Chapter 146 — A Blade in the Rain
"So what do you think? I don't believe that Payne kid is really as terrifying as the rumors say."
"Huh?"
The soldier riding at the rear of the column deliberately slowed his horse, leaning closer to the man beside him as wind and rain lashed across their faces.
Unlike the Mountain, he had no intention of galloping recklessly through the storm.
Falling from a horse in weather like this could easily mean a broken neck.
Yet this time, his casual remark received only silence.
Something felt off.
He wiped rainwater from his face, pulled his cloak tighter, muttered a confused "Hey," and instinctively glanced back.
After all, he could still hear hoofbeats beside him.
But the moment he turned—
the torchlight beside him flickered weakly one last time before dropping into the mud.
The final glimmer of light revealed a chilling sight.
A headless corpse still sitting upright on horseback, swaying with the horse's movement.
The torch that had been clutched in its hand slipped free and tumbled to the ground.
The soft thud of the body hitting the mud vanished beneath the wind, rain, and thunder of hooves.
A nameless chill crawled up the soldier's spine.
Moments ago he had been bragging loudly.
Now every hair on his body stood on end.
Then—
a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.
At the same time, a calm voice pierced through the storm and reached his ear.
"Actually… he's even stronger than you imagine."
"Allow me to introduce myself."
"I'm Podrick Payne."
---
Podrick had burst out of the forest during the rainstorm.
Somehow, he had already circled around behind the column led by Gregor Clegane.
Silently he slipped up behind the last rider, severed one man's head with a single stroke—
then leapt onto the horse of the second-to-last rider.
Just in time to hear them discussing him.
The hand gripping the soldier's shoulder felt like forged iron.
The soldier instinctively struggled.
It accomplished absolutely nothing.
Instead, it felt as if his bones were about to shatter under the crushing grip.
And hearing that name whispered beside his ear—
a freezing shock shot from his tailbone straight to his skull.
"I… I…"
He tried to speak.
But the hand tightened.
Then—
THROW!
Like a bull tossing aside its prey, Podrick hurled the man straight off the horse.
The soldier flew through the air.
His head struck the base of a tree first.
The skull split open.
Red and white spilled out together.
His neck twisted into a grotesque angle.
---
After tossing the corpse aside, Podrick slid forward into the saddle.
The horse naturally noticed the sudden change in weight.
But just as it began reacting—
a hand reached forward and gently stroked its neck.
[Animal Handling: Lv6 (MAX)]
Remark: Everything in the world has limits. Yet you have trained this skill to its extreme. Perhaps one day you may create miracles… or even surpass those limits.
—Someone once said an angry girlfriend is harder to restrain than a wild boar.
The horse's mood suddenly lightened.
It behaved as though nothing unusual had happened.
Fresh energy surged through its body.
Its hooves even picked up speed as it trotted toward the distant flicker of torchlight ahead.
Podrick lowered his body in the saddle.
With his Level 5 Riding skill, he moved with the horse seamlessly.
Holding Ice in one hand, he advanced silently.
The wind and rain obscured everything.
Vision was poor.
Sound was worse.
And with only a handful of oil-soaked torches lighting the road, the Lannister cavalry had no idea what was happening behind them.
After all—
who could imagine that someone could catch up to horses on foot, and then kill riders silently in the dark?
So Podrick continued closing the distance openly.
Until he reached another rider.
Then—
SLASH!
Ice fell like lightning.
The blade cleaved from shoulder to rib.
The soldier barely had time to register anything before his body slid from the saddle.
Podrick continued forward.
One rider after another.
Ten men died before anyone noticed.
---
Eventually, one Lannister soldier felt a strange chill down his back.
As he rode, he suddenly realized something was wrong.
The hoofbeats behind him seemed… fewer.
He turned around.
Just in time to see a shadow.
A massive sword came down.
The blade entered through a rider's shoulder—
and tore out through the lower ribs.
The soldier never understood what had happened.
His vision suddenly lowered.
