Qingting Island Red Wine

Early the next morning, the Winterfell alliance began packing up its tents and supplies, preparing to withdraw.

The forces from Winterfell and Karstark were the first to leave, followed by the reorganized remnants of the peasant infantry.

Because there was so much loot and so many wounded, the logistics corps took the longest to get ready. They set out last.

But as it turned out, Roose Bolton was just as Robb had expected. Even with a logistics corps laden with loot and wounded men passing right before his eyes, he had no intention of launching a surprise attack from the city.

This disappointed the cavalry under Count Rickard, who had been lying in ambush behind a hill in advance.

After marching for half a day, the sprawling Winterfell alliance reached the fork in the road leading to Ironstone Town and Winterfell.

Robb sent Theon and Owen with more than three thousand Archer Infantry, escorting two thousand prisoners to Ironstone Town.

Although the logistics corps had brought plenty of food and supplies this time, there was no way it could feed so many mouths.

He gave Theon and Owen two tasks: first, occupy Ironstone Town and resupply the army; second, enlist the two thousand prisoners.

Those willing to join the Winterfell army would be dispersed among the peasant infantry. Those who refused could be put to work as miners in Ironstone Town, digging up mineral resources for Winterfell.

Meanwhile, citing Winterfell's insufficient defenses and the risk of trouble breaking out, Robb led Count Rickard, Little Jon, Eddard, and the others, taking most of the cavalry back ahead of the rest.

Once Robb had formally issued the orders, the Winterfell army split in two at the fork.

On the third night after the siege of Dreadfort ended, the stench of blood still hung thick outside the walls. Along with the decaying corpses that had yet to be dealt with, it lent the dark night an unsettling, sickening quality.

Clip-clop, clip-clop!

A faint sound of hoofbeats roused the half-asleep Bolton guards on the wall.

Their nerves, which had relaxed a little after the Winterfell army withdrew, tightened once more.

A group of three or four hundred cavalrymen approached slowly, carrying torches and flying House Bolton's Flayed Men banners. A closer look revealed three slow-moving supply wagons among them.

The cavalry were too few and moving too slowly to pose any threat to Dreadfort's high, sturdy walls. Even so, the officer guarding the gate sent someone to notify Lord Roose. Dreadfort's military discipline was strict, and even the slightest negligence brought severe punishment.

"Open the gate! I've returned!"

After winding around the heaps of corpses and scattered limbs beneath the walls, the riders reached the castle gates. One of them raised his head and shouted.

By the light of the torches, the gate officer immediately recognized Lord Roose's bastard son, Ramsay.

"Lord Ramsay, Dreadfort is under wartime lockdown. We can't open the gates without Lord Roose's order.

I've sent someone to inform him. He'll be here shortly, so please wait."

The officer didn't dare offend the cruel, petty-minded bastard, so he called up to him in a polite tone.

Ramsay didn't get angry. Instead, he smiled, nodded, and waited patiently.

Before long, Roose appeared on the wall. After studying the riders carefully, he ordered the guard officer, "Post three hundred archers along the inner wall. If they make any suspicious move, shoot them at once.

Then open the gate just wide enough for the wagons to pass. Everyone entering, except Ramsay, must surrender their weapons at the gate and be detained for now."

The officer acknowledged the order and went to arrange the deployment. Roose didn't think he was being overly cautious. He had seen too many lies and betrayals.

By the time Ramsay had waited long enough for the smile to fade from his face, Dreadfort's gates finally opened halfway.

Ramsay had no objection to Roose's arrangements. After the guards disarmed him, he was the first to enter Dreadfort.

"Father!"

As soon as he rode through the gate, Ramsay saw Roose waiting for him. He immediately dismounted and bowed.

"Good. Did you run into the Winterfell army on your way back?"

Roose nodded, then immediately questioned Ramsay.

"I did. My scouts spotted them at the fork leading to Ironstone Town. There were about seven or eight thousand of them, already marching toward the town in a long column.

We waited an extra day after they'd all passed through the fork toward Ironstone Town before we dared return."

Ramsay nodded and went straight into explaining what had happened on the way.

"Ah, Ironstone Town is lost. But as long as we hold Dreadfort, we'll make House Stark pay twice over someday."

Roose sighed softly. His expression remained unchanged, though a trace of malice showed in his eyes.

"Father, the letters we got by Raven said the battle was going very well. How did things suddenly turn around?"

"I underestimated that wolf cub. Somehow, he hid several thousand infantrymen in the army camp. He also kept Locke's scouts from discovering the nearly two thousand cavalrymen he'd ambushed behind us."

In response to Ramsay's question, Roose briefly explained what had happened in the battle.

As he spoke, the man who had worn an expressionless face for years showed a hint of dejection.

He was a renowned veteran of the North's battlefields, yet he had been outmaneuvered by a young man who had never commanded an army in a formal battle. The bitter taste of it weighed heavily on him.

"Father, just as you said, as long as we hold Dreadfort, we'll have a chance to take revenge on House Stark someday."

Seeing Roose's rare display of dejection, Ramsay immediately offered him a concerned word of comfort.

"Mm. What's in those wagons?"

Roose quickly recovered and glanced at the supply wagons passing through the gate, asking Ramsay softly.

"Father, I took the opportunity to raid a merchant caravan on my way back. It's all fine Qingting Island Red Wine.

This wine is no ordinary vintage. It costs far more in the North than it does in the south. You could say it's liquid Gold dragons."

"Oh? A merchant caravan brought Qingting Island wine all the way to the North? Then I'll have to try some."

Roose's eyes flickered as he listened to Ramsay's answer. He spoke gently.

"You're right, Father. We should try some. I'll pour you a glass."

Ramsay answered with a smile, then immediately turned and called for the supply wagon passing through the gate to stop. He had someone open one of the wine barrels.

As soon as the barrel was opened, the fragrant aroma of wine filled the air.

Roose first sniffed, then leaned over to peer inside. The liquid in the barrel was a rosy pink, rippling gently from the disturbance caused by the opening.

"This barrel of wine seems a little cloudy. Someone, open this one for me."

Roose shook his head at the barrel, looking dissatisfied, and called over a soldier to open another one he pointed to.

After three barrels had been opened, Roose finally seemed to find a wine that pleased him. Ramsay took a goblet from the wagon's cargo box and filled it for him himself.

"Father, please!"

Ramsay bowed respectfully, holding the goblet out to Roose with both hands.

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