Damon sneered and said, "Mountain, stop playing tricks. Here's the land back, we admit defeat this time. If you dare to lay a finger on Adam Marbra, I guarantee you'll regret ever being born. You're nothing but a dog kept by Lord Tywin. If you want to bite someone, don't you open your eyes and see who you're biting? Lord Tywin's mother is Marbra, and I am Marbra too. In a way, Adam and I are practically half the masters of your vicious dog."
The Mountain said, "Count Damon, now that you have agreed to return the land, I have no reason to cut off Adam's hand. Polliver, come back."
Polliver stopped, turned around, and stared intently at the Mountain, his eyes like piercing needles. The Mountain turned his head away, and Polliver wilted like a frostbitten eggplant, his spirits completely gone. He returned to the ranks dejectedly, his hand holding the knife moving nervously, making his comrades around him worry that he might suddenly stab them.
Polliver's neuroticism made it impossible to understand his thoughts and actions using common sense. If he didn't do something extreme or outrageous, people would find it strange. If he suddenly stabbed one of his comrades, no one would find it odd. Although Polliver had never harmed his own people!
Damon laughed heartily: "The Mountain, that's all you've got. Others may fear your cruelty and ferocity, but I won't. Even the most vicious dog is obedient in front of its master, because the master can cut off its food at any time, cut off its head, skin it, and cook it. Oh, and add a little snow salt, and it will taste absolutely delicious."
Count Damon was certain the Mountain wouldn't dare do anything to him. By "wouldn't dare do anything to him," he meant he wouldn't dare harm him with knives or guns, though some physical pain was inevitable. His goal was simple: intimidation!
If the Mountain really dared to do anything to him, Damon would have already been killed by the Mountain back in Branded City! Damon knew that if the Mountain killed him, it would be the same as killing himself. Although the Mountain was cruel and ruthless, he was not stupid, and the Mountain himself naturally knew this.
When nobles play games with each other, they must not harm the lives of other nobles—this is an unspoken rule. The trick of killing each other's dogs is something everyone knows how to do and can afford to play. Killing the dog and killing the dog's owner are two completely different things; killing the dog is a small matter, killing the dog's owner is a big one! Above all dog owners is the ultimate master, and that is Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock.
The Mountain laughed, "Count Damon is right. If you consider your blood relation to Duke Tywin, you are indeed half my master." He stood up, drew his dagger, and cut the rope binding the Count's wrists. "Count, 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 Count's hands do you prefer for making wine?"
Polliver hadn't recovered from his gloom. The Mountain's sudden change of heart—ordering him to cut off his hand only to retract it—had left a significant shadow on his 'pure' heart. Despite everyone's fear of Polliver, their fear that he might suddenly stab someone nearby, Polliver was actually young and somewhat naive at heart. He was stubbornly'simple'.
Polliver rolled his eyes at the Mountain, too lazy to answer him.
The Mountain picked up Damon's left hand, whose face was already turning pale: "Polliver, how's your left hand?"
Polliver said defiantly, "My lord, I like Count Damon's right hand."
"Alright, here you go with your right hand!" Demon Mountain said calmly.
Lord Gavin forced a smile and said, "Sir Gregor, come back and sit down. You've had a long day."
Earl Leo quickly added, "Sir Gregor, stop joking. The matter has been resolved. Earl Damon returned the Westerling family's lands, and we're still a family as close as brothers."
"Yes! We are all vassals of the Duke of Tywin in the West, we are all one family. There was a little misunderstanding, but it will be fine once it's been cleared up. Men, bring out the fine wine, our Sir Gregor and all the other lords…" Earl Gavin said with a smile.
But a deafening scream interrupted Earl Gavin's 'rambling'. The Mountain grabbed Earl Damon's right hand and swung his sword down. Earl Damon's earth-shattering scream echoed through the hall and burst from the rooftop, floating over Cliffrock: Ah—!
The entire Jazz were stunned.
Earl Leo, Earl Gavin, Lady Hibber, Jenny, Sir Rover, and more than twenty other captured knights were all greatly shocked.
The Mountain carefully wiped the blood off the groaning Count Damon's clothes with his dagger, then slowly sheathed it. He frowned and said, "Polliver, my trousers and boots are splattered with blood because of your artwork. They were just changed."