He collapsed from the saddle.
In the final seconds of his life, he saw horses galloping away.
And a lone figure carrying an enormous sword passing by behind him.
Rain—or blood—dripped slowly from the blade.
The storm grew heavier.
Podrick was already soaked through.
But once he realized he'd been discovered, he didn't panic.
Instead, he calmly pulled the reins and slowed his horse.
The column he had caught up to gradually rode ahead again.
And his figure vanished once more into the darkness.
---
"ENEMY ATTACK!"
"ENEMY ATTACK!"
The desperate screams finally alerted Gregor Clegane's force.
The soldier who spotted the attack pulled his horse to a halt.
When several riders gathered together, they quickly noticed something horrifying.
Men were missing.
"Where did the enemy come from?!"
"Are we being ambushed?!"
"Damn it! Why didn't we hear anything?!"
"Where is Ser Clegane?!"
The halted cavalry fell into chaos.
Horses panicked.
Men gathered instinctively into a defensive cluster, drawing weapons and staring fearfully into the rain-soaked darkness.
Their reaction was actually very quick.
But even so—
only fifty or sixty riders had gathered together.
Which meant at least half the force had continued galloping ahead.
Or perhaps…
they were already dead.
The thought made the men even more terrified.
Voices grew louder.
"Where's the enemy?!"
"WHO yelled enemy attack?!"
"Ser Clegane rode ahead! Someone go warn him!"
"Where the hell is the enemy?!"
"Mother… I don't want to die…"
Some panicked.
Some raged.
Some tried to remain calm.
Others broke down, crying for their mothers.
But no matter how loudly they shouted—
no matter how much they tried to bolster their courage—
not a single man dared ride into the rain-darkened wilderness.
They had only a few dim torches left to provide light.
But fear spreads quickly.
The more uncertain the situation became, the more terrified the intercepted Lannister riders grew.
Someone finally snapped at the sound of a soldier crying for his mother.
A gauntleted hand swung out.
The slap nearly knocked the man's head off.
Yet that only made things worse.
More fists flew in response.
Within moments, a senseless brawl erupted in the darkness.
The chaos grew so great that the torches—those few faint lights—were knocked into the mud and extinguished by the rain.
Then someone drew a knife.
A few sudden screams pierced the darkness.
The fear climbed even higher.
"Murder! Someone's killing us!"
Someone shouted.
Another tried desperately to restore order.
"Quiet! Everyone quiet! Sto—!"
The man's command ended in a scream.
A moment later came the dull sound of a body collapsing.
Men shouted.
Horses screamed.
The darkness didn't only throw the soldiers into panic.
Animals feel fear too.
The terror of the men, the pitch-black night, and the relentless rain triggered the horses as well.
The chaos spiraled completely out of control.
Screams rose higher and higher—
until finally they faded away, leaving behind only a few weak groans.
Then, slowly—
a faint glow returned.
---
Under the rain-darkened sky stood a single figure.
His body was soaked and stained red.
In his left hand he held a torch.
In his right he dragged a massive greatsword across the ground.
Rain poured down as he stood silently.
At his feet lay dozens of corpses, scattered across the mud.
Among them were several unlucky horses.
Some had collapsed into pits of blood and mud, gasping weakly as they struggled to breathe, their bodies riddled with cuts.
Others had broken legs and tried desperately to stand—only to collapse again, thrashing wildly and worsening the shattered bones.
Compared with those pitiful horses, the Lannister soldiers fared little better.
For the few who had survived the darkness moments earlier—
all they could do now was watch as Podrick Payne approached them.
His expression remained cold.
His greatsword scraped along the ground as he walked.
Two minutes later, he flicked his wrist.
Rainwater and blood sprayed from the blade.
Without another glance, Podrick lifted the torch and continued walking.
He followed the direction where Gregor Clegane had ridden.
Behind him, the muddy road had been churned into deep pits by hooves and bodies.
Human and animal corpses lay mixed together in pools of blood, rainwater, and mud.
