The Mountain carefully folded the two apology letters—one with Edmure's signature and the other stamped with the family crest wax—and put them into his pocket.
Even the usually composed Duke Horst's old face twisted slightly.
Scholar Weiman felt very uncomfortable. He thought he could get away with it, but to his surprise, the Magic Mountain could read!
It's not a big deal for nobles to be literate, but the Mountain is... an exception!
The Mountain is as well-known for his illiteracy as for his enormous size!
But to Maester Weyman's astonishment, the Mountain recognized every word he wrote and even suggested revising some of the words.
With two bandits standing behind him, Maester Weyman had to revise his words to make Sir Edmure even more embarrassed!
Scholar Weyman glanced apologetically at his young master, Edmure. Edmure was a good boy, but this time he had really suffered a great loss.
Why would you deliberately provoke Demon Mountain?
Scholar Weiman muttered a complaint to himself.
Maester Weyman packed up his paper and pens, tapped the table lightly with one hand, and the Mountain spoke: "Maester Weyman, wait a moment!"
"Yes, Sir Gregor!" Wyman replied obediently. He remained steadfast in adhering to the Duke of Horst's policy of 'doing what Sir Gregor asks first.'
"Duke Horst, Sir Edmure, the thousand warhorses you gifted me were out of remorse for the humiliation you caused me, not because I demanded them, were they?"
"Yes!" said Duke Horst.
"Hmph!" said Count Edmure.
"Sir Weyman, write this down!"
"Write what?"
"The gift of a thousand warhorses from the Tully family to the Clegane cavalry was out of guilt for Earl Edmure's humiliation of me, the Mountain, not because I forced him to do so," the Mountain said. Such shamelessness was already quite reasonable for the Mountain.
Maester Weyman glanced awkwardly at Edmure, then looked at Duke Horst.
Edmure looked dejected and lifeless, remaining silent and unresponsive; Duke Horst nodded.
Soon, under the guidance of the Mountain, a statement from Earl Edmure Tully was written, in triplicate, just as embarrassing. The Mountain once again expressed the same humiliating words politely, stating that this statement would also be sent to the King along with Edmure's letter of apology.
Edmure's eyes, already numb, stared unfocused at a spot on the table.
The armies of his vassals outside Riverrun had been ordered to withdraw, as Lord Mountain had commanded. But Edmure knew that his vassals had only moved a few miles away and had not actually withdrawn.
At this point in the matter, Edmure even wanted to die! But even if he died like this, he couldn't swallow his anger.
He died with his eyes wide open in disbelief!
The Mountain folded the two letters of statement from Count Edmure again and put them into his inner pocket, pressing them down gently with his hand.
Duke Horst and Maester Weyman looked at the Mountain, who felt they resembled two pitiful schoolchildren waiting for the teacher to dismiss them. He then looked at Edmure, who resembled a hopeless student, given up on by the teacher. "My grades are what they are," Edmure thought, "Teacher, do what you want. Have your parents write a self-criticism? Whatever. Who's afraid of who? Does a tortoise fear a hammer?"
"Bernie!" the Mountain said.
"Yes, sir!"
"Go and fetch the food bag that Sir Edmure returned to us."
"Yes, Lord Mountain."
Duke Horst and Maester Weyman were already used to the Mountain's men calling him "Lord Mountain." Birds of a feather flock together, and those who knew manners and hierarchy wouldn't gather around a scoundrel like the Mountain.
But what more does the Demon Mountain want?
They could only wait anxiously!
I am the fish on the chopping block! — I must never feel this way again!
Horst looked at Edmure, hoping he could learn from this tragic event. Edmure, however, remained silent and lifeless in the face of Horst's gaze. Horst's expectations were like a bucket of cold water, and he himself seemed like a dead pig.
Scalding a pig with cold water—it shows absolutely no reaction!
Bernie brought over a food bag.
After Edmure drove the Mountain away from the Kneeling Stable, he tossed aside his spoils and reveled, paying no heed to the Mountain's and his companions' food pouches. He and the noble youths were more interested in wine and prostitutes.
