The dust slowly settled, revealing a scene of utter devastation.
The Bloody Gate, which had guarded the Vale for a thousand years and claimed to be impregnable, was now... just a pile of rubble.
Tormund's mouth hung open.
A mouth big enough to fit a fist couldn't make a single sound.
He just stared blankly at the colossal creature, who stood there with an innocent expression, scratching its crystalline head.
He... he just wanted it to give it a tap.
Yeah, just a little tap.
Who the fuck knew that this thing's version of "a little tap" would erase an entire fortress wall from existence?!
"Tormund!"
Mance Rayder's voice trembled with barely suppressed rage.
He grabbed Tormund by the collar, veins bulging on his usually calm forehead.
"You've done it now!"
"We are an army! Do you think we're still back in the frostfangs where you can piss wherever you please?"
Mance pointed a shaking finger at the heap of stone that used to be a gate.
"What were Lynn's orders?"
"To hold them!"
"Not to fucking demolish the door!"
"I... how was I supposed to know he was that strong?"
Tormund shrank back, actually looking guilty for once.
He glanced at the Ice Giant's blue eyes—still pure and innocent—and felt wrongly accused.
"I just... saw him getting bored, told him to touch it, just touch it..."
"That's your definition of a touch?!"
Mance nearly choked on his anger.
Great. Now the plan was in shambles.
The Bloody Gate was gone. The door to the Vale was wide open.
Do they go in, or not?
If they go in, they disobey Lynn's orders and change the strategy.
If they don't?
The door is literally smashed open for you. If you don't go in, what are you doing? Performance art?
The surrounding Wildling chiefs were equally stunned.
They looked at each other, then at the unobstructed path into the Vale, unsure whether to cheer or be terrified.
"Retreat!"
Mance Rayder finally gritted his teeth and squeezed out the word.
"What? Retreat?"
Tormund's eyes nearly popped out of his skull.
"The door is open! We're not going in for a look? There might be good wine inside!"
"Look at my ass!"
Mance kicked him in the rear.
"Lynn's plan is a diversion! The more noise we make here, the less pressure elsewhere!"
"Well, congratulations! The Bloody Gate just got punched out of existence!"
"Our mission is to delay! To pin the Vale army here! Not to siege the damn place!"
Mance took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
He knew now wasn't the time to assign blame.
"Everyone, fall back immediately!"
"Retreat into the deep woods. Hide our tracks!"
"Until Lynn returns, no one takes another step toward that ruin!"
Mance's command brooked no argument.
Though reluctant, the Wildlings executed the order swiftly, vanishing into the dense forest with the main force.
The Ice Giant, too large to hide, cast a lingering look at the "toy" he broke. Then, with heavy steps, he walked toward a wide clearing to take a nap.
Silence returned to the valley.
Leaving only a pile of ruins and the Vale soldiers on the remaining walls, who had turned to stone.
"They... they just left?"
A young sentry asked his companion, his voice trembling.
"It... it seems so..."
"Why?"
That question stumped everyone.
Why?
They used god-like strength to destroy the Bloody Gate with a single punch. They could have used those terrifying giant cavalry to crush the defenders in a frontal assault.
And then... they just left?
What was that?
Was that rational?
Did the demolition crew realize they had the wrong address?
The commander of the Bloody Gate, Ser Ronald, was slumped atop the ruins.
His mind was blank, unable to process what had just happened.
moments ago, he thought he was dead. When that Ice Giant raised its fist, he could smell the Stranger's breath.
But now, he was alive.
The enemy didn't even give them a second glance before turning around and leaving.
An absurd, yet terrifyingly convincing thought began to grow in his mind.
This wasn't an attack.
This was... a warning.
A naked display of power!
That King-Beyond-the-Wall, Lynn, was telling the entire Vale:
"I can crush you as easily as an ant."
"But I didn't."
"Because... mercy?"
Ser Ronald's body began to shake violently.
Not from fear, but from a mix of awe and the realization of how close he had come to death.
He replayed that punch in his mind.
The giant's movement was so casual, so... effortless. As if he were brushing a speck of dust from his coat.
But that speck of dust was the fortress the Vale had been proud of for a thousand years!
The gap in power was terrifying.