It looked almost like some horrific ritual sacrifice.
---
Meanwhile—
Gregor Clegane had no idea what had happened behind him.
He had already arrived at the ruined village where Sansa and Jalabhar were hiding.
But the Mountain was not a fool.
Instead of charging blindly in, he halted several hundred meters away.
The night was dark.
Visibility was poor.
He raised a hand.
The attendants and a dozen elite guards riding beside him immediately lit torches and hurled several forward.
The scattered flames barely illuminated the area ahead.
But beneath the rain, there was nothing there.
Only desolation.
The houses were burned to rubble.
Nearby trees and grass lay ruined.
Bodies—perhaps corpses—were scattered irregularly across the ground.
A few wild dogs were even gnawing on them despite the rain.
The entire place looked like a battlefield that had already been ravaged by war.
Gregor stared at the scene, wary and confused.
It looked no different from the aftermath of countless villages he had already pillaged.
Yet something felt wrong.
Still, he didn't move immediately.
He remained cautious, watching for the enemy he expected to appear.
Behind him, the soldiers he had left behind began arriving one by one.
Both men and horses were breathing heavily.
After waiting a little longer, Gregor finally realized something disturbing.
The hundred-plus cavalry he had set out with—
had dwindled to barely more than half.
The remaining riders gathered in a chaotic cluster.
Gregor deliberately positioned himself outside the group.
His expression darkened.
"Where are the rest?"
He turned his head.
His voice rang out like a giant bell through the rain.
But who could answer him?
Those who caught up to him were the fastest riders.
In a storm like this, who else besides the Mountain would dare gallop recklessly through the darkness?
Since the rain began, visibility had dropped sharply.
Truthfully, most of them had slowed to little more than a careful trot.
Even so, reaching this place had exhausted them.
"S–Ser Clegane… perhaps they fell behind… maybe they got lost… if we just wait a little longer—"
SMACK!
One of the soaked, miserable soldiers finally spoke up.
But before he could finish—
Gregor's hand lashed out.
The slap sent the man flying from his saddle.
"You think I'm a fool?"
Gregor's voice was ice-cold.
But the soldier never heard it.
Because when he fell, one of his feet became trapped in the stirrup.
His head struck the ground first.
His neck snapped instantly.
His horse panicked at the sudden fall.
With a terrified scream, it bolted into the darkness.
The corpse—still caught in the stirrup—was dragged behind it and vanished into the rain.
Gregor's sudden brutality silenced everyone.
No one dared speak again.
Watching the corpse disappear into the darkness, fear spread through the group.
Yet just then—
someone suddenly pointed ahead.
"Look… what's that?"
All eyes turned.
Even Gregor, his anger slightly cooled, followed the direction.
From the darkness—
a figure slowly emerged.
He dragged a sword in one hand.
A torch burned in the other.
On his head was a helmet crowned with massive antlers.
He stepped calmly into the circle of torchlight.
The figure looked like a specter from the underworld.
Every soldier felt the hairs on their neck rise.
Many instinctively looked around in fear, worried they had already been surrounded.
But the figure kept approaching.
The enormous black greatsword scraped against the ground with metallic clangs.
Only when he was about ten paces away did he stop.
He lifted his head.
The face beneath the antlered helmet was impossible to see.
But cold eyes glinted from the shadowed visor.
The stranger said nothing.
He simply stared at them—
as if looking at corpses.
Gregor Clegane watched him just as cautiously.
At the same time, he scanned the surroundings, expecting hidden enemies to appear.
But the world remained silent.
Only the soft rhythm of rain filled the air.
Drops struck helmets and armor, creating endless metallic tapping.
After confirming there was no one else around, Gregor turned back to the lone figure.
His voice rumbled from inside his helmet.
"Beric Dondarrion."
"Where are your men?"
The antler-helmed warrior finally answered.
He spoke only three sentences.
"I'm not Beric Dondarrion."
"I'm Podrick Payne."
"And…"
"The one who's going to kill you."