First Battle

The joint army began setting up camp on the very first day it arrived at Dreadfort. With the supply wagons carrying ample provisions, the encampment they laid out was far larger than one would expect for an army of five thousand.

The Bolton garrison reported this to Roose, but after analyzing the reports from the scouting cavalry, he decided it was a feint meant to deliberately put pressure on them, staged by the Young Wolf Lord.

Meanwhile, the supply corps began using the empty wagons, now unloaded, to haul timber from the surrounding forests. They set to work with a will, building crude, primitive siege engines.

The joint army looked well-organized overall, but three days passed as the supply corps continued to haul timber and build engines without launching even a single probing attack.

On the walls above Dreadfort's main gate, Roose watched the joint army's camp in the distance, his face expressionless as he pondered.

After three days of complete inactivity from the joint army, he could clearly sense that something was amiss.

Even after piecing together all the information, Roose still had no clue. He carefully reviewed his own troop deployment and strategic arrangements, searching for any flaws.

Dreadfort currently had 1,500 soldiers stationed there. Of these, 1,300 elite infantrymen were assigned to defend the castle, while 200 cavalrymen waited for an opportunity to launch a surprise attack.

Locke had gathered 3,000 levied footmen from the territory, along with 1,000 cavalrymen, at Ironstone Town, half a day's journey from Dreadfort.

Ramsay had more than 400 cavalrymen still galloping toward Dreadfort, serving as reinforcements in reserve.

Dreadfort was easy to defend and difficult to attack. Once the joint army began its assault, the castle would become a meat grinder, and the current garrison was more than enough to hold the entire enemy force outside its walls.

Once the enemy had suffered heavy losses and their morale had plummeted, Locke's troops would strike from the rear.

With Dreadfort attacking from both sides, the joint army would be caught between them and besieged from front and back. They were sure to win the battle.

Whooo!

At dawn on the fourth day, Dreadfort finally faced its first siege.

Roughly a thousand Winterfell infantrymen, carrying Direwolf banners and wearing battered chainmail, advanced toward Dreadfort's main gate behind enormous wooden shields crudely made by the supply corps.

They formed a huge rectangular shield wall and marched heavily toward the gate.

Watching the Winterfell soldiers begin their assault from the walls above Dreadfort's main gate, Roose felt a weight lift from his heart.

He raised his right hand and held it aloft. The archers on the walls waited for his command, holding their breath.

"Loose!"

As the infantrymen entered range, Roose swept his hand down and gave the order.

Whizz! Whizz! Whizz!...

Hundreds of arrows glinting in the morning sun traced beautiful, deadly arcs through the air and fell like rain upon the Winterfell formation.

Thud! Thud! Thud!...

Ah!

The arrows struck the wooden shields with muffled thumps, like hailstones pelting them.

Most of the arrows were stopped by the shields, but there were always unlucky souls on a battlefield. Some were struck through gaps where the shields met and fell, screaming in agony.

The Winterfell formation couldn't stop for those unlucky men. It pressed on, steadily advancing.

Behind them, teams of medical corps soldiers with linen cloths tied around their heads came to the rescue, two to a team, each pair sheltering behind a long shield.

They quickly surveyed the wounded on the ground. Those beyond saving were abandoned, while those who could be treated were hauled back toward the rear lines: one soldier held up the shield while the other dragged the wounded man.

As the Winterfell formation reached the front gate of Dreadfort, the shield wall quickly parted. The infantrymen concealed within raised their siege ladders and propped them against the walls.

At once, the Bolton soldiers on the walls began hurling head-sized rocks down at them, accompanied by a hail of arrows.

Ah! Ah!

The screams of Winterfell's soldiers rang out without pause. Those struck by arrows didn't always die, but those hit by rocks had their skulls smashed apart, red and white matter splattering everywhere.

Some Winterfell soldiers armed with bows below the walls began returning fire. Several Bolton soldiers were struck and fell before they could even throw the rocks in their hands.

Seizing the opportunity, the Winterfell infantrymen began climbing the siege ladders.

Splash!

A Winterfell infantryman was focused on climbing a ladder when he suddenly heard the sound of liquid rushing down from above. He instinctively looked up.

A torrent of steaming hot oil poured down, covering his face completely.

Aaaaah!!!

The flesh on the infantryman's face was scalded red and raw in an instant. Blisters covered it, and his skin split and peeled away.

He could no longer hold on to the ladder. Clutching his face, he fell straight down.

Because of the way he fell, his head hit the ground first. He stopped screaming and struggling, his right foot twitching slightly. He clearly wouldn't survive.

And he wasn't the only Winterfell infantryman to fall. Men on every siege ladder tumbled down like dumplings dropping into a pot.

With the Bolton defenders unleashing every kind of defense from the walls, the Winterfell infantry below lost more than thirty percent of their men, and their morale plummeted.

When one infantryman saw the gruesome corpses of his comrades and fled in a panic, the entire Winterfell assault line began to collapse.

They abandoned their shields, siege ladders, and standard-issue swords. The fleeing infantrymen cared only about running as fast as they could.

The Bolton defenders on the walls weren't about to let this opportunity slip by. They redoubled their efforts to beat the enemy while they were down, hoping to earn more kills and battle honors.

Whooo!

Once the Winterfell infantrymen had fled beyond the range of the defenders' weapons, the Bolton soldiers cheered in unison.

Roose watched the Winterfell infantrymen flee back to their main camp, his expression unreadable. No one could tell what he was thinking.

"Have we heard back from Locke?"

Roose suddenly asked the attendant beside him.

"Lord Locke sent out a scouting cavalry patrol to track and observe the enemy as soon as they entered the area around Dreadfort.

"The enemy has about 5,100 men in total, including 500 in the supply corps. They've spent the past few days cutting down trees near Lone Mountain and hauling the wood away. They haven't done anything unusual."

The attendant, clad in chainmail, immediately answered Roose's question.

"Though some barren hills along the road from Dreadfort to Ironstone Town block the view, there are no woods, ravines, or other places where a large force could hide and set an ambush. Lord Locke has repeatedly confirmed this with his men."

"Mm. What did Ramsay have to say?"

Hearing the report and realizing that he had indeed been overcautious, Roose nodded and asked about his bastard son.

"Lord Ramsay needs at least five more days on horseback to arrive. According to reports from his scouts, Robb Stark meets with the lords of various noble houses in Winterfell every day."

"Mm. In the end, I was simply too cautious. Send word to Locke to prepare for battle."

After hearing the latest report, Roose nodded and issued his orders.

"Also, tell Ramsay to take his time coming back. By the time he returns, this war will already be over."

The attendant received his orders, then hurried down from the walls to deliver Roose's message to the rookery.