The Mountain rode on horseback, training his cavalry in both offense and defense.
They were practicing long-range projectile combat, not by throwing at stationary targets, but by hurling javelins at each other.
One side attacked, the other defended.
In a cavalry charge, a volley of long-range javelins is often the most effective opening strike.
Yet among the Seven Kingdoms, no lord had ever systematically trained all their cavalry in this technique, until now.
The Mountain was the first to demand every one of his riders master this deadly skill.
Traditionally, such precision in ranged javelin throwing was the domain of landed knights or noble commanders.
Only they had the luxury: they didn't need to worry about food, gear, or access to horses and specialized training javelins.
These javelins were custom-made, designed to shatter on impact so they wouldn't cause fatal injuries during practice.
Training began not with live targets, but with inanimate ones, just like how Julie had practiced archery at the training yard.
The first step was mastering the strike against a stationary bullseye from horseback.
Once a rider could hit the mark every time, only then did they move on to mobile targets.
After mastering moving targets, the final phase was live combat drills, man vs. man, galloping at speed, weaving, circling, pursuing, and then hurling a javelin at just the right distance.
Only real combat could simulate the chaos of war.
But such high-level training, live javelin duels on horseback, was something only a small handful of noble commanders and well-off knights could afford.
More than 90% of the realm's centurions, knights, and soldiers never received professional instruction in these techniques.
It was a costly endeavor.
Training javelins were regularly broken.
The quartermasters had to forge large quantities to meet demand.
Every expert thrower was forged from a mountain of shattered practice weapons.
Without funding, time, space, rigid standards, and a merciless instructor, few could ever master the raw strength and precision needed for expert-level throwing.
But The Mountain's standards were absolute: every soldier had to reach the level of a master.
Lord Tywin didn't doubt his ability.
Soldiers who failed the standards didn't just wash out, they usually died.
When The Mountain trained the Lord's personal guard, every man knew: fail, and death would follow.
And the men The Mountain personally trained?
Tywin was sure they all understood the brute's cruelty.
If you didn't give everything, your reward wouldn't be a gold dragon, it would be torture and death.
Now, Lord Tywin sat atop his horse, watching The Mountain put his Clegane cavalry through their javelin training. His face was expressionless.
He acknowledged The Mountain's genius in military training matched his brutal strength.
Even Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, who opposed Gregor's cruelty, couldn't deny the results: every man trained by The Mountain was a ruthless killer.
If you wanted to say it nicely, they were elite warriors.
Cowards never made it to the battlefield.
They died in the training grounds.
Those who survived Gregor's training, they were the ones who would kill on the battlefield.
At the sharp whistle of The Mountain, the attacking riders loosed their javelins, every single one hit.
Even though their "enemies" dodged and moved quickly, they couldn't escape the lightning-fast, whistling spears.
When dodging failed, the defenders relied on their round shields.
Each javelin slammed into a shield with a thwack, sending wood splinters flying.
With every whistle-blown volley, a thunder of impacts followed, visceral and deafening.
On a real battlefield, this level of accuracy could devastate the enemy from the start.
No kingdom in the Seven had ever trained a unit this way, certainly not on this scale.
Tywin's own personal cavalry hadn't.
Nor had any of his city garrisons.
A thrown javelin had far more force than an arrow.
Its weight amplified its impact.
If the training spearheads were swapped for sharpened iron, they'd punch right through most shields.
Longbows already could pierce shields and pin arms to them.
But now, Tywin noticed only one flaw, The Mountain simply had too few cavalry.
If he had five hundred of these riders, he could form an unstoppable vanguard capable of punching through enemy lines with unmatched speed.
But The Mountain planned to train only one hundred of these elite riders, plus fifty reserves.
Still, Tywin now understood why Gregor insisted each man receive a gold dragon's pay, triple the standard cavalry wages.
The training was on a level no other army had attempted.
And these gold dragons weren't easy to earn.
Each soldier was exceptionally skilled, and the training period had been short, what did that imply?
Many of the soldiers were secretly practicing deep into the night to meet Gregor's standards.
The training was brutal.
Tywin knew it firsthand.
Many of his family's retainers had been through the same.