This was no longer a force mortals could contend with!
Aside from mercy, he couldn't think of any other reason.
"Quick... go report to Ser Nestor Royce!"
"And Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish!"
Ser Ronald scrambled to his feet, shouting hoarsely at a messenger.
"Tell them! The Bloody Gate... the Bloody Gate no longer exists!"
"Tell them we are not facing an army!"
"We are facing monsters!"
...
Meanwhile, on the Kingsroad.
Ser Nestor Royce was leading his cavalry on a forced march toward the Bloody Gate.
His face was dark as a thunderhead.
That madwoman Lysa's orders filled him with humiliation and rage.
Abandon the Kingsroad and retreat to the Bloody Gate?
That was handing the entire Riverlands to the North on a silver platter!
But what could he do?
He was a bannerman of House Arryn. Loyalty was carved into his bones.
Besides, the appearance of the Ice Giant had genuinely unsettled him.
Had Lynn's main force really turned toward the Vale?
Just as he was stewing in his frustration, a scout galloped toward him, face pale with panic.
"Ser! Disaster! The Bloody Gate... something happened at the Bloody Gate!"
"Calm down!" Nestor barked, though his heart sank.
"Have the Wildlings started the siege?"
"I said those monsters wouldn't be easy to deal with!"
"No... not a siege..." The scout gasped for air, his face twisted in disbelief.
"The Bloody Gate... is gone!"
"What did you say?!"
Nestor grabbed the scout, nearly hauling him out of his saddle.
"What do you mean 'gone'?! Was the gate breached? Did the garrison surrender?!"
"Neither!" The scout's voice cracked.
"The... the entire Bloody Gate, along with the towers on both sides... it's all gone!"
"A giant... with one punch... just one punch... erased it!"
"And then?"
Nestor felt his throat go dry.
"And then... then they left..."
"Left?"
Nestor released his grip, frozen in place.
Behind him, three thousand Vale knights stopped, looking at each other in bewilderment.
Smashed it... and then left?
What kind of tactic is that?
Nestor's brain spun, trying to comprehend this impossible intelligence.
He had considered countless scenarios. Wildlings storming the gate, a bloody battle. Wildlings bypassing the gate through mountain paths. Even the possibility that the Wildlings were a feint and Lynn was striking elsewhere.
But he never considered this.
The enemy smashed your door down, patted their ass, and walked away without even stepping inside?
"What were... the casualties?" Nestor asked, clinging to a shred of hope.
"No casualties."
The scout shook his head.
"Our men... are unharmed."
"They just... broke the door."
Nestor fell silent.
He felt like a fool in a mummer's show.
That stupid woman Lysa was still dreaming in Riverrun. She gathered the Vale's main strength to fight a decisive battle at the Bloody Gate.
And the enemy just walked up, ripped the pants off your defense, and said:
"What are you looking at? Just browsing. Not coming in."
What the fuck is this?!
This wasn't war. This was walking a dog.
How could anyone be humiliated like this?
A sense of powerlessness he had never felt before washed over Nestor.
He suddenly understood.
They had lost from the start.
Not in numbers, not in tactics.
But in dimension.
They were still thinking with swords and shields.
The enemy was already using "divine punishment."
"Ser... do we... do we still go to the Bloody Gate?"
A lieutenant asked cautiously.
Nestor looked toward the Bloody Gate, then back at his elite knights.
Go to the Bloody Gate?
To do what?
To stand guard over a hole? To pick up rocks as souvenirs?
But he had to follow orders.
"Forget it. Pass my order," Nestor's voice sounded exhausted.
"The army... will camp here and rest."
He knew he couldn't listen to Lysa anymore.
He had to see this with his own eyes.
He had to figure out what this man named Lynn really wanted!
And right now, what puzzled him most was this:
How did Lynn manage to stop a horde of bloodthirsty Wildlings from rushing in to rape and pillage after the gate was destroyed?
It didn't make sense!
It went against the very nature of Wildlings!
Forget Wildlings—in all of Westeros, there were very few armies disciplined enough to resist that temptation. In war, lords turned a blind eye to their soldiers' brutality. The common folk always suffered.
Unless...
A terrifying thought surfaced in Nestor's mind.