Fierce Battle

The charge of the heavy cavalry in the second rank did not make things any easier for the spearmen in the first rank. The burly ones could barely hold on, standing on the transport wagons.

As for the spearmen who couldn't hold on, they were directly knocked off the transport wagons and crashed into the spearmen in the second batch, immediately causing chaos among the nearby spearmen.

After three waves of charges from the Bolton family's heavy cavalry, no spearmen were left standing on the transport wagons in the first rank.

But the enemy heavy cavalry charged wave after wave like a tide. The spearmen in the second rank braced the butts of their spears against the ground, which buffered a lot of the force, temporarily holding back the tide of heavy cavalry.

Gaining this moment of respite, the reserve spearmen in the third rank, commanded by Owen, immediately moved forward to fill the gap left by the spearmen in the first rank.

The heavy cavalry and spearmen charging head-on were already locked in a bloody battle, while the Bolton light cavalry on the flanks had just begun their charge.

"Release the arrows!"

Sean waved his hand and shouted.

The five hundred archers he had stationed on the left flank released their bowstrings, and a dense volley of arrows rained down upon the sky.

Locke, leading the charge himself, was charging towards the enemy's right flank (the left flank of the Winterfell formation). Although they were light cavalry, they did not fear the enemy archers. They were protected by helmets and chainmail, as long as they weren't unlucky enough to be hit in the gaps of their armor.

But he noticed that the sky suddenly darkened...

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

The five hundred Winterfell archers and most of the shield-bearing infantry were arranged by Sean on the left side of the formation, with only less than five hundred regular infantry on the right flank for defense.

This resulted in Locke's two hundred and fifty Bolton family light cavalry being subjected to a saturation of arrow fire.

Clink, clink, clink!

Neigh! Neigh!...

The arrows, arcing through the air, struck the cavalrymen clad in sturdy armor, making clanging sounds.

However, their warhorses had no defense. Some sharp arrows pierced the horses' heads, killing them instantly and causing them to fall.

Some arrows lodged into the horses' bodies, causing them to whinny and stumble forward a few steps before collapsing softly.

The cavalrymen on their backs were thrown heavily to the ground, trampled like rags by the horses behind them.

Locke was unlucky. The warhorse he was riding was shot in the head by a stray arrow, throwing him to the ground.

But he was also fortunate. In the stampede of horses, he was not trampled by any of them.

Pfft!

Locke spat out a mouthful of blood and, enduring the intense dizziness, struggled to his feet. His first action was to look at the charging cavalry on the battlefield.

The Winterfell archers only had time to fire a second volley before immediately scattering to the left and right, retreating towards the rear of the formation.

Behind the archers, teams of Winterfell infantrymen, holding single kite shields that were oval at the top and pointed at the bottom, forming an inverted triangle, advanced in neat formations, step by step.

"Raise shields!"

Swish!

At the command of the infantry commander, these soldiers forcefully drove the lower, pointed part of their kite shields into the soil, gripped the handles inside their shields, and awaited the charge of the enemy cavalry.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

After two volleys of arrows, Locke's cavalry force was reduced to about half its original strength. With pent-up frustration, they slammed into the Winterfell infantry's kite shields, emitting a continuous series of dull thuds.

This was purely a clash of strength. The Winterfell infantrymen who were knocked back could hear the sound of their bones cracking within their bodies.

The Bolton cavalry, forcibly halted in their charge, were stabbed by the nearby infantrymen, their lives draining away with their bright red blood.

On the walls of Grimhold, the morale of the Winterfell siege troops, which had been boosted by the commander's high rewards, began to wane as the brutality of the war increased.

The breach in the city walls remained, but the brave and fearless soldiers who had reached it were all dead or wounded. The remaining infantrymen behind them hesitated, refusing to advance.

These conscripted local militia infantrymen lacked the courage and resolve to fight to the death.

Trog, the infantry commander below the city walls, saw this situation and knew that morale was gone, making further assault impossible.

He therefore ordered the surviving local militia infantrymen to move towards the main gate of Grimhold and block it tightly, at least preventing any chance of them sortieing out to support the main battlefield in the rear.

Seeing the dwindling number of Winterfell soldiers at the breach in the city walls, Ruse knew that the overall battle here was decided.

His focus had long since shifted from here to the military tents behind the allied army in the distance.

When his trump card, the charge of the heavy cavalry, was blocked by the Winterfell spearmen, Ruse, whose emotions were usually unreadable, merely frowned.

But upon seeing the left flank of the Winterfell formation twisted and deformed by his cavalry's charge, Ruse could no longer contain himself, a hint of joy appearing on his face, as his cavalry only needed a little more effort to break the formation.

The spearmen formation blocking the heavy cavalry would then collapse under this final straw. Even if Winterfell had hidden troops somewhere, the Bolton family was destined to win this battle.

However, the left flank of the Winterfell formation was heavily reinforced by Sean's prior preparations. Compared to the seemingly endless stream of infantry on the left, these hundred-plus Bolton cavalrymen were too few. Their charge gradually lost momentum and was slowly swallowed by the tide of infantry.

Seeing that the cavalry on the left flank had been completely annihilated, Ruse, with no trace of joy left on his face, looked towards the right flank cavalry, which was taking a slight detour due to the terrain.

The cavalry charging on the right flank were very familiar with the terrain around Grimhold. The seemingly flat ground in this direction actually had some terriface-like fault lines.

These fault lines were not very high, and skilled riders could easily jump over them with their horses.

However, this would inevitably affect the charge speed of the warhorses, greatly reducing the threat to the enemy formation.

Therefore, they carefully bypassed these fault lines. Although it took a bit more time, this contingent of cavalry, unhindered by archers in front of them, maintained their formation and charged towards the Winterfell soldiers' formation.

With their full acceleration, the cavalry's speed was incredibly fast. In the blink of an eye, the distance between the two sides shortened to about ten meters. The cavalry at the forefront seemed to be able to see the tense faces of the opposing infantry.

Waaah!

In the infantry formation on the right, a high-ranking officer ordered his subordinate to blow the horn.

The charging Burton cavalry suddenly saw, to their left and right directly in front of them, dozens of Winterfell soldiers hidden in trenches, lift the camouflage wooden boards above their heads, stand up, and simultaneously pull iron chains as thick as their fists.

Clang!

Several iron chains were quickly pulled taut, making a clattering sound.

The Burton cavalry, unable to stop in time, charged forward at high speed, their warhorses crashing into these chains.

Neigh!!!

The horses in this battle were truly miserable. The warhorses of the right-wing cavalry had their legs tripped by the chains, directly stumbling and falling, men and horses tumbling down.

Some warhorses managed to stop just before the chains, but the inertia of the sudden stop sent the riders on their backs flying several meters away.

Horses trampling men, horses trampling horses, the right-wing cavalry, in full charge, was thrown into utter chaos by a few mere tripwire chains on the ground, with men and horses overturning.

The first batch of cavalry and warhorses that fell to the ground were trampled into bloody messes by their own comrades, with virtually no chance of survival.