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Jaime frowned as he looked at the Winterfell riders, surrounded in the middle of the street by layer upon layer of Gold Cloaks and Lannister soldiers.
With no hope of breaking through the encirclement, Edd and the five remaining riders kept their swords raised, protecting in the center of the group the hooded figure dressed as the caravan leader.
Something's wrong.
Robb Stark is not the sort of man who would let others protect him like that.
The moment that thought crossed his mind, Jaime drew the sword at his waist and started walking toward the Winterfell men, shouting at the same time:
"Out of the way!"
The soldiers in front of him obeyed at once, parting to either side and opening a clear path straight into the middle of the encirclement.
"Robb Stark, last time I wanted to test my sword against yours, but I was interrupted by that idiot.
Come out now, or they'll die ugly!"
Reaching the center of the encirclement, Jaime raised the sword in his right hand and pointed it at the hooded figure as he called out in a loud voice.
One of the Winterfell riders, knowing he would probably die there, could not resist the urge to test the famous Kingslayer.
Holding his sword low by his waist, he rushed forward in quick steps and drove out a fast, forceful thrust.
A smile on his face, Jaime moved his sword swiftly from high to low, sweeping it in a counterclockwise half-circle and knocking the blow aside with ease.
In the next instant, he twisted his wrist and, using the same momentum, sent his sword forward in one smooth motion, tracing a half-circle clockwise as he drew it back.
Clang!
Splash!
The rider's sword fell weakly to the ground.
He slowly lowered his head and saw his own abdomen split open, blood and entrails spilling out. Then he closed his eyes and collapsed heavily.
The four remaining riders exchanged a glance and rushed Jaime together, trying to surround him and overwhelm him with numbers.
Seeing the riders coming at him all at once, Jaime, who had gone far too long without a real fight in King's Landing, felt a look of clear excitement cross his face as he moved forward to meet them.
Since the four men were not perfectly aligned, only the two in front could strike him at the same time, and all their movements stayed within Jaime's sight.
He slipped easily past one slash. At the same time, his left hand, covered in a leather glove, shot out like lightning and seized the wrist of the man on the left.
Seeing that the rider on the right was already about to reach him, Jaime jerked up his left arm and used the sword of the man he was holding to block the attack.
At the same time, his own sword, already raised beside his left ear, whipped in a savage horizontal cut from left to right, passing through the eye of the rider he held and the throat of the one beside him.
At once, screams of agony burst out, and blood burst out in streams.
Casting a glance past the two men, Jaime shoved the blinded rider he still held with brutal force, throwing him into another man rushing up just behind.
Then he used the sword in his right hand to block the strike of the last rider still intact, who had charged over the corpse of the man on the right to take the others' place.
At the same time, he pulled the small dagger from his belt with his left hand and hurled it hard, driving it with perfect precision into the eye of the rider who had just shoved aside the blinded man.
Then, with two more sword strokes, he killed the last rider still fully able to fight and, immediately after, delivered the finishing blow to the blinded rider who was still screaming.
Jaime stood amid corpses, blood, and entrails, letting out a heavy breath.
From beginning to end, that one-against-four fight had not lasted even a full minute.
The entire sequence of killings had unfolded as smoothly as flowing water, showing with perfect clarity just how terrifying Jaime's individual skill with a sword truly was.
Edd and the hooded man beside him stood frozen, stunned. It had all ended too quickly. Neither of them had even had the chance to step forward and help.
The hooded figure, seeing there was no reason to keep pretending any longer, ripped the hood from his head in one motion.
It was the last Winterfell rider still alive in King's Landing.
"Tsk, tsk. Looks like all that's left for me is to go back and explain to the queen why the wolf pup ended up as a heap of butchered meat."
Seeing that the hooded figure was not Robb, just as he had suspected, Jaime shook his head in disappointment.
After that, he wiped the blood from his sword on one of the corpses and slid it back into its sheath.
Then he pointed at the last rider and ordered the soldiers around him:
"Kill that one. The other one I want alive."
...
Meanwhile, in the middle of the street where Robb stood, there towered a giant nearly eight feet tall.
His body blocked the sunlight and cast an enormous shadow across the ground, just as his monstrous size and cruel violence cast terror into the hearts of his victims.
Ser Gregor Clegane, known as the Mountain.
At that moment, he wore an extremely heavy suit of black armor. Through the gaps, one could still see the mail beneath it, made of interlocking iron rings.
His shoulders, elbows, and the backs of his knees were protected by an inner layer of hardened leather.
On his head he wore an enormous flat-topped helm, with only small breathing holes before the nose and mouth, and a narrow horizontal slit at eye level through which to see.
At the top of the helm, as an ornament, was a stone fist pointing toward the sky.
It could be said that the protection of his armor had already been pushed to the limit.
If an ordinary man tried to wear that entire set, he would probably collapse under its weight. And even so, Gregor still carried both sword and shield.
In his right hand, he wielded a two-handed sword six feet long with one hand, its point resting on the ground.
On his left arm he bore a thick oak shield painted with the sigil of three black dogs.
When he heard Robb's question, the Mountain did not even bother to answer. Without so much as turning his head, he spoke in a low, heavy voice to the soldiers behind him:
"Fall back now. He is mine. Anyone who interferes will die."
Ever since he had begun trying to buy time by talking, Robb had not stopped carefully observing everything around him.
The day before, he and the others had passed through this crossroads twice while looking for Anguy's smithy. But because their minds had been occupied, they had only hurried through without truly paying attention.
This was the crossroads southwest of Cobbler's Square. Compared with the stepped alley, it was much wider and unquestionably better for dodging or fleeing.
Around the crossroads there were also many stalls covered by awnings, and the goods were still there, a clear sign that the owners had been driven off by force.
On the wall to the right, a sign pointed toward the Lion Gate.
To the left, another marked the way to the Alchemists' Guild.
Straight ahead stretched the Street of Steel, which Robb had passed through the day before.
The moment the Mountain spoke, the twenty Lannister soldiers behind him hurriedly fell back, opening up a broad fighting space for the two of them.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Hearing the men behind him moving away, the Mountain wasted no time on further talk.
He rolled his right wrist, lifted the great two-handed sword with one hand, and began walking toward Robb in heavy, pounding steps.
With legs that long, a single step of his covered as much ground as two or three steps from an ordinary man. In the blink of an eye, he was already in front of Robb.
Then he raised the enormous sword in his right hand and brought it down in a brutal overhead strike.
Driven by the monstrous strength of his arm, the heavy two-handed blade even tore through the air with a dull roar.
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