The North Erupts

"Hyah!"

"Charge! The one who kills the most gets first pick of the loot and women!"

"Haha, that'll be me!"

On the trade road from Hornwood to White Harbor, a band of roughly a hundred cavalry bearing the banner of House Bolton suddenly burst from the woods near the road, leveling spears and raising swords as they charged toward a merchant caravan ahead.

The caravan consisted of twelve wagons and several dozen riders—a sizable convoy by the North's standards.

The seasoned caravan leader didn't panic excessively. Frowning at the Bolton banner, he ordered everyone to speed up while decisively telling his men to abandon three of the less valuable wagons.

But the Bolton cavalry didn't even glance at the discarded wagons.

They rode straight for the fleeing caravan.

"Something's wrong! They're not after coin—they're after us! Halt!

Circle the wagons! Everyone, form up behind them and prepare to fight!"

The caravan leader, who had traveled north and south for over a decade, had judgment that ranked at least above average.

He immediately called off the retreat and set up a crude but effective defensive formation against the cavalry charge.

Yet the mercenaries and free riders he'd hired were no match for Bolton's elite cavalry.

The battle ended quickly.

After nearly half the caravan's members lay dead, the survivors threw down their weapons and surrendered.

Clop, clop!

Hoofbeats sounded as several riders approached the kneeling prisoners, surrounded by Bolton cavalry.

"Lord Ramsay!"

"Greetings, my lord!"

"My lord, aside from the dead, everyone's accounted for."

At the sight of the newcomer, the Bolton cavalry called out in unison. His subordinate Aelin reported the situation at once.

"Hmm."

Ramsay nodded, then smiled at the kneeling men. "Who's the caravan leader?"

"Lord Ramsay, I am. I did business at the Dreadfort before—we exchanged greetings. Do you remember?"

The caravan leader, hearing Ramsay's question, quickly stood and lifted his head so Ramsay could see him clearly.

"Oh? It's you? Then I'll give you a fine welcome today!"

A sinister grin curled at the corner of Ramsay's mouth. He turned to Aelin behind him and said, "Set up a flaying frame. Let my old acquaintance enjoy it first. And mind your technique—let him savor it."

"No, no! Lord Ramsay, I'll give you all my goods.

I have other assets too! I'll buy back my life! Spare me, I beg you!"

The caravan leader's legs trembled at the mention of being flayed.

Even a hardened traveler like him was terrified, tears streaming as he pleaded loudly.

"Good. You really are a man of value."

Ramsay nodded cheerfully at the caravan leader.

Then, seeing the man's relieved expression at the thought of escaping death, he added with malicious amusement, "And don't waste his valuable corpse afterward. Feed it to my hounds."

"Heh heh, as you command!"

Aelin, long accustomed to Ramsay's ways, gave a fawning laugh and dragged the caravan leader away.

"No! No!...

Ramsay Snow, you bastard-born son of a bitch, I curse you! I curse you to die worse than me!"

The caravan leader begged at first, but knowing death was certain, he broke into a torrent of curses.

Ramsay made an exaggerated frightened face, picked at his ear, and said to the kneeling captives, "Your leader cursed me. I'm very scared! So I'll kill you all, to make sure none of you can make me die worse than him."

"No, my lord! Have mercy!"

"My lord, we're just mercenaries! We surrendered the moment your cavalry arrived!"

"My lord!..."

The kneeling prisoners wailed at Ramsay's words, each begging for their lives.

"Ahem, Lord Ramsay, please don't forget our purpose today."

A young rider among those who had ridden in with Ramsay spoke up.

"Ah, dear Sam! If you hadn't reminded me, I might have forgotten."

Ramsay turned with a look of sudden realization and replied to the young rider.

Sam felt deep disgust for Ramsay, but kept his face respectful as he said, "I'm honored to remind you. It would be a shame to fail the purpose my lord sent me here for."

"Yes, I must not disrupt that lord's arrangements!"

Ramsay nodded respectfully in agreement, then turned to the captives and said, "You're in luck today! I, Ramsay of House Bolton, declare that half of you may survive.

From now on, the last half still standing may leave."

Having announced his decision with a smile, Ramsay turned his horse and rode away.

"Ah!"

A mercenary who understood his meaning pulled a short dagger from his boot and drove it straight into the neck of a merchant beside him.

That scream seemed to jolt all the captives awake, and they began to brawl with one another.

With fists, heads, and teeth, they strove to ensure that their former traveling companions would never rise again.

Listening to the roars and screams behind him, Ramsay's lips curled into a faint smile.

Sam's face was ashen as he watched the captives beating each other. His hands, gripping the reins, were clenched so tight that the veins bulged.

Taking a deep breath and remembering his mission, he led the three Wolf Guards behind him—their expressions equally grim—and rode after Ramsay.

The North's merchant routes were divided into two types: one was overland transport through Karun Bay to the southern realms, and the other was maritime transport via White Harbor on Bite Bay.

White Harbor was the North's primary trade port, located at the mouth of the White Blade River where it emptied into Bite Bay.

It was an ice-free harbor; even in winter, people could trade here with southern port cities and the Nine Free Cities.

New Castle, the seat of House Manderly, sat atop a hill within White Harbor's walls. A staircase from the Wolf's Den at the foot of the hill led straight up to the castle.

Count Wyman Manderly, a man whose girth rivaled that of King Robert, sat in his lavishly decorated study, frowning at a letter from a raven.

"All caravans heading to White Harbor have been attacked by Bolton cavalry? Even those directly under other noble houses?"

The silent Count Wyman looked up from the letter and asked Scholar Theomer beside him.

"Yes, Lord Wyman!"

The gray-haired Scholar Theomer nodded and continued in a slow tone, "Most caravans that encountered Bolton cavalry only had half their people survive. According to them, the cruel Ramsay Snow forced them to kill each other to live."

"Instead of killing them all to silence them, he let them go. Is he using their mouths to spread this news?"

Twisting a gemstone ring on his finger, Count Wyman's eyes were full of contemplation.

It was clear that his shrewdness matched his size.

"Have House Stark and House Bolton responded?"

Count Wyman pressed on.

"House Stark has yet to respond. Likely, with Lord Eddard serving as Hand of the King, Lord Robb has just taken over as acting lord and is still sorting out Winterfell's affairs.

House Bolton has responded. Lord Roose replied that his bastard son Ramsay had fled with part of the family's cavalry, and he is currently in pursuit."

"Hah, a joke. Roose Bolton, leading the second-strongest army in the North, has yet to catch his own bastard after all this time?"

Count Wyman chuckled softly, then looked back at the letter and murmured, "I seem to smell something foul.

Lord Eddard has just taken office in distant King's Landing, the green Young Wolf Lord has only just taken over Winterfell, and already this chaos erupts in the North.

But this 'Lord Leech' of House Bolton has always been a shrewd schemer. Why would he use such a clumsy tactic?"

There will be an extra chapter tonight. Thank you for your votes and reads, dear readers. Please continue to support this book, thank you!