Polliver was both surprised and delighted, his face instantly beaming like a flower: "Sir Gregory, you actually meant it!" He jumped up excitedly: "Earl Gavin, give me a large glass jar, filled with wine, not red wine, not brown fruit wine, but pure white wine. I want to make a work of art out of the Earl's right hand. The wine is also very particular." He happily went to Earl Damon's side, who was already kneeling down, with Adam Malbran beside him, looking grief-stricken.
Adam Marbrand, his hands bound, was unable to help his father, but his eyes were blazing with fury.
Polliver picked up the blood-stained hand, his eyes gleaming with a beastly green light: "A fine hand. It would have been even better if there weren't calluses on the palm. The cut is clean and beautiful. I, Polliver, have always admired Sir Gregor's hand-chopping technique."
Polliver picked up the Count's bloody hand and admired it. His eyes then shifted from the Count's bloody hand to Adam Marbrand's bound hands, revealing an even more appreciative expression.
Adam Marbran felt a chill run down his spine. Was this guy a man or a ghost? Was he going to draw his sword? Was he going to cut off my hand? What did it mean for a knight, a warrior, to lose a hand, especially his right hand? It meant that his honor and pride would be gone forever.
Just as Pollifer was making those tsk-tsk sounds admiring Adam's hand, Count Leo and Count Gavin rushed to Count Damon's side and used their bodies to separate Pollifer and Adam, preventing the madman from suddenly drawing his sword and cutting off Adam's hand.
The twenty-odd captured knights were terrified. If the Mountain dared to cut off Earl Damon's right hand, he dared to cut off their heads. Some of the lesser knights, and even Lord Tywin Lannister, couldn't remember their names. Their own weight was simply not enough.
Madame Hibel was stunned. When she saw the scene of blood splattering everywhere, she almost fainted.
Jenny quickly stood up and said, "Quickly send it to the Scholar's Tower."
Every household had a treatment room within its scholar's tower. Any noble with some power would hire a scholar to serve in their home; the scholar held a very important role: doctor.
In this fantastical world, there is no medical profession or specialized hospitals; a scholar is a doctor. Rocky City naturally has scholars, but before Count Damon could even be placed in the severely tilted tower of scholars, he had already fainted.
The Mountain sat back down in his chair, and the servants bowed their heads to wipe the bloodstains from the floor, none daring to look up. Of the more than two hundred people in the hall, apart from Polliver happily admiring the severed hand, the rest were completely silent.
The Mountain said, "Gentlemen, is there anyone who does not wish to return the land? If so, please speak up."
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The entire hall fell silent; all twenty-odd jazz musicians were trembling with fear.
This guy is the Mountain!
They were really asking for trouble, listening to Count Damon's instigation to unite against the Mountain. In reality, they hadn't even fought a single battle before they were already utterly defeated. They were all captured by the Mountain in their sleep—how could they possibly fight? Count Damon was their protector, and now that his hand had been cut off, how could they possibly fight?
Every time I played jazz, I inexplicably felt a chill on my wrist.
The guy named Polliver who followed the Mountain looked like a lunatic no matter how you looked at him. The Mountain's other henchmen also seemed abnormal, either with unusually large heads or particularly vicious faces.
"Sir Gregor, I return all the Westerling family's lands, whether mortgaged or bought out, all of them," a knight said tremblingly.
"Sir Alvis, you told my father-in-law at my wedding in Casterly Rock that you would return the lands when you returned home, but you lied," the Mountain said calmly.
Upon hearing this, Pollifer immediately went over, and the twenty-odd knights were all taken aback, quickly stepping back and clearing a large open space.
Polliver circled Alvis once, his expression displeased, clearly unhappy with Alvis's hands. But then he began to stare at Alvis's face, which sent a chill down Sir Alvis's spine.
"Lord Gregor, I swear by the honor of the gods, both old and new, and by the Alvis family, that I will return all the land this time, and I swear by the honor of the gods, both old and new, and by the family, that I will never again be an enemy of the Westerling or the Clegane families." Sir Alvis's voice trembled slightly as he tried to avoid Polliver's 'admiration' for his 'handsome face.' The lunatic seemed to have taken a liking to his features, and it was clear that the lunatic wanted to peel off his face and make it into a work of art.
Sir Alvis wanted nothing more than to flee, but he was frozen in place and dared not move an inch.