The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Lord Eddard watched the Hound and the Kingslayer, a sense of unease settling in his stomach. Both were men of the Westerlands, one a Lannister, the other a dog kept by the Lannisters.

Eddard hoped they would cripple each other.

The two horses began to run at full speed, the ground trembling. Eddard, standing on the temporary platform, could feel the slight tremor in the wooden planks beneath his feet. The Hound leaned forward on his horse, his lance as steady as a rock, taking the offensive.

Jaime Lannister, arrogant as ever, hadn't even lowered his visor. A relaxed smile played on his lips, and he even whistled a carefree tune, as if victory was already assured.

Jaime was also taking the offensive.

This was intriguing. Generally, when horses charged at each other, if one side took the offensive, the other would adopt a defensive counter-attack.

But Jaime disdained defensive tactics, choosing instead to meet the Hound head-on!

The horses ran faster and faster, both lances rising simultaneously in almost identical attacking motions. But at the moment before the lances clashed, Jaime shifted his body, causing Clegane's lance tip to be skillfully deflected by his lion-emblazoned golden shield. At the same time, Jaime's lance struck the Hound's shield squarely. Amidst the splintering wood, the Hound weathered Jaime's blow, wobbling precariously on his horse, but ultimately managing to stay mounted.

A cheer went up from the crowd. It was unclear whether they were applauding Jaime's skillful evasion or the Hound's resilience in not falling.

The Hound steadied himself, sharply reined his horse around, and rode back to the edge of the field to prepare for the second round. Jaime Lannister tossed aside his broken lance, grabbed a new one, and said to the squire who handed it to him, "Hey, when I win this tournament, I'll split half the gold dragons with you." The squire was still gaping when Jaime burst into laughter.

He was merely jesting with the squire.

The Hound spurred his horse forward, and Lannister rode to meet him.

Again, both adopted offensive stances.

The horses drew closer, and both men shouted almost simultaneously, their lances flashing out like lightning, both aimed straight at the other's chest. Seeing the lance coming true, Jaime shifted his body, angling his shield to deflect the Hound's lance with ease.

However, Sandor Clegane also angled his body and shield to meet the oncoming lance.

Both men dodged at the same time, with identical angles and movements, resulting in neither being able to avoid the other!

Two crisp cracks echoed as both lances struck the other's shield, the heads of the lances shattering simultaneously. But as the splinters fell, a horse adorned with a golden blanket trotted away – without its master. Ser Jaime Lannister lay sprawled in the mud, gleaming gold, his helmet dented from the impact with the ground, trapping his head.

In a head-on clash of strength, the Hound had bested the Kingslayer!

Sansa gasped, "What a thrilling match! It's a pity Arya is off learning to dance with her dancing master and wouldn't even come to watch the finals!"

Arya was engrossed in dancing with her dancing master every day and had no interest in the tournament.

Victorious, the Hound pushed up his visor, his expression cold, and rode around the field!

His next opponent would be: The Mountain!

The crowd's cheers were sparse. They didn't particularly favor either the Hound or the Kingslayer! Had it been Duke Renly or the Knight of Flowers, the applause would have been thunderous, and whistles would have filled the air.

Jaime Lannister rose to his feet, the force of the Hound's lance against his shield having been too great to deflect. He couldn't withstand it, falling from his saddle, and the impact had dented his helmet, proving that gold was no match for the hardness of steel. The nobles pointed and whispered, the commoners booed, and the ladies and gentlewomen couldn't help but laugh.

King Robert laughed the loudest. "Look at the Kingslayer, eating dirt! He thought a helmet made of gold would make him invincible, ha! Now the gold has given him a taste of trouble!" The Queen's seat beside him was empty, as she had not come to watch the tournament today after his scolding last night. Soon, a blacksmith was summoned to figure out how to safely remove the golden helmet from the Kingslayer's head.

The handsome and dashing Kingslayer, his head tilted at an awkward angle, was helped off the field by squires and the blacksmith, a sorry sight. His helmet was askew, obstructing his vision, making him look like a blind man who needed guidance to walk. The arena was a mess, the once-smooth ground transformed into a wasteland after yesterday's tournament, as if trampled by thousands of wild beasts, with not a single flat spot to be found.

