The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Damon sneered and said, "Mountain, stop with the petty tricks. The land is yours. We admit defeat this time. If you dare harm a single finger of Adam Marbrand, I guarantee you'll regret being born. You're nothing but a dog Tywin Lannister keeps. Before you bite, open your eyes and see who you're biting! Tywin Lannister's mother was a Marbrand, and I'm a Marbrand too. In a way, Adam and I are half-owners of you, you mangy cur."

The Mountain said, "Lord Damon, since you've agreed to return the land, I have no reason to cut off Adam's hand. Polliver, come back."

Polliver stopped, turned around, and stared straight at the Mountain, his eyes like awls. The Mountain tilted his head, and Polliver immediately looked like a frostbitten eggplant, devoid of energy. He dejectedly returned to the ranks, the hand holding the small knife twitching nervously, making his brothers worry that he might suddenly stab them.

Polliver's neuroticism made it impossible to fathom his thoughts and actions with common sense. If he didn't do something excessive and outrageous, everyone would find it strange. If he suddenly stabbed a comrade, no one would find it abnormal, even though Polliver had never harmed his own people!

Damon laughed heartily, "Mountain, that's all you're good for. Others may fear your brutality, but I don't. Even the fiercest dog is obedient in front of its master, because the master can cut off its food supply at any time, chop off its head, skin it, and cook it. Add a little snow salt, and the taste will be delicious."

Lord Damon was confident that the Mountain wouldn't dare do anything to him. By 'dare do anything,' he meant not daring to harm him with knives or guns. Some physical suffering was inevitable, though. The purpose was simple: intimidation!

If the Mountain really dared to do anything to him, Damon would have been killed by the Mountain back in Crakehall! Damon knew that if the Mountain killed him, it would be the same as killing himself. The Mountain, though brutal and fierce, wasn't stupid, and he naturally knew this.

Nobles play with nobles, and harming a noble's life is forbidden. This is a tacit rule. Everyone plays the trick of killing the other's dog, and they can afford to play it. Killing a dog and killing a dog's owner are two completely different things. Killing a dog is a small matter, but killing a dog's owner is a big deal! All dog owners have a bigger owner above them, and that's Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock.

The Mountain laughed, "Lord Damon is right. If you count the blood relationship between you and Tywin Lannister, you are indeed half my master." He stood up, drew his short knife, and cut the rope on the Earl's wrist. "Earl, I am indeed a dog, but if you are half my master, I want you to understand that you are nothing in my eyes." He looked at Polliver, "Polliver, which of the Earl's hands do you want to soak in wine?"

Polliver hadn't recovered from his depression. The twist of the Mountain ordering him to cut off a hand and then retracting the order had left a large shadow on his 'pure' mind. Don't think everyone fears Polliver, afraid that he might suddenly stab someone nearby. In fact, Polliver's heart is young and slightly childish, a 'simple' one-track mind.

Polliver glared at the Mountain, too lazy to answer him.

The Mountain picked up Damon's left hand, whose face was already turning white, "Polliver, how about the left hand?"

Polliver said with a sulky mood, "Sir, I like Lord Damon's right hand."

"Good, the right hand is yours!" The Mountain said lightly.

Lord Gawen forced a smile, "Ser Gregor, come back and sit down. You've worked hard."

Lord Leo also hurriedly said, "Ser Gregor, don't joke around. The matter has been resolved. Lord Damon will return the Westerling family's land. We are still as close as brothers and a family."

"That's right! We are all vassals under Tywin Lannister of the Westerlands. We are all one family. There was a small misunderstanding. Once it's cleared up, everything will be fine. Someone, bring out the good wine. We'll celebrate with Ser Gregor and the other sers..." Lord Gawen said with a smile.

However, a earth-shattering scream interrupted Lord Gawen's 'nagging'. The Mountain grabbed Lord Damon's right hand and chopped it off with a single blow. Lord Damon's earth-shattering scream echoed through the hall and out of the roof, floating over Crakehall: Ah—!

All the sers in the room were stunned.

Lord Leo, Lord Gawen, Lady Sybell, Jeyne, Ser Rolph, and the twenty-odd captured sers were all shocked.

The Mountain carefully wiped the blood from the short knife on Lord Damon's clothes, slowly sheathed the knife, frowned, and said, "Polliver, for your artwork, my pants and boots are splattered with blood. And they were just new."

