The Campaign

Crack, crack!

Robb's boots crunched softly on the dry weeds.

He was leading Theon's squad through a forest full of towering trees. Their thick foliage blocked the sunlight in layers, with the occasional shaft slipping through the leaves to brighten the surroundings.

Not far from Robb and the others, behind a vine-covered tree, a rusted iron arrowhead slowly emerged from the vines. Like a venomous snake, it trained its point on Robb's group.

Hidden among the vines was a Wildling archer, his body covered in leafy camouflage.

The Wildling archer watched the southerners in their assorted armor, trying to determine which of them was their leader.

At this distance, he would have to flee the moment he loosed an arrow. Otherwise, there was a good chance they would catch him.

"Grr...!"

As the Wildling archer strained against his bowstring, a menacing animal growl suddenly came from beside him.

He froze in shock. The moment he turned toward the sound, a gray shape was already leaping at him.

"Ah! Aaaah!"

Hearing the screams, Robb's lips curled into a smile. The fish had finally taken the bait.

"Blood Wind, leave him alive!"

Robb shouted toward the screams, then gave Theon a meaningful glance.

Theon nodded and took one of his men with him. A few minutes later, they dragged back a Wildling who had lost a hand.

Woof!

Blood Wind returned with them, his face smeared with blood and a bloody hand clenched in his jaws. When he spotted Robb, he bounded over to him as if seeking praise, eager to share his spoils.

"Mm, thanks, Blood Wind, but I don't eat that. Go have your snack over there!"

Robb patted Blood Wind's bloodstained head without the slightest disgust and sent him off to the side. Then he turned to the still-screaming Wildling.

"Stop screaming. Either tell us where your camp is, or let my Direwolf digest you bit by bit."

It turned out that not every Wildling had the same backbone as their king, who would rather burn to death than surrender.

Once he had learned the direction of the Wildling camp, Robb immediately led Theon's squad to meet up with the guards following close behind.

"Are they still not back?"

Osha rested a homemade spear across her knees, nervously bouncing her right foot.

"No. Iron Tooth and Bone Crusher haven't returned. By now, one of them should have come back to report."

A Wildling beside Osha shook his head.

"Something's wrong... Everyone, grab your things! We're moving deeper into the forest right now."

At that, Osha sprang to her feet and shouted to the Wildlings sprawled around her.

"The two lookouts are late, so we're just abandoning this place? If those southerners dare come in here, I'll—"

Whoosh!

The bearded Wildling warrior who had been holding an axe stood up and shouted at Osha. A gleaming arrow suddenly pierced his right eye, silencing him forever.

"The southerners are here! Grab your weapons and defend yourselves!"

"Smash those damned southerners' heads in!"

"Kill!"

The Wildlings in the camp froze for a moment, then roared angrily and snatched up their weapons, surging toward the attackers.

The instant the attack began, Osha ducked behind a tent and watched the attackers.

When she saw the southerners in armor, she quietly began backing away without hesitation.

"Everyone! Form up into spear formations by squad, with the squad leaders at the point! Charge!"

Seeing the Wildlings charge toward them in a disorderly but fearsome rush, Robb immediately barked his orders.

The thirty-two guards, Robb among them, swiftly formed into spear formations and charged straight at the Wildlings.

The two sides were already close. In an instant, they collided.

Screech!

Clang!

Theon's squad, led by Robb, was at the very front and naturally met the Wildlings leading the charge first.

Robb's slash cut through a Wildling's neck, making blood gush from it like water from a burst pipe. The Wildling's axe, meanwhile, slammed heavily into Robb's chainmail.

Protected by high-quality Winterfell-issue chainmail, Robb was unharmed by the Wildling's shoddy axe, but the force of the blow still rattled him.

Then a red mist rose from the fallen Wildling and seeped into Robb's body.

Grr!... Crack!

When a Wildling tried to take advantage of Robb's brief daze to attack, Blood Wind leaped up at his side. The wolf's sharp fangs clamped down with deadly precision, crushing the man's neck.

Kill!

Once the red mist entered his body, the strange sensation vanished in an instant, and a steady surge of strength welled up inside Robb.

With Blood Wind fighting at his side, Robb grew more and more exhilarated, as if possessed by a god of war. He focused solely on cutting down the enemy.

His excitement did not cloud his judgment.

Robb's bloodied sword struck with slashes, never thrusts.

In a charge like this, if he put all his strength into driving his sword into an enemy, he would need just as much strength to pull it back out.

Setting aside the effort it took, the time he lost would be enough for the enemy's comrades to kill him while he was unarmed.

That was why no Wildling warrior who faced Robb ever had the chance to strike a second time.

The enemies he could kill instantly were already lying on the ground.

Those he could not kill with one blow were finished off by Blood Wind, Theon, or the other men behind him.

The other five squad leaders watched the performance of Robb's vanguard.

Their respect for him deepened, and they fought all the harder on his behalf.

Heroic individualism held great sway on the battlefields of Westeros. A brave, fearless commander charging at the front, one his men respected, did more than simply raise morale by one point.

As long as he had not fallen or surrendered, his men would fight to the death. They would not break just because they had suffered losses.

In the original Battle of the Bastards, Jon's forces were trapped and surrounded, but as long as he remained alive, no one surrendered.

After Jaime's army of Lannisters and Tarlys was ambushed by a dragon and the Dothraki cavalry, they still charged headlong into an impossible fight. It was only after Jaime fell into the river and disappeared that the battered survivors laid down their arms.

Back to the battle at hand!

In the Wolfswood, one side had fine weapons and armor, and a tight, orderly formation. The other had no armor, inferior weapons, and nothing but courage. They had no formation at all.

Seen from above, Robb's force looked like five daggers stabbing straight into a block of cream cake.

When those daggers switched from stabbing to chopping, they tore the cake apart in an instant.

Thud!

Robb, so drenched in sticky blood that his face was unrecognizable, decapitated the opponent before him with a single stroke.

He turned to meet the next enemy, only to realize he was standing in the middle of the enemy camp, now empty of foes. Blood Wind was still close by, though the wolf was covered in blood too, living up to his name.

Robb turned and looked behind him. The ground was strewn with Wildling corpses, and blood had stained the green grass red.

A few Wildlings were still locked in combat with the guards, but the moment the other men were free, they rushed over and hacked them to death.

Little Jon, whose size made him easy to spot, was drenched in blood. He held a Wildling's severed head in each hand and roared at the sky.

Huff!

Robb drew a deep breath of the blood-scented air, trying to calm his turbulent excitement.

The large number of Blood Contract Points he had gained, along with the red mist entering his body, once again gave him the feeling that he held all the power and that everyone else was nothing but an ant.

"Robb, we killed forty-eight enemies. Six of our men were lightly wounded, and no one died."

Theon's face was so caked with blood that he was barely recognizable, but he had completely settled into his role. As soon as the fighting ended, he automatically began counting the casualties.

"Theon, thanks for the effort."

Robb forced down his restlessness, gave Theon a small smile, and nodded.

Grr!!!

Rustle!

Blood Wind suddenly growled at the bushes behind Robb, sending him a warning.

A sword slashed through the bushes. Jory emerged with a female Wildling in custody. He had followed Robb's orders to bring Winterfell soldiers and surround the camp in advance, in case anyone escaped.