The North.
Evening had fallen.
Torren's Square, standing beside the great lake, was bathed in the last glow of the setting sun.
To the southwest, on a ridge about ten kilometers away.
Euron stood quietly at the high point of the hills, holding a spyglass and peering toward Torren's Square.
Through the lens, the castle showed no sign of preparation. Soldiers lounged lazily against the battlements, and some were even rowing small boats on the nearby lake, fishing at their leisure.
"So that is my target?"
"A flock of weak sheep."
Euron lowered the spyglass and cast an eerie glance at the man beside him, his brother Aeron Damp-Hair.
"Aeron, I want you to lead three hundred men and draw out the soldiers of Torren's Square."
Aeron looked at Euron in fear and forced himself to stay calm.
"You want me to be bait?"
"Euron, do not forget Balon's orders. I am the deputy of this force."
Euron merely looked at him once. Memories of childhood terror surged back into Aeron's mind.
His body trembled slightly as he lowered his voice.
"I want five hundred men."
Euron laughed softly.
"I will give you fifty more at most."
He touched the dagger at his waist and said casually, "Any more than that, and it would no longer be bait."
A chill ran through Aeron's heart. He could only agree.
After confirming where he was to lure the soldiers of Torren's Square, he reluctantly led his trusted men toward the castle.
Less than twenty minutes later.
The soldiers garrisoned at Torren's Square spotted Aeron and his group.
At once, the bells rang loudly.
The entire castle went on alert.
The nephew of Lord Herman Tallhart, castellan of Torren's Square, stood atop a watchtower on the outer wall and looked down.
His gaze shifted, but he saw only Aeron's small force.
Watching them advance toward the castle, he laughed. "With so few men, they think to attack Torren's Square?"
"Captain Harlan, gather the troops. I will lead them out myself."
The young captain nodded eagerly.
"A victory delivered to our door would be a waste to refuse," he thought.
Soon, more than six hundred soldiers stationed in the castle were assembled.
Moments later.
Lord Tallhart led them out through the west gate and charged straight toward Aeron's men.
On the ridge, Euron still observed the battlefield calmly through his spyglass.
The two sides were already locked in combat. Even from the hills, the shouts of battle were clearly audible.
With superior numbers, Lord Tallhart inflicted heavy losses on Aeron's men as soon as the fighting began.
There was no need to put on an act.
Aeron could only retreat in disarray.
But after running for a while, he looked toward the ridge and still saw no sign of Euron moving.
'Damn Euron. He wants me dead here.'
He glanced back. Lord Tallhart was following at an unhurried pace, as if enjoying a game of cat and mouse.
"Capture these ironborn alive. I want to know where they came…"
Before he could finish, Lord Tallhart saw in horror that hundreds of ironborn were emerging from the right side of the ridge.
"It's a trap!"
"Retreat. Back to the castle!"
He roared desperately and turned to flee.
But it was already too late.
"Kill all those weak sheep!"
"I will use their blood to honor the god!"
With Euron's command, the tongueless crew of the Silence raised their weapons in silence and charged at the soldiers of Torren's Square.
It took only a few minutes.
Euron led them into the rear of Lord Tallhart's force as they tried to return to the castle.
He wore a bloodthirsty smile.
"Leave none alive."
The crew of the Silence fought without shouting, without calling to one another, coordinating only through glances and some eerie, unspoken understanding.
They swung their weapons, unleashing a suffocating brutality.
Their silence made the slaughter even more terrifying. Only the sound of blades cutting into flesh, dying screams, and shrill cries of fear echoed across the open fields.
Two hours later.
With all its defenders lost, Torren's Square could no longer resist Euron's mad assault.
To avoid herself and her family being butchered after the fall of the castle, Lady Tallhart had no choice but to order the gates opened and surrender.
As she did so, she instructed the maester to send word to Winterfell, hoping for swift aid.
But Lady Tallhart misjudged one thing.
She underestimated Euron's cruelty.
A scene of bloody carnage unfolded.
While Euron fully occupied Torren's Square and carried out widespread slaughter, Victarion's Iron Fleet was steadily advancing along the Fever River.
To avoid being detected by Moat Cailin, they deliberately passed Salt Spear Shoals at night.
But from Victarion's observation, with the northern army having marched south, Moat Cailin no longer had enough men to monitor the entire shoal.
His caution proved unnecessary.
At this moment, they were less than two or three hours from the end of the Fever River.
Giant flowers of the Neck could already be seen around them, along with all manner of creatures lurking in the darkness.
Victarion stood at the prow of the Iron Victory, watching the narrowing river while listening to the noisy chorus of insects.
"This cursed place," muttered his first mate, the gray-haired old Quellon. "I never want to come here a second time."
"Captain Victarion, we're almost there."
Victarion stepped up and clapped him on the shoulder.
"We are not men of the land. Rivers are merely roads for our conquest."
He stared toward the shadowed shape of Moat Cailin and issued a cold command.
"Tell the boys to stow the oars. We land here."
The Iron Fleet came to a halt along the muddy banks like beached sea beasts.
The ironborn cursed as they shouldered their weapons, leaping into knee-deep, icy mud and trudging ashore.
The kingsroad lay to the east. Following this muddy track south for over twenty kilometers would bring them to their objective.
"Boys!"
Victarion donned his black helm, raised his great axe, and shouted.
"Before dawn, I want Moat Cailin taken. Open the gates of the North for our plunder!"
The ironborn roared in excitement, raising their weapons.
"Move out!"
Under cover of night, a force of more than a thousand men marched rapidly toward Moat Cailin.
Around five in the morning, after a night-long advance, they reached the outskirts of Moat Cailin.
By then, Newgate had already spotted the movement from the tower. Cold sweat poured down his back as he stared at the seemingly endless ironborn.
'How did the ironborn come from the north?'
'Has Winterfell already fallen?'
He thought quickly, then looked back at the two hundred archers behind him, despair welling up.
'Damn it…'
'If they had come from the south, even twice their number wouldn't scare me.'
'But they came from behind.'
With a deep sigh, his geographical advantage was gone, and he faced the risk of being sealed in.
'No choice. Before they launch an attack, we must break out. We have to report this to our lord and to Winterfell.'
Negate made his decision at once and led his men along the forest path to the east, slipping toward White Harbor.
By the time Victarion realized and sent men to intercept, it was too late.
Though more than a hundred were killed, Newgate still managed to break through with forty survivors.
Soon, ravens flew from White Harbor in all directions.
Meanwhile, in the waters near Cape Kraken.
Asha, leading a hundred longships, gazed toward the land with blazing excitement.
"Tell the oarsmen to increase speed!"
"I want Deepwood Motte taken within five days!"
At once, ironborn cheers rang out across the sea.
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