That strike wasn't like a sword slash; it was more like the impact of a battering ram!
It was simply too powerful.
The broad blade carried the force of a thunderbolt, emitting a screeching howl that made teeth ache!
Facing this terrifying blow capable of cleaving a man in two, Sandor Clegane wisely chose not to block it head-on.
His relatively "small" frame slid sideways and backward with astonishing agility. His longsword swept up diagonally, accurately deflecting the side of the Mountain's greatsword.
CLANG——!!!
A deafening clash of metal, sparks flying.
Sandor felt an irresistible force transmit through his blade, numbing his hand and making his entire arm lose sensation instantly.
He was forced to stumble back several steps by the brute force, cracking the flagstones beneath his feet.
Such strength!
Missing the first strike, the Mountain didn't pause for a moment.
His massive body displayed an agility completely inconsistent with his size.
Taking a step forward, the greatsword swept horizontally, bringing a gust of wind straight for Sandor's waist.
Sandor had just stabilized himself when he caught a glimpse of that cold light of death.
He had no time to think, only able to hold his sword vertically in front of him and shove his shield forward with all his might.
BANG——!!!
Another dull, heart-palpitating boom.
The wood-and-iron shield in Sandor's hand was as fragile as dry bark before the Mountain's greatsword.
The shield was cleaved cleanly in half!
Shattered wood and iron scattered everywhere.
Sandor himself was swept away by the blow, rolling several times on the ground before barely stopping.
He felt as if his internal organs had been shifted.
A sweetness rose in his throat, and a mouthful of blood sprayed out uncontrollably.
The entire arena fell into a deathly silence.
Followed by a tsunami of gasps and screams!
Too fast!
Too strong!
It had only been two breaths since the duel began!
The Hound, Sandor Clegane.
A warrior whose fierce reputation resounded throughout Westeros, completely crushed by Gregor without even the power to fight back!
On the high platform, Joffrey's face showed a morbid ecstasy as he clenched his fists in excitement.
Liana frowned.
If she guessed correctly, wasn't the Hound Joffrey's man?
Why did he want to cheer for Gregor?
Is he right in the head?
Liana glanced at Joffrey discreetly, shaking her head inwardly.
What a fool.
No wonder Lord Lynn plays him like a fiddle.
Pathetic.
Cersei watched her two bannermen slaughtering each other, her proud chest heaving violently.
What is this mess!
Ned Stark frowned deeply, his hand unconsciously resting on the hilt of his sword.
Beside him, Sansa was already pale with fright, instinctively closing her eyes, afraid to look.
Only Arya stared fixedly at the figure struggling to get up in the arena, her small fists clenched tight.
The Hound must not lose.
If he loses, it means Lynn loses too!
On the other end of the noble seating, a figure seemed out of place in the tense atmosphere.
"Littlefinger," Petyr Baelish.
He sat calmly in his seat, not even leaning forward.
A faint smile hung on his lips, and his grey-green eyes held undisguised complacency and contempt.
His gaze wasn't even locked on the duel, but drifted lightly toward Lynn.
That look seemed to say:
Do you see?
This is the consequence of challenging me!
Before absolute power, any scheme is a joke!!
He leisurely adjusted the silver mockingbird pin on his collar, relaxed as if enjoying a play whose ending he already knew.
"Kill him! Kill him!"
In the crowd, people began to shout frantically.
They had bet on the Mountain and were now cheering for the brutality of this humanoid beast.
The Mountain ignored everyone's reaction.
No one could see the expression on his helm-covered face.
But in the eyes visible through the visor slit, there was only cold, bloodthirsty killing intent.
He took heavy steps, walking slowly toward the fallen Sandor, as if savoring the prey's last struggle before death.
He wanted to torture him slowly!
Just like when he pressed Sandor's face into the brazier when they were children.
He wanted to make this damned brother die in endless pain and despair!
Sandor coughed up a mouthful of bloody spittle, propping himself up with his sword, standing unsteadily.
He couldn't lift his left arm anymore; the broken shield hung uselessly on it, and the breastplate was caved in significantly.
Looking at the mountain-like brother approaching, there was no fear in his grey eyes.
Instead, there was an eerie calm.
Twenty years.
This nightmare-like figure had haunted him for twenty years!
Every time he closed his eyes, he could smell his own burnt flesh, see Gregor's face twisted in excitement.
Heaven knew how he had survived these years!
He hated him.
He feared him.
But today, he didn't want to fear anymore!
The Mountain stopped in front of Sandor.
He looked down at his lingering brother, seeming to enjoy this cat-and-mouse game.
