Unstoppable

Screech!

Aah!!!

Little Jon wore a full suit of plate armor, one of the few in the North, that Robb had found for him. He carried a long black spear.

The instant the two sides met, he drove his spear through an ordinary infantryman's belly. The powerful impact left the enemy soldier screaming in agony, impaled on the spear as Little Jon charged onward.

The lancers in Winterfell's first rank couldn't all be as fierce as Little Jon, but most of them managed to kill an enemy infantryman with their spears.

Those lucky enough to dodge their spears were sent flying by the lancers' tightly packed formation.

The battle had only just begun, but the battlefield was already filled with shouts and screams.

The Bolton soldier impaled on Little Jon's black spear was still alive. His last desperate will to survive made him cling tightly to the spear piercing him.

But with every jolt of the horse, the organs in his belly spilled out. His grip gradually loosened, his eyes began to glaze over, and it was clear he wouldn't survive.

Little Jon truly was a formidable warrior. Even with an enemy still hanging from his spear, it didn't hinder him in the slightest.

Leading the charge, he ran his spear through three enemy infantrymen in succession before deciding it was getting in his way. He casually tossed it aside and drew the standard-issue longsword from his saddle.

Most of the lancers couldn't match Little Jon, but against these panicked, disorganized infantrymen, they were simply unstoppable.

Making the most of their cavalry's momentum, they carved swaths of empty ground through the infantry ranks.

War had never been anything but brutal!

After charging into the enemy infantry, Robb swung his longsword fiercely from side to side.

Because he sat atop a horse, his blade struck mostly at the enemy soldiers' heads. Those it hit either had their necks nearly severed or were decapitated outright.

Behind him, local soldiers lay scattered like human fountains.

If Robb had spared a moment to look back, he would surely have imagined the exaggerated blood spray from the scene with Yang, the expressive actor, in that Journey to the West movie directed by Hua Country's Star Lord.

Blood Wind was even more outrageous. Relying on his huge frame, he barreled through the enemy ranks. The lucky infantrymen were merely knocked flying, while the unlucky ones had their bodies torn open by claws sharper than longswords.

One brave enemy infantryman saw Blood Wind charging toward him, unstoppable. Unlike the other soldiers, he didn't flee in every direction.

Instead, he gripped his sword in both hands and charged straight at Blood Wind.

Just as they were about to collide, he suddenly fell sideways and slid toward Blood Wind's lower belly, right into the wolf's blind spot.

Crack!

Robb had balanced Blood Wind's attributes, raising all three of his physical stats to several times those of an ordinary direwolf. Though his body was huge, he had lost none of his agility.

A nimble sidestep brought the brave and resourceful enemy soldier back into view.

Then Blood Wind lowered his head, opened his saw-toothed jaws, and tore the man's head clean off in a single bite.

Chewing on his snack, Blood Wind continued charging without a care, reaping the lives of these fragile men.

The Blood Pact's power was already becoming apparent. In barely two months, the little wolf pup had been turned into a savage, violent reaper on the battlefield.

Looking at the infantry unit, its formation completely shattered by the cavalry's surprise attack from behind, Locke knew the battle was lost.

He looked around for an unattended horse so he could escape, but hoofbeats sounded behind him. The last thing he saw was a burly Winterfell rider clad in full armor.

Little Jon had led his men through the entire enemy infantry formation. As he continued charging, he spotted several soldiers in Bolton chainmail by the roadside and took care of them on the way.

Having completed his charge, he set his sights on the next target: the tin cans locked in combat with Winterfell's infantry ahead.

The fighting atop Dreadfort's walls was already over. Beneath the city gate—

The Winterfell militia infantry had already heard the shouts and killing cries coming from the allied army's camp. Afraid their retreat would be cut off, they yelled that they were returning to defend the camp and fled in a panic.

It wasn't quite a rout, but it might as well have been. Trog couldn't stop them.

Roose had lost his usual composure. Gritting his teeth, he glared at the fighting around the allied army's camp.

He had already guessed how things would turn out, but still hoped some kind of miracle might happen.

Forget the conscripted infantry. The cavalry were the Bolton family's core strength!

As the heavy cavalry were surrounded and swallowed up by Winterfell's cavalry and infantry, the last glimmer of hope in his heart was extinguished.

"Order every man in the city who stands taller than a wagon wheel to be conscripted. The women can handle the logistical support. After a little training, all the men will help defend the city."

Roose turned away from the battle outside the walls and gave the order to the attendant beside him.

"Send Ramsay a message at once. Tell him what's happened, and have him avoid Winterfell's forces and preserve his fighting strength."

Watching the attendant hurry off with his orders, Roose remained grave as still water, but he hadn't yet reached the point of despair.

The Bolton family had suffered a crushing blow, but as long as Dreadfort held, their foundations would remain intact.

In the past few days of siege warfare, Dreadfort's elite infantry had lost more than two hundred men, but they had inflicted more than ten times that number of casualties on Winterfell's assault troops.

As for fighting strength, Dreadfort still had more than a thousand elite infantrymen, two hundred cavalrymen, and the men soon to be conscripted from the city.

As for food, Dreadfort had always been a fortress built for war, with dedicated underground storerooms. And there was all the cargo seized from the many merchant caravans they had raided recently.

Roose was confident they could hold out inside Dreadfort for years. But could Winterfell's soldiers lay siege to them for years?

Clearly not!

Still, he could only protect Dreadfort for now. The wealthy places in Bolton territory, like Ironstone Town, would certainly be looted.

He had underestimated that wolf pup. If he grew up, he would become a menace!

Having made up his mind, Roose immediately headed for his study in the city. He intended to write a secret letter with his own hand and send it to that lord in the Westerlands.

The battle outside Dreadfort was nearing its end. The outcome had effectively been decided the moment Winterfell's cavalry launched their surprise attack.

From then on, it was mostly a one-sided slaughter. After enduring a single cavalry charge, many of the Bolton family's three thousand militia infantrymen threw down their weapons, raised their hands, and knelt to beg for mercy.

But the Bolton family's heavy cavalry truly were the family's deadly weapon, loyal to the last. They fought Winterfell's army to the bitter end.

Robb drove his longsword into the gap in a heavy cavalryman's helmet. When he yanked it free, a stream of bright red blood came with it.

A wisp of red mist rose from the fallen cavalryman and sank into Robb's body.

At that moment, Robb's eyes were bloodshot, and his entire body was shrouded in red mist that only he could see.

With his battle fervor surging, he rode among the enemy, cutting them down without pause. The longsword he had started with had broken long ago. He had lost count of how many weapons he'd taken from the enemy by now.