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"Close ranks! Form up! Infantry defensive formation!!!"
Although the soldiers from the Dreadfort were not particularly vigilant, the basic discipline expected of Northern soldiers was still quite high.
The moment they heard Dick's shout, they sprang to their feet. In just one or two minutes, they had drawn their swords, raised their shields, and formed a defensive line.
His voice already hoarse from shouting, Dick also finished putting on his mail armor with the help of his trusted men.
He was the only one among those soldiers who possessed mail armor.
Facing a sudden cavalry attack, Dick and the others formed a defensive line on the spot. It was not because they lacked horses.
It was because the attacking cavalry's mounts had already reached full speed at that distance. In that state, even if Dick and his men tried to meet them head-on on horseback, defeat would be inevitable.
"Archers, fire at will! Everyone else hold the line! The formation must not break!"
As the distance closed, Dick could already see clearly that the attacking riders did not outnumber them by much.
With his extensive combat experience, he knew that if they could withstand the first charge of the cavalry, there would still be hope of victory.
Upon hearing Dick's order, their only two archers immediately began firing.
But the charging riders wore iron helmets and mail. Unless struck in the neck, the eyes, or some other vulnerable spot, the arrows were largely ignored.
One of the riders, however, was unlucky. An arrow struck his horse in the head, and both man and mount were thrown violently to the ground. Whether he lived or died was unknown.
Tok! Tok! Tok!
Gulp.
The yellow-toothed soldier in the defensive line stared at the riders who were already nearly upon them. The thunder of hooves sounded like distant thunder, and he swallowed nervously.
"Stab the horses' bellies!"
Captain Dick's shout echoed in his ears.
Holding his shield in his left hand, the yellow-toothed soldier thrust forward with the shortsword in his right, stabbing directly into the belly of the horse already upon him.
Rip!
The sharp blade instantly pierced the horse's soft belly. Driven by the momentum of the charge, the wound tore open even further, splitting into a gash over a foot long as bright red blood sprayed out.
Neigh!
The horse let out a miserable cry before collapsing heavily to the ground.
The yellow-toothed soldier had achieved his goal. However, as the horse slammed violently into his shield, he was left dazed, a thin line of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
The unpleasant sensation lasted only an instant.
A longsword pierced through the back of his head, the blade bursting out through the eye socket and forcing the bloody eyeball outward.
Moments earlier, his vision had been blocked by the massive body of the horse.
He had not noticed that the rider had seemingly predicted his movement.
Before the soldier's blade even pierced the horse's belly, the rider had already risen up on the saddle. Using the force of his legs against the stirrups, he launched himself forward through the air.
He vaulted over the defensive line, rolled twice on the ground to absorb the impact, and immediately sprang back to his feet.
Then he turned and drove his sword into the back of the soldier's head.
Of course, not every rider was capable of such refined maneuvers.
Most simply crashed into the defensive line and, using the momentum of the charge, delivered powerful downward strikes. Unless they encountered seasoned veterans, cavalry held a massive natural advantage over defensive infantry.
The moment the two sides collided, three or four riders broke straight through the defensive line.
Among them was the rider who had killed the yellow-toothed soldier.
Because he was closest to Dick, he was immediately singled out as a target.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
In a very short span of time, Dick and the rider exchanged three rapid blows.
Their longswords collided violently, sending sparks flying, but neither drew the other's blood.
A sword never lies.
After those three exchanges, both men knew that the other was far from an ordinary soldier.
They stopped using wide, brutal strikes. Instead, they became far more cautious, blocking and probing, searching for an opening in the other's defense.
Rip!
During a hurried block, the rider seized the moment when Dick barely managed to defend himself and slid his blade downward, opening a cut across Dick's calf where the mail offered no protection.
'This won't work!'
Dick realized that his opponent's swordsmanship was improving rapidly during the fight.
His battlefield instincts told him that if this stalemate continued, he would eventually die by the rider's blade.
In a sudden decision, Dick stepped forward and raised his sword with both hands, bringing it down like a falling mountain.
He intended to crush his opponent with a sudden burst of power.
Clang! Clang!…
The clash of steel echoed repeatedly.
Caught off guard by Dick's sudden onslaught, the rider was forced back step by step, clearly under pressure.
Although pushed onto the defensive, he still managed to block every strike.
Once he gradually adapted to the rhythm of the fight, the rider twisted his wrist and launched an upward slash.
Dick's sword, already weakened by exhaustion, was knocked aside, leaving his chest completely exposed.
Seizing the opportunity, the rider's bloodstained sword darted forward like a venomous snake and pierced Dick's throat, ending the battle.
Cough… cough…
As he coughed up blood, Dick realized in his final moments that he had been so focused on the duel that he had failed to notice the other battles had already ended.
More than a dozen enemy riders surrounded the two of them.
Even if he had killed his opponent, he still would not have escaped death.
Seeing that the troublesome foe had finally lost his life, the rider pulled his sword free and flicked it lightly to the side.
The blood on the blade scattered across the ground, forming a crescent-shaped arc.
With nothing left to support him, Dick's body collapsed heavily onto the ground.
When he removed his helmet, Robb immediately smelled the metallic sweetness in the air.
That scent came from the iron in blood—especially the iron within red blood cells.
Large amounts of blood and spilled entrails usually meant death.
Therefore, it could also be called the smell of death.
House Stark had always raised its sons with the ferocity of wolves.
In the memories that had merged within him, the original Robb had long been accustomed to seeing corpses, blood, and even taking lives with his own hands.
This smell was familiar to him.
But for the current Robb, it was still difficult to adapt to.
Even so, he knew that this scent would often accompany him in the future.
Robb lowered his head and looked down at his hands.
He could feel strength surging through his body.
Thinking of the sword that had ended his enemy's life only moments ago, a sense of absolute control over life and death rose within him.
So this is what it feels like… to possess power and authority in this world?
He shook his head, forcing those thoughts aside.
Raising his gaze, he surveyed the battlefield covered in corpses and wreckage.
Then he turned toward the riders of Winterfell who were watching him closely and announced loudly,
"The murderers have already paid for their crimes in the seven hells! When we return to Winterfell, each of you will receive fifty Silver Stags! The families of the fallen will receive triple."
"Eternal loyalty to House Stark!"
"Long live Lord Robb!"
Robb's reward immediately ignited the enthusiasm of the Winterfell soldiers, who erupted into cheers.
His reward was extremely generous.
A hearty meal of lamb, duck, buttered peas, oat bread, and four mugs of ale cost less than a single Silver Stag.
In the tales people told, even a bounty of one hundred Silver Stags had been enough to drive men to attack the powerful and feared Hound without fear of death.
"Robb, we killed sixteen enemies in total. We lost two soldiers on the battlefield, and a third was too badly wounded. I gave him a quick death."
Theon stepped close to Robb and quietly reported the results of the battle and their losses.
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