His declaration was cut short by a dull whoosh; a black hand-axe spun through the whistling wind and, with a thud, deeply embedded itself in the back of his raised head.
Damon's cruel expression froze; his eyes widened, his arms dropped limply, then he reached for the back of his head, only to touch the cold axe blade and warm liquid.
Then he fell forward with a crash, landing in the mud, splashing crimson.
The silence lasted only a moment.
The surrounding jungle, the dense woods, and the riverbank where the water roared suddenly erupted with countless beast-like howls and piercing shouts.
"Ironborn! Ironborn!"
"Damn it! Why are there Ironborn here?!"
The Lannister soldiers roared in shock, their voices changing pitch.
Countless figures burst from their green camouflage, clad in crude leather armor, wielding axes, longswords, and iron hammers, like devils crawled from hell, charging at the Lannister soldiers.
"Cut off their heads!"
"Sacrifice to the drowned god!"
Bronn was completely stunned, only one thought echoing madly in his mind: How could there be Ironborn in this godforsaken place?!
He instinctively recoiled, his hand reaching for the dagger at his waist, a bitter smile on his face; the manner of death had changed from one to another, seemingly making no difference.
In despair, a flicker of a mad thought crossed his mind; Bronn remembered the dagger at his waist, stripped from some unfortunate soul earlier, with a blurred lighthouse emblem on its hilt.
The Farwyn family of Lonely Light.
He used all his strength to yell hysterically at the chaotic crowd: "I am a sailor from Lonely Light! Hadwyn! Don't kill me!"
As he shouted, he didn't retreat but advanced, charging at the nearest Lannister soldier, who was frantically trying to swing his sword, when Bronn's dagger was already plunged into his neck, warm blood spraying all over Bronn's face.
The Ironborn fought without discipline but were as fierce as a pack of Mad Dogs; the melee erupted completely, and the banks of the Blue Fork River became a slaughterhouse, with flesh and blood flying, screams, curses, and the clang of iron intertwining.
Bronn behaved more ferociously than any Ironborn; he dodged a swinging longsword, ducked, and thrust his dagger into the abdomen of another Lannister soldier, then kicked him down; he was like a dying beast, fighting for survival in the chaos.
He even cut off the heads of two Lannister soldiers, grabbed them by the hair, and threw them at the feet of a group of Ironborn, roaring at them in a hoarse voice: "The drowned god will like this!"
Although the elite Lannister soldiers were well-trained, they had not worn armor for their stealthy infiltration of the Riverlands to pursue Bronn, and under the Ironborn's tidal wave of mad assault, their formation instantly collapsed.
Damon Lannister's body was dragged aside by an Ironborn with a hook and hung on a tree; the remaining soldiers were cut down one by one; though the Ironborn found it strange how resilient these simply dressed soldiers were, they didn't care and left no one alive.
The battle ended quickly; the muddy ground was stained deep red with blood, and the air was thick with the heavy smell of blood and death.
Bronn stood amidst the bodies, gasping for breath, covered in blood that wasn't his own.
A group of Ironborn walked over, clustering around a young man; he was tall, with a mess of black hair falling over his shoulders, a wild, untamed smile on his face, and eyes that gleamed with cruelty and excitement; he kicked Damon's body, which was hanging upside down from a tree, with his toe, letting out a disdainful snort.
His gaze swept across the battlefield, finally landing on Bronn: "I am Roderick Greyjoy."
Bronn was filled with shock; Balon Greyjoy's eldest son.
Roderick spoke in a rough voice, scarred by years of roaring and severe friction: "You."
"You fight bravely, but you don't look like an Ironborn; more like a greenlander bastard. Which house are you from?"
Bronn's heart tightened; he knew his life or death depended on the next few sentences.
He dared not hesitate, pulled out the Lonely Light dagger from his waist, held it with both hands, and respectfully offered it:
"I am Hadwyn, Chief, a sailor from Lonely Light."
His brain worked rapidly, quickly fabricating a lie.
"I was captured by the greenlanders, escaped with a few brothers, and these Riverlands dogs were chasing me."
Roderick didn't take the dagger; a burly, bearded first mate named Wulfric next to him reached out and took it.
He ran his rough fingers over the emblem on the dagger, staring coldly at Bronn: "What's the name of your longship?"
Bronn's heart pounded like a war drum; he relied on his knowledge from years of mingling in countless ports across the Seven Kingdoms, even having dealt with Ironborn.
He bit the bullet and replied: "My captain is Gales Farwyn, and our ship is called the Sea Maiden."
Wulfric grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow by dried fish: "A Farwyn, a pauper from Lonely Light."
He tossed the dagger back to Bronn.
"Though you were born in a small place and are thin and weak, you bastard, you do have some skill."
Roderick Greyjoy strode forward and clapped Bronn heavily on the shoulder, with such force that it nearly knocked the already injured Bronn into the mud.
"You fought well, Hadwyn. From now on, follow me and die at sea, not on land like a coward."
Bronn felt his bones protest; the stone weighing on his heart finally dropped, a moment of heaven, a moment of hell.
But on the surface, he still feigned an untamed look: "As long as there's wine and women, I'll kill anyone."
Roderick let out a wild laugh: "Well said! There will be plenty of greenlander wine and women!"
Bronn was pushed and shoved by two Ironborn to the Blue Fork River, and the sight before him utterly stunned him, making him forget all his relief at surviving.
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