Mondon, who had broken through the door, didn't stop and rushed straight in.
The bandit group, caught off guard, naturally suffered heavy losses, with more than half of them losing their lives before they could even react.
The remaining thieves had just retreated to this stone house.
Having just closed the door, and taking advantage of being temporarily out of danger, the bandits were about to discuss their next move when they were startled by the commotion Mondon caused.
Is this even a person?
The closest bandit, in a moment of hesitation, had his head smashed by Mondon.
The bandit leader shouted, "Fight!"
A bandit gritted his teeth, braced himself, gripped his sword hilt tightly, and lunged at Mondon.
Hidden by his helmet, a hint of disdain flashed across Mondon's simple face.
Mondon's thick leg deftly stepped forward, and his left hand's round shield slammed down with a bang, flattening the bandit along with his sword, the entire process filled with a sense of raw power.
Within the small space of the house, Mondon used his physical advantage to quickly deal with the nearby bandits.
At this moment, the Clan Soldiers also poured into the house one by one, engaging in the fight.
As soon as Angai entered the house, he set his sights on the bandit leader, who was loudly directing the bandits but hiding at the very back.
Angai's lips curled slightly as he drew an arrow from his quiver.
Just as Angai was about to raise his bow, Mondon's warhammer, stained red with blood, spun and flew out.
With a thud, the flying hammer struck the bandit leader directly in the face, a sound of breaking bones accompanying it.
Angai changed his target, and with a whoosh, an arrow flew, and a bandit fell instantly.
After shooting the arrow, Angai looked at Mondon and said helplessly, "Good aim!"
Because of the faceguard, Angai couldn't see Mondon's expression, but from the trembling of the mass of flesh, he could tell Mondon was laughing joyfully.
A simple-minded fatty?!
The battle was nearing its end.
Angai, abandoning his usual composure, quickly drew and nocked an arrow, firing it rapidly.
A Klaeber Tribe Soldier, wielding a battle-axe, was just about to claim the head of the last bandit when the sound of an arrow tearing through the air reached his ears.
Pfft, the bandit clutched the arrow in his neck, blood flowing from his mouth as he collapsed to the ground.
The axe-wielding Clan Soldiers grunted, turning his head to stare at Angai, his gaze radiating a dangerous light.
I'll buy you a drink! Angai quickly made a drinking gesture, and only then did the axe-wielding Clan Soldiers nod slightly and shift his gaze.
Mondon reached up and pulled down his faceguard, saying simply, "Angai, don't forget my roasted meat."
Angai didn't want to deal with the cunning fatty for now: "..."
The tall, strong figure of the axe-wielding Clan Soldiers approached, his voice rough: "Mondon, next time you break a door, take me with you?"
Mondon looked up and nodded simply.
Two days, one battle wave, Green's Clan Soldiers had eliminated four bandit groups in total.
The harvest was good; the previous Green would have been secretly happy for half a day.
He was still happy, but now that Green had spent a long time with the wealthy Lannister, this level of success no longer brought him the same joy as before.
Green's appetite was also constantly growing.
After a day of rest, Green and his group, each on a strong horse, re-entered Rose Avenue, holding high the Klaiber Tribe flag, and heading south.
Red Keep, Prime Minister's Tower.
Duke Jon, who had returned to his sickbed, was about to speak when he felt an itch in his throat and couldn't help but fall into a violent fit of coughing.
After a good while, Duke Jon finally spoke in a hoarse voice: "Petyr, this time I... I'm afraid I'll be laid up for a while."
Petyr comforted him: "Duke, you will get better soon, you must trust Maester Pycelle."
Duke Jon whispered: "Yes, Pycelle's medical skills are superb."
After a moment of silence, Duke Jon asked again: "Where is Stannis?"
Petyr's expression was somewhat helpless: "Duke Stannis left King's Landing with his men after bidding you farewell. I think now..."
Petyr spread his hands and continued: "He should be on a ship back to Dragonstone."
Duke Jon sighed weakly: "That stubborn stag."
Petyr spoke again to comfort him: "Everyone knows Duke Stannis's character. You shouldn't take his words to heart. You have your difficulties. Others are not the King's Hand; it's normal for them not to understand you, and even to misunderstand you."
Petyr was good at observing details. Although Maester Pycelle acted very normally, the fleeting change on Maester Pycelle's face did not escape his eyes.
He had truly underestimated Duke Stannis's destructive power; Duke Jon's health this time was not optimistic.
Petyr's comfort at this moment was absolutely sincere; Duke Jon could not die yet, as it was not in his best interest.
Petyr's voice was very gentle: "I think you're used to it by now."
Petyr's words seemed to improve Duke Jon's complexion considerably: "Petyr, starting tomorrow, you will come directly to the Prime Minister's Tower."
Petyr's lips curled as he bowed to Duke Jon, pressing his hand to his chest, and said respectfully, "Duke, I am deeply honored to serve you."
"Go and rest."
Duke Jon slightly raised his hand, waved it with effort, and weakly lowered his eyelids.
At this moment, Petyr had just descended the stairs after leaving Duke Jon's bedroom.
It was quiet and deserted all around, with dim lights.
A fair and plump hand suddenly appeared and grabbed Petyr's arm.
Petyr's grey-green eyes trembled slightly, but he instantly recognized the owner of the hand.
Petyr moved in the direction of the pull, his hands naturally resting on the dark figure's waist, and he whispered in a husky voice: "My Lysa."
The identity of the dark figure was Lysa Tully.
Lysa Tully came from the Tully Family of the Riverlands and was the wife of Duke of Eyrie and King's Hand Jon Arryn.
Lady Lysa Tully also lowered her voice, but she couldn't hide the joy in her tone: "You always think of me first, my Petyr!"
Her vision, accustomed to the darkness, gradually cleared.
Lady Lysa Tully had a pair of the Tully Family's blue eyes.
Lady Lysa Tully had a head of fluffy reddish-brown long hair, and after giving birth to Duke Jon's only son, Robert Arryn, her body began to gain weight.
Lysa Tully, 31 years old this year, had a bloated and loose body, and although her cheeks were powdered, she looked ten years older than her actual age.
At this moment, Petyr's eyes only held Lysa Tully in front of him, as if he were gazing at the most precious treasure of his life.
Lady Lysa Tully loved Petyr's charming gaze the most; it was never enough, and she was instantly intoxicated.
Lady Lysa Tully, intoxicated by love, had completely forgotten where she was, and her plump, fair hand slipped into Petyr's robe.
Petyr lowered his grey-green eyes, his lips curled, and he glanced at Lady Lysa Tully, who had lowered herself.
Though Petyr suppressed his voice, it was full of affection: "Lysa, don't make too much noise."