Chapter 44 — Do It. Kill.
Janos Slynt was a short, thick–set man — double-chinned, bald, with a squat face like a frog and a body shaped like a small barrel.
He clearly hadn't expect a squire to speak to him like that. He stared blankly for several seconds before his mind finally caught up to what Podrick had just said.
Rage boiled up in him. His frog-like face flushed red as he jabbed a finger toward Podrick and roared:
"Little bastard!"
"Grab him! And slap that brat twice while you're at it!"
"You'd better pray to the gods your surname is Payne — because once I'm done, I'll throw you in the dungeons and let you learn what it feels like to be used."
Realizing he had just been humiliated by a Payne brat, Janos Slynt exploded in fury, barking new orders for the Gold Cloaks to seize Podrick.
The Gold Cloak who had slipped earlier — the same one who'd nearly kicked the door off its hinges only to miss and face-plant into the floor — was turning red for an entirely different reason.
He had wanted to lash out, but the moment he heard the kid's surname and realized he was a noble — and worse, Tyrion Lannister's squire — he'd swallowed the humiliation and kept silent.
But now? The gods had opened a new path.
This little bastard had dared insult the Commander of the City Watch — the prestigious Lord of Harrenhal, Janos Slynt.
Ecstatic, and with no hesitation after receiving Slynt's order, he grinned viciously and lunged for Podrick, hand raised for a slap.
But before that hand could touch Podrick's cheek, there was a flash of silver.
Then the guard suddenly felt his right arm lighten, as if something that had been there was now gone.
He stared stupidly as his hand — yes, his entire hand — split open cleanly at the tiger's mouth and spun away in the air in a perfect arc.
What remained was only half a palm, frozen for half a heartbeat before blood erupted from the raw stump. Pain finally reached his mind.
"AAAHHH!"
Instead of Podrick's scream, the first sound was his own man shrieking.
Janos Slynt looked down — and there on the floor lay half a severed hand, fingers still twitching in blind reflex.
His face drained of color. Terrified, he stumbled backward again and again.
The rest of the Gold Cloaks, who'd been busy smashing furniture and shouting, froze as well. Their eyes darted between the hand on the ground and the colleague who was still staring dumbly at his bleeding stump, mouth gaping open.
When realization hit, he howled in agony and collapsed, clutching the mangled half-palm to his chest. Blood flooded across the brothel floor.
Podrick never moved.
He stayed in the exact same posture as before — sword lowered and body still — not even sparing a glance behind him. His eyes remained fixed on Janos Slynt.
The sudden eruption of blood sent the women in the room screaming, and the already chaotic brothel exploded into full-blown panic.
The sight of blood fueled reflex and fear alike.
A chorus of steel rang out — shing, shing, shing — as swords were drawn and pointed at Podrick.
"What the fuck did you do?!" Slynt screamed from behind the safety of his Gold Cloaks.
Podrick's strike had been so fast Slynt hadn't seen a thing. He only knew: his man had lost a hand, and the boy standing beside him held a blade.
Who else could it have been?
Even the battered man they had dragged here — face bruised and swollen from torture — stared slack-jawed, forgotten and discarded as the Gold Cloaks pulled away from him to surround Podrick with naked blades.
He didn't dare run. He curled up in a corner, shaking and silent.
As seven or eight Gold Cloaks closed in with their swords raised, Podrick only flicked his eyes toward them briefly —
—and then stopped paying them attention altogether.
Podrick snorted coldly, his gaze never leaving Janos Slynt — who was still cowering behind the wall of Gold Cloaks.
"I didn't do anything… except defend myself. Lord Slynt, I strongly suggest you apologize to me."
"And let me make this absolutely clear: you have no right to arrest me. So tell your men to calm down — because if this continues, I can't guarantee what happens next."
But Janos Slynt wasn't about to be cowed by the threat of a dwarf's squire — not when he had seven or eight armored guards at his back.
He cast one disgusted look at the soldier rolling on the floor clutching his severed hand — and yelled:
"Useless trash!"
Then he pointed again at Podrick and roared,
"Little bastard! I'll have you killed!"
"Cut him down!"
The moment the order left his mouth, the Gold Cloaks surged forward, swords stabbing toward Podrick in a swarm of cold steel. They wanted him hacked apart where he stood.
But Podrick today was not the Podrick from a month ago.
The extraordinary strength granted by his three awakened attributes made it laughable to treat these thugs as a threat.
After all, during the years Janos Slynt commanded the City Watch, every man who donned the Gold Cloak had paid their way in. These were not warriors — they were bribers, drunks, and street trash in armor.
How many of them had any skill?
So when the blades came, Podrick merely shifted half a step back. His wrist twisted lightly — his sword lifted just a little — and in midair he deflected the three blades that could actually reach him.
Then, with a casual downward flick—
Everything ended.
The corridor wasn't wide; only three men could stand shoulder to shoulder. Those were the only three who could reach him.
The instant their swords touched Podrick's, they realized something was wrong.
It didn't feel like stabbing a person —
it felt like striking a tree trunk with their blades knocked violently aside by a force they couldn't resist.
And then — a flash of silver.
This time, they saw what Podrick had done.
But none of them had breath left to speak.
That silver arc wasn't just across their vision —
it slid across their throats.
Their swords clattered wildly onto the floor, ringing against the stone.
The three Gold Cloaks in the front froze, eyes wide, hands moving instinctively to their necks.
Then — one after another —
they collapsed forward to the ground with wet, heavy thuds.
Pod never even shifted his stance.