"Kneel."
The Mountain's voice came from under the helm, muffled as if from a grave deep underground.
"Beg me for mercy."
"Then, I'll give you a quick death."
Sandor grinned.
On that hideous half-face, the smile looked particularly twisted and terrifying.
He spat a mouthful of bloody foam on the ground.
"Fuck you."
"Beg you? Keep dreaming, you animal!"
"ROAR——!!!"
The Mountain was thoroughly enraged!
He let out a sky-shaking roar, raised his greatsword again, and chopped straight down!
He intended to smash this bastard who didn't know death, along with his sword, into meat paste!
On the high platform, everyone instinctively held their breath.
King Robert stood up abruptly, seeming to want to intervene.
But it was too late!
Just as everyone thought the Hound was dead for sure.
A sudden change occurred!
Facing that fatal blow, Sandor didn't retreat, but stepped forward!
His body twisted at a weird angle, dodging the whistling blade by a hair's breadth.
The greatsword smashed heavily onto the flagstones behind him with the force of ten thousand pounds.
BOOM!
A loud noise, stone chips flying!
And Sandor appeared on the Mountain's left side!
This was the Mountain's blind spot!
An unprecedented glint burst in Sandor's eyes!
He had waited too long for this moment!
From Gregor's first step, he was calculating, luring!
Using his injured body, using a posture of weakness, to lure this arrogant beast into using this move—powerful, but full of openings!
Gregor's swordsmanship was wide open, forging ahead.
He never defended.
Because he believed no one could survive his storm-like attacks!
This was his greatest strength, and his most fatal weakness!
Sandor had studied Gregor for too long!
Today was the day to settle the grudge!
He had waited too long for this day!
Sandor's longsword stabbed out viciously!
The target wasn't the thick armor plate.
But the narrow gap at the joint!
The back of the Mountain's left knee!
Splurt!
The sound of a blade entering flesh was exceptionally clear in the silent arena.
Sandor's sword accurately pierced the thin chainmail, sinking into the Mountain's thigh!
"ARGH——!!!"
The Mountain let out a roar of extreme pain!
His massive body jerked violently, his left leg gave way, and he uncontrollably dropped to one knee!
This sudden, shocking reversal left everyone dumbfounded!
Gregor Clegane, who controlled everything like a god a second ago, was actually... injured?!
On the high platform, the confident smile on Petyr Baelish's face froze instantly.
His calculating grey-green eyes showed disbelief for the first time.
He straightened up abruptly, leaning forward, staring fixedly at the Mountain kneeling on one knee.
As if trying to lift him up with his gaze.
How is this possible?
How could this fiercest mad dog of House Lannister be injured by his trash brother?
The script wasn't written like this!
In stark contrast to his loss of composure, Lynn drained the wine in his cup, a satisfied smile on his face.
He knew the good show had only just begun.
The "Un-Gregor" (zombie Mountain) was the most terrifying existence.
But even then, Sandor could achieve a mutual kill.
Sandor's potential was more than this, let alone against a Mountain who could still feel pain.
The Mountain underestimated Sandor's determination to kill him; Sandor had studied how to kill him day and night.
Here, having succeeded in one strike, Sandor didn't linger.
He pulled out his sword, bringing a spray of hot blood, while retreating rapidly, putting distance between himself and the Mountain again.
On his face destroyed by fire, there was no joy of success.
Only calm!
He knew this wasn't enough.
To kill this monster, wounding his leg was far from enough!
"Bastard... you damned bastard..."
Kneeling on one knee, the Mountain turned his head slowly. The eyes visible through the visor slit had turned blood red.
That was the most primitive, most frantic killing intent of a thoroughly enraged beast!
Gregor threw away the heavy greatsword, propped himself up with both hands, and slowly stood up.
His left leg was bleeding, his steps becoming staggering.
But the aura on him was even more terrifying than before!
Like a beast wounded by a hunter, he had fallen into complete berserk fury!
"I will... crush... your skull!!!"
Roaring, the Mountain abandoned his weapon and charged at Sandor bare-handed!
His arms, thicker than an ordinary man's thighs, were the most terrible weapons!
He wanted to use his own hands to crush this brother who dared to hurt him alive!
Facing his berserk brother charging at him, a trace of gravity flashed in Sandor's eyes.
But he didn't retreat.
Sandor gripped his longsword with both hands, lowering his body slightly, assuming a standard dueling stance.
He knew the real life-and-death struggle began now.
He would use all the hatred accumulated over twenty years to put a bloody and perfect end to his childhood!