Parade

The next morning, all the North's nobles were woken early by their servants. As soon as dawn broke, everyone rode horses or took carriages towards the military camp a few kilometers outside Winterfell.

"We're here, that's the newly completed Winterfell military camp over there."

Count Wyman, who had been catching up on sleep in the carriage, was woken by Count Rickard before he could sleep for long.

Count Wyman rubbed his eyes and looked in the direction Count Rickard pointed through the carriage window.

He saw a military camp surrounded by a wooden palisade made of sharpened tree trunks placed side-by-side.

From the outside, the camp looked very rudimentary at first glance. However, it was built on a flat, expansive clearing, and its size suggested it could accommodate at least several thousand soldiers.

"What is that?"

Count Wyman pointed to a tall building next to the rudimentary camp, constructed from bluestone and mud, shaped like a short dagger. Compared to the simple camp beside it, this building was clearly designed and built with great care.

"I don't know. Lord Robb personally oversaw its construction. As I said yesterday, if he doesn't tell me himself, I won't ask."

Count Rickard scratched his head and replied with a shake of his head.

"In such a short time, building both a camp and this structure must have cost a lot of gold dragons. How many commoners were conscripted in total?"

Count Wyman, skilled in business, cared more about the construction costs.

"Well, Lord Robb conscripted commoners at double the price. The commoners in the Winter Town market went crazy trying to get work."

"Double? Why? Even conscripting them at less than half the price, commoners couldn't refuse!"

Hearing Count Rickard's answer, Count Wyman frowned, somewhat confused.

"Hmm, what Lord Robb said at the time was strange, something about 'currency circulation, stimulating domestic demand.' I didn't understand it."

Count Rickard pondered for a moment, imitating Robb's tone, and emphasized those two phrases.

After Count Rickard finished speaking, the words he didn't understand caused Count Wyman to fall into deep thought.

The carriage grew quiet with the topic.

After a while, the North's nobles' carriage procession entered the newly built, spacious military camp.

Upon arrival, the nobles dismounted and alighted from their carriages, surveying the new Winterfell military camp.

It was a standard rectangular camp with entrances on both the north and south sides.

To the east, where the sun was now rising, a bluestone platform as tall as a man had been erected. On either side of the platform were tiered stands, similar to stadiums in a past life. The stands had brand-new wooden seats.

To the west of the camp were rows of neatly arranged, thick tents.

Standing on the platform to welcome them was the commander of Winterfell's archers, Theon Greyjoy.

He smiled and greeted all the North's nobles, enthusiastically guiding them to the stands on the left and right.

"The inspection ceremony begins!"

Seeing that the noble spectators were all seated, Theon announced loudly with a smile.

A command soldier standing below the platform heard the order, immediately took out a black horn from his tunic, and blew it forcefully.

WHOOOOOM!

As the horn sounded, over two thousand fully armed warriors rushed out from the neat rows of tents to the west.

They converged towards the north gate of the military camp, and within a short time, over two thousand men formed neat square formations.

WHOO!

The command soldier below the platform, seeing that the warrior formations were complete, blew the horn again.

THUD!

In the foremost formation of spearmen, everyone planted the butt end of their spears on the ground, making a unified sound.

Immediately after, they gripped their spears with both hands, pointing the tips towards the sky at a seventy-five-degree angle, and simultaneously took synchronized steps.

CLANK, CLANK, CLANK!

The armor of over five hundred spearmen made a rhythmic sound, their feet moving in unison as they marched from the north gate to the south gate of the camp.

The North's nobles in the stands were completely stunned. They had never seen such an orderly military formation before, never!

As the last row of spearmen passed the stands, the command soldier blew the horn again.

Five hundred archers repeated the marching steps of the spearmen. The only difference was that they carried their bows on their right shoulders.

THUD!

Following them, as the horn sounded, two hundred shield-bearing soldiers advanced, holding heavy kite shields towards the stands.

SWISH!

Closely behind their formation were one thousand infantrymen, swords drawn, marching with unified, orderly steps. Both these units maintained perfectly synchronized formations.

Out of the more than two thousand Winterfell soldiers, not a single one made a mistake, and each unit's formation remained remarkably intact.

When the last row of swordsmen passed the platform, the command soldier gave the North's nobles in the stands no chance to recover from their astonishment, and blew a long, drawn-out horn blast.

TADADA!

The sound of horse hooves approached from outside the camp, gradually growing louder.

Rows upon rows of fully armed cavalry entered through the north gate of the barracks. They were moving at a decent pace upon entering, but as they passed the viewing platform, they suddenly reined in their horses, slowing to a walk.

Even with this maneuver, from the perspective of the North's nobles on the stands, the rows of cavalry formations remained remarkably intact.

More than thirteen hundred cavalrymen passed by the viewing platform one after another on horseback.

Upon reaching the south gate of the barracks, they lined up neatly beside the two thousand-plus archer infantry formations that were already assembled.

The Winterfell soldiers stood completely still and silent, with only the occasional snort from the cavalry horses breaking the quiet.

The nobles of the North slowly composed their shocked expressions, exchanging glances with acquaintances beside them, unsure how to describe the perfectly organized military parade.

But the parade was not yet over!

"Now, the acting lord of the North, Lord Robb Stark, will escort the criminal.

Roose Bolton of House Bolton!"

As Theon announced loudly from the viewing platform, the more than two thousand soldiers suddenly shouted in unison: "Lord Robb, Lord Robb!"

Following the thunderous roar, Roose, escorted by the fully armed Little Jon, Owen, and Daisy, and flanked by brothers Eddard and Toren, slowly entered the barracks from the south gate.

This period had been agonizing for Roose. His usual refined demeanor was gone, his face gaunt and his spirit broken. He stumbled as he walked, shackled.

"Oh, my god! What is that?"

With a startled cry, everyone saw behind Roose and the others, a direwolf, resembling a monster, walking slowly.

A normal direwolf would not exceed the size of a pony, but this one was already taller than an adult warhorse of the North.

At this moment, its soft grey fur was spread out, fluttering in the wind. Two fangs, comparable in size to short swords, were exposed outside its muzzle.

Its long limbs showed visibly developed muscles, suggesting excellent explosive power. Its sharp claws left deep prints on the snowy ground of the barracks.

Most importantly, seated on its broad back was a handsome, imposing young man, dressed in a lord's casual wear and a black cloak draped over his shoulders.

Robb Stark!