Duke Horst and Maester Weyman stared at the ordinary food bag. Was the Mountain going to use this to ask for food? But then again, who was the Mountain? He hadn't killed Earl Edmure—Duke Horst should already be grateful to him.
"This is salt!" The Mountain dipped his finger into the salt, then licked it. "Delicious salt, Your Grace, you should try it."
The Mountain pushed the salt in front of the Duke.
The Demon Mountain didn't ask for food!
The Duke breathed a sigh of relief. He smiled and looked at the bag of salt, then paused, stunned: the salt was very fine and very white. He stretched out his finger to test it; the salt grains slid off his finger, as fine as sand and as white as snow.
This was salt the Duke had never seen before; it was exquisite, like a work of art.
"Scholar, you should give it a try too!" said the Demon Mountain.
Maester Weyman's expression was one of surprise; he was an honest man, and his emotions were always on his face. The Mountain knew that the Tully family were mostly good people, except for Lysa Tully. In this world of A Song of Ice and Fire, good people were destined to have short lives!
Maester Weymann slowly inserted his fingers into the salt bag, and as he lifted them, the salt grains slipped through his fingers like sand, each one as white as snow. The maester and the duke tasted a little of this salt; it was salty and fragrant, without the faint bitterness and astringency of the salt they were used to.
"Snow salt is unique to the Westerlands. Your Grace, grant us salt rights. Or, Casterly Rock and Riverrun could cooperate and make money together. Snow salt doesn't have yellow granules or fine residue, and it doesn't have the coarse particles of mineral salt. When used for cooking and making soup, it has a delicious flavor, and the dishes and soups will no longer have a faint bitterness or astringency!"
"How can we cooperate?" Duke Horst immediately expressed great interest.
Doing business is far more worthwhile than having thousands of bushels of grain stolen by the Demon Mountain.
"You come to our western border to buy snow salt, and then sell it to the nobles and people of the Riverlands."
"You produce the snow salt?"
"Yes, Duke Tywin has already exported snow salt all the way to the other side of the Narrow Sea. Duke, you have many salt mines in the Riverlands, and we can cooperate to produce snow salt together."
How to cooperate?
Duke Horst tasted the snow salt again and found it delicious, without any bitterness.
"You will provide the salt ponds, while the technical and mining personnel will be provided by the western border. The sales profits of the snow salt in the river region will be split 60% between Benliu City and 40% between the western border."
"We will not cooperate with the West on the snow salt business," Edmure suddenly interjected. "We will not cooperate on any business."
The Mountain laughed: "The River Road is the largest trade route between the Riverlands and Lannisport in the West. Lannisport has long been the most important port for the export of grain, wine and fruit from the Riverlands."
"We'll go through Seagull Town," Edmure said.
"Oh, alright!" said the Mountain. "Duke Horst, this bag of snow salt is for you. I had several business deals to discuss with the Riverlands. Business is about cooperation and mutual benefit, but since Earl Edmure disagrees, then let's discuss the ransom issue according to the ancient rules among nobles that have been in place for thousands of years."
"What ransom issue?" Edmure asked indignantly. He wasn't actually foolish enough to refuse to end his entanglement with the Mountain through a business partnership. It was a business tactic: saying no to cooperation made it easier to offer terms that better suited his interests later.
Edmure was immediately captivated by the snow salt. As a young nobleman who was very particular about food, he had never seen such exquisite and translucent salt, as beautiful as jade.
"Duke Horst is in my hands, Sir Edmure. How many gold dragons will you offer to ransom your father?" the Mountain said coldly. "I'll give you a reference price. I captured Sir Ador Ador, the heir of the Ador Ador family, and they offered a thousand gold dragons to ransom him."
Edmure's heart skipped a beat. Doing business with a scumbag like the Mountain was pointless; any roundabout talk was futile! Judging from the Mountain's eyes and demeanor, the business negotiation had practically turned into a ransom negotiation!
To redeem the Lord of Flowing City from within Flowing City... that's... utterly absurd! Only a scumbag like Demon Mountain could say or even think of such a thing!
Edmure felt like eating shit.
Faced with the piercing gaze of the Demon Mountain, he knew he had to name a price!
You must—name a price!
If you won't accept the toast, then you'll have to drink a penalty cup first!