentry.
The sentry jumped out of his skin, nearly falling off the wall.
"Hey! You grandsons up there! Your Grandpa is here to bring you some warmth!"
From the dark woods below came Tormund's signature booming voice, followed by raucous laughter.
"If you've got stones, come out! Come fight your Grandpa man-to-man!"
"What kind of hero hides behind a stone wall?"
The commander on the wall turned purple with rage but could do nothing.
Charge out?
Are you kidding? Who knew what monsters were hiding in those pitch-black woods.
Besides, Lady Lysa and Ser Nestor's orders were to hold the position!
Until the main force returned, they were not to make a move!
"Ignore them! Stay alert!"
The commander could only grit his teeth and shout orders.
But that was just the beginning.
The harassment didn't stop all night.
One moment it was a rain of fire arrows—not enough to kill, but enough to make it look like the Bloody Gate was burning down, forcing everyone to run around with water buckets.
The next moment, eerie, terrifying howls echoed from the forest.
Wolf howls. Ghostly wails.
Someone even mimicked a woman screaming. It was terrifying, demoralizing, and incredibly annoying.
The worst part? They somehow gathered a pile of cow and sheep dung and used slings to launch it over the walls. The stench was everywhere.
"Fuck!"
Tormund stomped out of the woods, kicking a rock in frustration.
"You call this a war? This is more boring than swatting flies off a milkmaid's ass!"
He looked at Mance Rayder, who was leaning against a tree, leisurely polishing his longsword.
"I say, ex-King-Beyond-the-Wall, are we just going to keep playing these games?"
Mance didn't even look up.
"Those are Lynn's orders. You just need to follow them. You don't want to make Lord Lynn angry, do you?"
"Orders? Bullshit orders!"
Tormund spat on the ground.
"He told us to pin down the Valemen, but right now they're hiding like turtles in their shells! They won't come out!"
"We're sitting here shouting like fishwives, and he's probably up in the Eyrie enjoying himself!"
"No! I can't take it anymore!"
Tormund jumped to his feet, his copper-penny eyes locking onto a massive figure nearby.
The Ice Giant.
It was sitting quietly in a clearing, like a silent glacier.
Its blue-flame eyes were staring curiously at the Bloody Gate.
A crazy idea formed instantly in Tormund's mind.
"Hey! Big guy!"
Tormund waved at the Ice Giant.
"Let's make a deal?"
"You're just sitting there anyway. Why don't you go... stretch your legs?"
The Ice Giant slowly turned its head, looking down at the ant-sized Tormund with a hint of confusion in its blue eyes.
"See those two stone pillars?"
Tormund pointed at the distant Bloody Gate.
"Go over there... and just give it a little tap."
"Tormund! Are you mad?!"
Mance Rayder finally stood up, shock written all over his face.
"Lynn's order was harassment! Not a siege!"
"I'm not sieging anything!"
Tormund spread his hands innocently.
"I'm just letting him test the merchandise. What if that gate isn't sturdy?"
"You..."
Mance wanted to say something, but it was too late.
The Ice Giant was clearly interested in Tormund's proposal.
It let out a low rumble and slowly stood up.
The earth trembled violently the moment it rose.
BOOM... BOOM... BOOM...
The fifty-foot behemoth took heavy steps toward the fortress, which suddenly looked "petite" in comparison.
Panic exploded on the walls of the Bloody Gate.
"What... what in the Seven Hells is that?!"
"A giant! It's a giant!"
"You're joking! Giants don't grow that big!"
"I thought they weren't attacking?!"
Terror reached its peak instantly.
The commander watched the moving mountain approach, feeling his calves cramp with fear.
"Loose! Loose! All archers! Kill it!"
Thwip-thwip-thwip—!
A dense rain of arrows poured down on the Ice Giant like locusts.
However, the arrows capable of piercing leather armor only made crisp ding-ding sounds as they hit the giant's body of ancient, mystical ice.
They bounced off harmlessly, falling to the ground.
They didn't even leave a scratch.
"It's useless! Quick! Send word to Ser Nestor!"
The commander screamed in despair.
But it was too late.
The Ice Giant had reached the Bloody Gate.
It lowered its head, blue flames dancing in its eyes, curiously examining the "toy" blocking its path.
Then, under the horrified gaze of everyone on the wall...
It slowly raised its right fist.
A fist larger than a boulder, made of pure ice and power.
"NO—!"
The commander let out the last, most helpless scream of his life.
The Ice Giant didn't seem to use much strength.
Its movement was almost casual, like a child knocking on a door.
The fist landed gently on the gate that claimed to be impregnable.
There was no earth-shattering explosion.
Only a dull, terrifying sound that seemed to stop every heart—
THUD.
Time seemed to slow down.
The wall, built of stone, steel, and weirwood, caved inward the moment it touched that hill-sized fist. It warped, twisted, and then... shattered inch by inch!
Then came the two square towers supporting the gate!
The solid stone structures began to crack at the base like spiderwebs.
The cracks spread wildly, visible to the naked eye!
CRACK... RUMBLE—!!!
The millennial fortress, the strongest gate in Westeros.
Collapsed under a single punch!
Rocks burst apart, dust soared into the sky!
The entire valley shook violently under the terrifying force!
When the dust settled.
The so-called Bloody Gate no longer existed.
All that remained was a pile of ruins and a... completely unobstructed path.
In the forest, Mance Rayder's jaw dropped. He stared blankly at the miraculous scene, his longsword falling from his hand with a CLANG.
And the instigator, Tormund, was equally stupefied.
He just... wanted it to touch the gate.
Who knew... that this was what "a little tap" meant to that thing?
atop the ruins, the Ice Giant retracted its fist and scratched its head in confusion.
It seemed... it had broken the toy.