Polliver was both surprised and delighted, and his face instantly bloomed with a smile like a flower. "Ser Gregor, you were actually serious." He jumped out happily, "Lord Gawen, give me a large glass wine vat, filled with wine. Not red wine, not dark-colored fruit wine, but pure white wine. I want to make the Earl's right hand into a work of art. The wine is very important." He happily came to Lord Damon's side, who had already knelt down, with Adam Marbrand, his face full of grief and indignation, beside him.

Adam Marbrand's hands were tied, unable to help his father, his eyes burning with fire.

Polliver picked up the blood-stained hand, his eyes glowing with a beast-like green light. "A good hand. It would have been even better if there were no calluses on the palm. The cut is complete, beautiful. I, Polliver, have always admired Ser Gregor's hand-chopping skills."

Polliver picked up the Earl's bloody hand and admired it, his eyes shifting from the Earl's bloody hand, slowly looking at Adam Marbrand's bound hands, revealing an even more admiring expression.

A chill rose in Adam Marbrand's heart. Was this guy a human or a ghost? Was he going to draw his knife? Was he going to cut off my hand? What did it mean for a knight, a warrior, to lose a hand, especially a right hand? It meant that his honor and pride would be gone forever.

Just as Polliver was making admiring sounds at Adam's hands, Lord Leo and Lord Gawen had already rushed to Lord Damon's side and separated Polliver and Adam with their bodies, preventing this madman from suddenly drawing his knife and cutting off Adam's hand.

The twenty-odd captured sers were terrified. If the Mountain dared to cut off Lord Damon's right hand, he would dare to cut off their heads. Some of the smaller sers couldn't even fully name all of Tywin Lannister's names, and their own weight wasn't heavy enough.

Lady Sybell was so frightened that she was stunned. Seeing the scene of blood splashing, Lady Sybell almost fainted.

Jeyne quickly stood up and said, "Quick, send him to the maester's tower."

Every household's maester's tower had a treatment room. Any noble with some strength would hire a maester to serve in their home. A maester had a very important role: a doctor.

In this fantasy world, there was no professional classification for doctors, nor were there any professional hospitals. Maesters were doctors. Crakehall naturally had a maester. Before they could send Lord Damon to the very crooked maester's tower, Lord Damon had already fainted.

The Mountain sat back in his chair, and the servants lowered their heads to wash the blood off the floor, not daring to look up. In the hall, more than two hundred people were silent except for Polliver, who was happily admiring the severed hand.

The Mountain said, "Lords, is there anyone who is unwilling to return the land? If so, speak up."

The whole place was quiet, and all twenty-odd sers were trembling with fear.

This guy was the Mountain!

They were really tired of living, listening to Lord Damon's bewitchment to unite and fight the Mountain. In fact, they hadn't even fought yet, and they had already lost miserably. They were all captured by the Mountain in their sleep. How could they fight? Lord Damon was their backer, and their backer's hand had been chopped off. How could they fight?

Every ser inexplicably felt a chill on their wrist.

That guy who followed the Mountain, named Polliver, looked like a psychopath no matter how you looked at him. The Mountain's other subordinates also looked abnormal, either with particularly large heads or particularly evil faces.

"Ser Gregor, I will return all the land to the Westerling family, whether it's mortgaged or bought out, I will return it all." A ser said tremblingly.

"Ser Alvett, you said to my father-in-law at my wedding in Casterly Rock that you would return the land when you got home, but you lied." The Mountain said lightly.

As soon as Polliver heard this, he immediately walked over. The twenty-odd sers were startled, and they retreated one after another, instantly leaving a large open space.

Polliver circled Alvett, looking displeased, clearly dissatisfied with Alvett's hands. But then he started staring at Alvett's face, which made Ser Alvett break out in a cold sweat. The psychopath seemed to have taken a liking to his features, and it was felt that the psychopath wanted to peel off his face to make it into a work of art.

"Lord Gregor, I swear by the Old Gods and the New, and by the honor of the Alvett family, that I will return all the land this time, and I swear by the Old Gods and the New, and by the honor of the family, that I will never be an enemy of the Westerling family or the Clegane family again." Ser Alvett's voice trembled slightly, and he tried to avoid Polliver's 'appreciation' of his 'beautiful face'. This psychopath seemed to have taken a liking to his features, and it could be felt that the psychopath wanted to peel off his face to make it into a work of art.

Ser Alvett just wanted to flee madly, but his whole body was stiff and he didn't dare to move half a step.