The Mountain of Ice and Fire

"Hey, Mountain, what do you think you're doing?" Tyrion Lannister said. "They're with me now!"

"Heh! I just heard Chilla and Ulf say that you're actually one of them, and your life belongs to them too."

Timett drew the axe from his waist, a wood-handled axe with a chip in the back, but the blade was sharpened to a razor edge. "Big man, you looking for trouble?" Timett's tongue darted out, licking around his lips like he was cleaning off blood.

The strongman Shagga, the pretty Chilla, the clever Ulf, and the skinny Gunthor all avoided looking at him, as if they didn't know Timett.

The Burned Men always fought with the other tribes, never making peace. No one wanted to be around the Burned Men, even in battle.

Bronn, even more so, had already slipped away, not wanting to get involved in this mess.

Lord Tywin remained expressionless, as was his custom.

The witch closed her eyes to rest, as if she were asleep.

The captain of the guard and one of the guards had shining eyes, like cats' eyes glowing green in the silence and darkness of the night: they eagerly anticipated the Mountain's move!

The Mountain approached, and Timett grinned with relaxed cruelty, as if he were eager to suck blood. He flicked his wrist, the axe twirling in his hand, flipping in the air before landing perfectly back in his palm.

"Timett, next time you see me, don't provoke me again," the Mountain roared. With the roar, he suddenly struck, grabbing the unsuspecting Shagga by the chest, then with a wave of his hand, Shagga yelled as he flew out of the house, across half the courtyard, and crashed to the ground.

"Shagga, this is your punishment for barging in without knocking," the Mountain shouted, as he simultaneously lunged towards the fully prepared Timett, extending his large hand.

Timett chuckled, the axe in his hand flashing as he slashed at the Mountain's reaching hand.

Even though the Mountain wore an iron gauntlet, Timett knew that his slash would split the gauntlet and severely injure the Mountain's large hand. Suddenly, Timett felt a pain in his stomach, a massive force hitting his abdomen, and he soared into the air as if riding on clouds, crashing out of the hall like an arrow, the trees in the courtyard rushing past him, and with a crash, Timett slammed into the branches of a large tree, a series of cracking sounds, and finally, with a loud bang, Timett fell to the ground, nearly breaking his neck.

The Mountain's grab at Timett's hand was a feint, merely to provoke him into attacking with his axe. Timett indeed attacked, as these hill tribe leaders were so predictable, hand for axe, but he struck at nothing. The Mountain had already launched a kick, like an adult kicking a small humanoid rag doll, kicking it out, sending the small doll flying towards the treetop in the courtyard that he had already aimed at.

Timett was naturally not a small rag doll, and he naturally didn't accurately get hung on the treetop.

Shagga got up from the ground, touching his waist in shock and fear, only to realize that the axe at his waist had fallen off. The Mountain shouted, "Shagga, today you disrespected our Duke's captain of the guard, now we're even, do you accept it?"

The Mountain's voice was like thunder, Shagga was startled again, the Mountain was too fierce, his magnificent body giving Shagga great pressure. He stared blankly at the crowd, feeling his honor severely damaged, but he couldn't regain his honor in front of the Mountain. The twenty-one-year-old Shagga roared and rushed out of the courtyard.

Shagga rode away on his mountain pony and disappeared, and Timett slowly got up from the ground. He had fallen too hard.

The Mountain's kick made him experience the feeling of flying for the first time, which was very unpleasant. But he had been holding his axe all the time, which showed his skill.

A good swordsman will not drop his sword even when knocked down. After training, the sword is like a hand, growing together with the master. When a person is knocked down, his hand cannot fly away.

The Mountain stood in front of Timett: "You are a true warrior."

A high hat was offered.

The fire of battle in Timett's eyes extinguished: "…………"

He was still in pain!

"After being kicked by me, many people can still stand up, but you are the first one whose weapon doesn't fall," the Mountain said without any basis, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that he knew that barbarians like Timett liked to hear such words.

Timett was the first warrior who withstood the Mountain's kick without dropping his weapon, implying that he was more powerful than all other warriors. That was enough.

This was the second high hat!