Those who didn't meet the mark spent every waking moment beyond meals drilling extra.
Some even snuck into the training grounds at night, repeating basic sword thrusts thousands of times.
The training was so harsh, some would rather risk battle than endure more of it.
At The Mountain's whistle, the cavalry shifted into pursuit formation.
In a flowing line, they galloped past racks of training javelins where quartermasters tossed them two at a time.
Without slowing, each rider caught a pair and charged onward.
These drills burned through supplies.
Every time a javelin hit a shield, the head and front shaft shattered, rendering it unusable.
Each training spear had to match the real thing in weight and length for muscle memory and accuracy.
Every rider carried a round shield on their back.
Round shields were ideal for mounted charges, less encumbering than rectangular ones, which suited infantry better.
Tywin noticed the riders wore heavy armor on their right shoulders and arms. That was a problem.
Heavy plate offered great protection, but also caused fatigue, making it hard to keep the throwing arm raised.
"Fetch Ser Gregor," Tywin said calmly.
Ser Kevan immediately spurred his horse forward.
Moments later, The Mountain returned with Kevan to stand before the Lord.
"Ser Gregor," said Tywin, "your men are to wear only light chainmail on their throwing arms and shoulders, no heavy plate."
"Yes, Father," The Mountain replied.
He knew the Lord would spot it.
In fact, it had already been tested on Julie.
She wore chainmail over her right shoulder instead of full plate, and it worked better.
The idea wasn't Gregor's own, but one rooted in the ancient Eastern kingdom of Huaxia.
Back during China's Warring States period, King Wuling of Zhao famously reformed the army by adopting Hu nomad clothing and mounted archery.
He swapped out long, wide sleeves for tight, crossover garments.
It made weak nations strong.
The Mountain recalled how many ethnic garments from Huaxia left the right shoulder uncovered, sometimes for comfort, but often for martial practicality.
It allowed warriors to swing weapons and control mounts with greater ease.
What began as battlefield utility became a cultural norm.
His trial with Julie confirmed it: ancient wisdom held true.
Huaxia's culture brimmed with practical philosophy, from the design of chopsticks to evolving military garb.
But Gregor wouldn't present these ideas like Salt Snow might, too many brilliant innovations in a short time would draw jealousy.
Even if Tywin appreciated it, Ser Kevan surely wouldn't.
To stand out too quickly was to invite ruin.
Better to let Lord Tywin discover the idea himself, then issue the order as if it were his own.
Gregor's genius would be obscured, his influence spread unnoticed.
"Ser Gregor, your men's round shields appear slightly modified," Tywin said.
"Yes, Father. The older oak shields were plated in iron only on the front or at the rim.
We've added an iron plate behind the shield, at the arm straps. That way, if a longbow pierces the shield, it doesn't maim the arm holding it."
Tywin's mind stirred.
Just two days ago he'd spent seven hundred gold dragons in the witch's alchemy chambers.
And just as she'd promised, the returns were already beyond measure.
Once again, Gregor had, whether by accident or design, given him a practical upgrade for the army's equipment.
Still, Tywin thought, Gregor lacked the great insight to realize how far this idea could go.
He was clever, but not yet a visionary.
"Maester," Tywin ordered, "send word throughout the Westerlands. All shields are to have double iron plating at the arm strap, both sides."
"Yes, my lord!"
Why not double-plate the entire shield?
Because of weight.
Tywin's face remained neutral, but his mood was excellent.
The witch was his seer, his prophet.
And The Mountain, he was undoubtedly a bringer of fortune.
"Ser Gregor!"
"Yes, Father."
"From now on, your shields must have two iron layers on both sides of the arm strap, not just one on the back. A single layer won't stop a longbow."
"Yes, Father," The Mountain answered, feigning revelation.
"You disciplined the Ironborn at the harbor last time.
Raff has also begun training the western nobles in whistle-command drills.
I remember your service. The five ships of iron ore seized from the Ironborn, I grant them to you.
Send your men to haul them from Lannisport."
"Yes, Father."
"Also, I command you to train five hundred Clegane cavalry and a hundred reserves.
Each must master the javelin, bow, lance, spear, and sword."
⚔────────
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