"My Lord, let me charge one more time!"
"Yes, My Lord, just one more charge!"
"One more charge, one more charge!"
One after another, the people around Lord Roose Bolton began to pressure him.
This time, he could no longer maintain his lake-like coldness and angrily shouted at the surrounding noble knights:
"Charge? How can we charge? Can't you see the Westeros army on the other side is already regrouping? Can't you see the water level has dropped?"
"Someone! Go call them back for me!"
As soon as Roose Bolton finished speaking, Jon's army began to retreat rapidly.
It wasn't that Jon didn't want to fight; he had already noticed that his soldiers' stamina was on the verge of exhaustion.
This was originally a defeated remnant army; to achieve this much was already excellent.
Although he himself had a God's-eye view, the soldiers were not units in a game with only health bars.
They would get injured and bleed, and prolonged fighting would exhaust them.
Jon quickly scanned the large army and found that the number had already approached three thousand.
Many captives were still being dragged along at the 'tail end'.
One must know that some people in his own army were just captives themselves!
However, it was already very good. The original army of over eighteen thousand men would have been squandered by Roose Bolton, losing seven or eight thousand.
Now, those he rescued and those who escaped due to his interception should add up to over four thousand.
The losses were greatly reduced.
At this moment, the soldiers behind Jon had blood on their upper bodies and mud on their lower bodies.
Many looked pale due to excessive exertion.
But Jon couldn't stop; once he let them rest, these people might not get up again.
He quickly planned a retreat route for the army.
Finally, after another brief yet long trek, Jon finally led them back to a safe zone.
It was not until this moment that a cavalry unit flying the flayed man banner arrived late to cover their retreat.
Realizing they were out of the battlefield, these people could no longer hold on and collapsed one after another.
They waited with the retreating routed and wounded soldiers for their respective lords to take them away.
Jon, on the other hand, silently left the group with his subordinates.
Jon, returning to his tent, did not rest but was pondering something.
Eddard was probably still alive now.
If he were to meet Tywin with today's battle results and have him urgently send a letter to King's Landing, asking someone to keep an eye on Eddard, wouldn't this 'Old Wolf Lord' not have to die?
However, was there a precedent in Westeros for meeting the enemy's main general halfway through a battle?
Just as he was pondering these matters, a Winterfell soldier rushed in and said:
"My Lord, you… would you please come and see?"
"What's wrong?"
"Those soldiers, they, those soldiers want to see you."
Jon noticed an indescribable excitement on the soldier's face.
He estimated this guy wasn't even this excited when he got married.
Jon knew that the soldiers he spoke of were likely the ones who had just fought alongside him.
But the soldiers wanted to see him?
Even if he was a bastard, he was Eddard's bastard.
Could they just see him whenever they wanted?
This wasn't to say Jon looked down on them, but this situation didn't conform to Westeros common sense.
To prevent any accidents, Jon first opened his view and looked around, finding no murderous intent outside.
So he walked out of the tent.
Led by the soldier, Jon saw the group of remnant soldiers still waiting in place.
"Lord Jon is here!"
"It's Lord Jon."
Seeing Jon arrive, they all stood up, instantly forming a special human wave.
Jon hadn't had time to change clothes, and they were naturally the same.
Their trouser legs were caked with mud, and their upper bodies were still covered by armor.
They smelled of sweat and blood, and everyone looked somewhat disheveled.
But that didn't matter; they knew who had saved them today.
"Jon."
At this moment, a familiar-looking noble big man, his face covered in blood, came before Jon.
"You are… Lord Harrion?"
Jon recognized his identity and suddenly remembered that he had even whipped him with a horsewhip on the battlefield.
"It's me, My Lord! Thanks to you, if it weren't for you, I would have been captured, and if I were captured, my father would surely kill me."
"Uh…"
Harrion spoke, his body involuntarily trembling.
Especially when he said Rickard might kill him, his voice even quivered.
It was as if Rickard Karstark would appear beside him at any moment to whip him.
And Jon looked at this big man whose beard could cover his face if flipped up, speechless for a moment.
But Harrion's subsequent declaration greatly surprised him.
"Lord Jon, from today onward, the soldiers of House Karstark will be under your command!
I will do whatever you tell me to do!"
"Me too!" At this moment, a familiar voice rang out; it was Meici Severn.
Lord Severn, who always liked to mock Jon, came to Jon's side somewhat awkwardly.
The accompanying maester had just bandaged his arrow wound.
"Jon…" Meici Severn was much older than Eddard; he wouldn't utter the title 'My Lord,' but the respect and admiration in his tone were no less than Harrion's.
It even carried an undisguised sense of guilt.
"Jon, I used to always, always look down on you, and if it weren't for you today…"
"Enough, Lord Severn, let's not talk about these things. Your soldiers should still be commanded by yourselves. We all must obey Robb's orders."
Jon quickly turned around. Now was not the time for a mutiny.
If he dared to gather soldiers privately to oppose Roose Bolton, he would be the one violating military rules.
He had only just managed to leave the Wall and had no desire to return.
"Wait! Jon!"
Lord Severn quickly stepped forward to stop him, and the soldiers around Jon also didn't want him to leave.
Clearly, there were more battles to be fought.
Following Jon was clearly much safer than following Roose Bolton.
At the very least, Jon wouldn't abandon them.
But Jon seemed completely unappreciative, directly drawing his sword and pointing it at the person blocking his way, saying:
"If anyone blocks me, I will tell Robb under the charge of betraying a liege lord's command!" Jon's tone was cold, not yielding an inch.
Seeing this, those soldiers and nobles had no choice but to grudgingly step aside.
But just as Jon walked halfway, a group of old veterans with graying hair stopped him.
These old veterans all looked at least fifty years old!
Their equipment was hard to evaluate; it couldn't be called excellent, only better than nothing.
Seeing this group of people, Jon suddenly felt angry. Which inhumane lord would drag out people of such an old age to fight, and not even issue them equipment!
Is this even human!
Just as Jon was about to ask something, the leading old soldier suddenly spoke:
"My Lord, we heard you are Eddard's son. Heavens, you truly resemble Eddard."
"Yes, he truly does," another old soldier beside the leader echoed.
Both wore dirty felt caps, with thin faces, like mushroom stems under a mushroom cap.
"Although we only saw Lord Eddard from afar once, as soon as we saw you, we knew you were his son."
"Right! More than Robb!"
Seeing these two old men playing off each other like a crosstalk performance, leading the topic to irrelevant places, Jon quickly stopped them.
"Alright, alright, what do you want to say! I'll be frank: if you also want to be like them, then leave early. I won't take you in just because you're old!"
Seeing Jon's impatience, the leading old soldier spoke:
"But My Lord, our lord has already died in battle. Are you still unwilling?"
Died in battle? A lord like that deserved to die in battle!
Jon was glad he hadn't saved him.