"Big man, don't let me meet you on the battlefield," Timett said, tough on the outside but weak on the inside. He would rather die than admit defeat verbally. The Burned Men's Red Hand was known for its ruthlessness.

"Don't provoke people like me, you can't surpass me in anything, not to mention strength, even in a drinking contest, you won't be my match."

Timett's eyes lit up, and he tucked the axe into his waist: "What... time?" His breath wasn't quite smooth yet, and he was short of breath when he got excited. Timett now knew the big man's speed, strength, and skill, and knew that his previous idea that the big man must be clumsy was terribly wrong, but when it came to drinking, there was only Timett who got drunk to death, and no Timett who lost.

"Anytime!" The Mountain pointed to the camp on the east bank of the Green Fork River, disdainfully.

"It's a deal!" Timett also pointed to the east bank of the Green Fork River. Don't provoke Timett, because he will definitely fall for it.

"If you win against me in drinking, I'll lose two battle axes to you. Look at your rotten axe, it's not even fit for chopping wood."

"No, at least three battle axes!" Timett said with a tone of certainty of winning.

Tyrion immediately glared at the Mountain vigilantly, not concealing his dissatisfaction. Tyrion wasn't a fool, he was very smart, and he was sensitive to the fact that the Mountain seemed to have some ideas about this group of guys. This wouldn't do, definitely not.

However, similarly, Tyrion, like the natives, hadn't yet seen through Lord Tywin's true military purpose for having him go to the left wing. The war hadn't started yet, and Lord Tywin hadn't yet ordered Tyrion to lead the people to be the first to go up.

Lord Tywin in the hall remained expressionless. These hill tribes were what he had tricked into going to die. The Mountain's move to teach these rude hill tribes a lesson was in line with the Mountain's character. And that guy named Timett had been staring at the Mountain provocatively ever since he entered the hall, as if the Mountain owed him money.

Tywin could already see that these hill people would almost all die in the war with the Northmen. They were Lord Tywin's cannon fodder plan. - The left wing by the river, the first to launch the attack. If these people saw that the situation was not right and collapsed, they would find that the road to retreat had also been blocked, and those who retreated would be beheaded. They would have no choice but to advance or jump into the river.

Lord Tywin seriously underestimated the natives' powerful combat power, but the Mountain was very clear about it. But even later, when Lord Tywin saw the natives' combat power in battle, the Duke still despised them, and eventually threw them away like garbage, but the Mountain didn't want to miss out.

*

As dusk approached, the Northern army was heading south along the Kingsroad, not far ahead was the famous Twins, the territory of the Frey family, vassals of House Tully.

Twenty thousand Northern soldiers were like a long dragon, banners waving, spears like a forest. The sound of marching was chilling and shaking, and even the air was filled with the smell of iron and blood.

Robb Stark rode at the front of the column, accompanied by his father's ward Theon Greyjoy, and his mother Catelyn Tully wearing a hood. In addition, there were five or six Northern nobles, followed by thirty personal guards, all noble children from various Northern families.

The direwolf Grey Wind led the way, always running excitedly ahead for a while, then stopping to wait for its master.

The sound of hooves came from behind, and a cavalryman came galloping up, panting: "Lord Robb."

"What is it?" The fifteen-year-old boy straightened his face to make himself look mature and steady.

"My master requests your presence, he has very important matters to report to you."

"Who is your master?"

"Lord Wyman Manderly."

"Tell him to come up here."

"I'm sorry, my lord, this matter is too important, you must personally go back to see Lord Wyman."

A subordinate vassal actually disobeyed orders?!

Robb looked a little uneasy, and he looked at his mother, Catelyn Tully nodded slightly.

Robb saw that it was getting late, so he ordered: "The army will camp here, and march early tomorrow morning."

So, the messenger shouted all the way down.

Robb said to Theon Greyjoy: "You are responsible for setting up camp here and taking care of my mother."

"Lord Robb, rest assured, I'll take care of everything here," Theon said in his usual confident tone.

Robb and the cavalryman turned back on their horses, and the direwolf Grey Wind on the distant hillside saw its master running back, getting farther and farther away. Grey Wind ran back to chase its master with a whoosh, as fast as an arrow from a bow.