Jaime's discomfiture greatly pleased the King, and he ordered the Hound and the Mountain to prepare for their match.

The Hound was already a large man, but compared to the Mountain, he was dwarfed. Eddard had a stable boy named Hodor, a tall and strong man, albeit a bit slow-witted and good-natured. In the North, none could compare to his height, but Eddard estimated that even Hodor would be no match for the Mountain.

The Mountain was simply a natural giant, unmatched!

Eddard recalled the Mountain and the Hound's duel on the Ruby Ford. The Mountain had ultimately not killed the fallen Hound, which Eddard had pondered for a long time. Combining this with the Mountain's trickery in saving the butcher's son, Mycah, which had fooled the Queen, and remembering that the Mountain had spared the Hound in their first duel, Eddard came to a conclusion he was loath to accept: the Mountain's ferocity and recklessness had been replaced by reason and composure, his foolish rage by cunning and planning. This realization filled Eddard with worry and unease.

If the Hound had no hidden tricks, the Mountain would undoubtedly win again.

The Mountain's weakness was his recklessness and rage; he attacked with full force as soon as he engaged, a furious onslaught. This was his strength, but also his weakness. First, he would quickly exhaust his stamina, and his speed would decrease. Second, while anger made his attacks terrifying, it also exposed many openings.

Against first-rate fighters like the Hound, Jaime, the Knight of Flowers, Barristan, or Thoros, if the Mountain showed an opening, they would seize it and knock him down. In a life-or-death duel, it wouldn't be surprising if they killed him.

But what if the Mountain no longer had these weaknesses?!

The Mountain's anger, rage, and bloodlust seemed to have disappeared, but in reality, he was becoming more terrifying and fearsome.

At least, Eddard felt a chill!

Eddard's attention was focused entirely on the Mountain.

The Mountain and the Hound took their lances. The Hound cast a gloomy glance at the Mountain before closing his visor. The Mountain also closed his visor and tested his lance, the huge, custom-made lance feeling as light as a feather in his hands.

At the King's command, the Hound kicked his warhorse, leaning forward, putting all his strength into it, his lance angled, taking the offensive. Offense was the right choice; no one could defend against the Mountain's full-force strike. Shields would be shattered, and men would be sent flying.

The Mountain, however, controlled his warhorse into a trot, unhurried and unconcerned. He waved his lance, lightly thrusting into the air, as if testing his aim.

The Hound's eyes, peering through the slits of his visor, were fixed on the Mountain, not daring to be even slightly negligent. His seemingly aggressive charge was merely a feint; his forward lean gave him ample space to lean back on his horse. If he sat upright, his space for dodging, whether forward or backward, would be very limited.

The Mountain's openings would only appear during his attack.

If the Mountain didn't attack, shielding himself and defending with his lance, it would be difficult for the Hound to knock the giant off his horse.

The Mountain was not the Kingslayer; the same force from the Hound would not only fail to knock the Mountain down, but might not even make him budge.

The horses drew closer and closer, when suddenly the Hound swayed slightly on his horse. This small detail made the breathless onlookers even more worried for the Hound.

The Hound felt his heart racing, his lance-gripping hand and forward-leaning body quickly becoming stiff, his breathing rapid, as if there wasn't enough air. This was not a good sign, and the experienced Hound immediately realized he was too tense.

His whole body was unconsciously as taut as a bow.

The Hound quickly twisted his body, effectively easing the stiffness and tension. The Mountain's horse seemed unusually slow, giving the Hound ample time to adjust.

However, just as the Hound relaxed and was about to adjust his posture, a black shadow whistled past, grazing the Hound's outstretched lance, shattering the edge like tofu, knocking the Hound's shield askew, the edge of the shield shattering like collapsing waves, and the black shadow continued forward, striking the Hound's left chest armor.

A lance came flying!

Like a flying dragon from the heavens, or a primordial serpent, forcibly clearing away small obstacles, it pierced the small gap between the lance and shield, an opening revealed when the Hound adjusted his body.

Bang!

A loud crash erupted, and the Hound felt as if he had been struck by an incredibly heavy hammer. His shield and lance flew from his hands, and he was thrown backward.

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