"Close ranks! Infantry, defensive formation!!!"
Although these Dreadfort soldiers were not highly alert, their basic qualities as soldiers of the North were quite impressive.
When they heard Dick's roar, they immediately rolled to their feet. Within a minute or two, they had drawn their swords, raised their shields, and formed a horizontal defensive line.
With his voice already hoarse from shouting, Dick also put on his Chainmail with the help of his trusted aides.
He was the only one among these soldiers who possessed Chainmail.
When they encountered the sudden cavalry attack, Dick and the others formed a defensive line where they stood—not because they had no warhorses.
Rather, the attacking cavalry's warhorses had already accelerated fully over this distance. In such a state, if Dick and the others barely tried to charge against them, defeat was the only possible outcome.
"Archers, fire at will! Everyone else, hold formation! The formation must not break!"
As the distance closed, Dick could already see that the attacking cavalry outnumbered them by only a few men.
Based on his extensive combat experience, as long as they could withstand the cavalry's first charge, they still had a chance of victory.
After hearing Dick's order, their only two archers began firing at the enemy.
However, all the charging cavalrymen wore iron helmets and Chainmail. Unless they were hit in vulnerable places such as the neck or eyes, the arrows were basically ignored.
One cavalryman was particularly unlucky. An arrow struck his warhorse in the head, and horse and rider instantly crashed to the ground, their fates unknown.
Clop! Clop! Clop!
Gulp!
Yellow Tooth, one of the soldiers in the defensive line, watched the cavalrymen who were already right in front of him and listened to the hoofbeats rumbling like muffled thunder. He nervously swallowed.
"Stab the horse's belly!"
Captain Dick's roar rang beside his ear. Yellow Tooth held his shield in his left hand and thrust his one-handed sword with his right at the belly of the warhorse now right before him.
Rip!
The sharp one-handed sword pierced through the warhorse's soft belly. Under the force of its momentum, the wound was instantly torn open at least thirty or forty centimeters, spraying a great deal of bright red blood.
Neigh!
The warhorse let out a mournful cry and collapsed limply to the ground.
Yellow Tooth had achieved his goal, but after the warhorse crashed heavily into his shield, his head spun, and a trace of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
This strange discomfort lasted only a very short time, because a longsword stabbed into the back of his head and pierced through his eye socket, carrying out an eyeball coated in blood.
Just now, Yellow Tooth's vision had been blocked by the enormous warhorse, so he had not seen it.
The cavalryman on the horse seemed to have predicted his move. Before Yellow Tooth's sword entered the horse's belly, the cavalryman skillfully crouched on the saddle, then used the force of his feet pressing against it to launch himself forward through the air.
He sailed over Yellow Tooth's defensive line, landed, rolled twice to bleed off the force, then immediately rose and turned around, driving his sword into the back of Yellow Tooth's head.
Of course, not every cavalryman was capable of such an advanced maneuver.
Most cavalrymen, at the instant they met the defending soldiers, used the momentum of their warhorses' charge to deliver powerful downward blows. Unless they encountered a highly skilled veteran, cavalry possessed an overwhelming inherent advantage against defending infantry.
At the instant the two sides collided, three or four cavalrymen directly broke through the defensive line.
The cavalryman who had killed Yellow Tooth was the closest to Dick, so Dick immediately fixed his eyes on him.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Dick and the cavalryman exchanged three rapid slashes from left and right in the span of a few moments.
The two longswords collided violently, throwing off a few sparks, but neither was stained with the other's blood.
Swordsmanship could not lie!
After that exchange of three blows, both men knew that their opponent was no ordinary soldier.
They stopped using broad, powerful killing strokes. Instead, they grew increasingly cautious, parrying and probing as they searched for openings, each trying to determine who possessed the superior skill.
Rip!
During one exchange in which he raised his sword to block, the cavalryman took advantage of Dick's barely adequate defense and let his longsword slide downward, carving a bloody gash into Dick's lower leg, which his Chainmail could not protect.
This wouldn't do!
Dick discovered that the opposing cavalryman's swordsmanship was improving rapidly in the middle of the fight.
His extensive combat experience told him that if this stalemate continued, he would certainly die beneath the other man's sword.
With a shift in thought, Dick suddenly stepped forward. Gripping his longsword with both hands, he brought it crashing down on the cavalryman with the force of Mount Tai pressing down from above.
He intended to unleash the full strength of his body in one sudden burst and crush his opponent in a single sustained attack.
Clang! Clang!...
The crisp clash of metal rang out without pause. The opposing cavalryman was caught off guard by Dick's assault and retreated repeatedly in some embarrassment.
Although the cavalryman was in a wretched state, he still managed to withstand Dick's fierce offensive.
After gradually adapting to the rhythm, the cavalryman twisted his sword hand and swung upward from below, knocking aside Dick's longsword as Dick's strength began to run out and leaving his chest wide open.
Seizing the opportunity, the cavalryman's bloodstained longsword slid into Dick's throat like a venomous snake, bringing the battle to an end.
Gurgle...
As blood poured from his mouth, Dick realized before his death that he had been too focused on his sword fight with the cavalryman to notice that the other battles had ended long ago.
More than a dozen enemy cavalrymen had surrounded the two of them. Even if he could kill his opponent, he was destined to die here.
Seeing this troublesome opponent gradually lose his life, the cavalryman withdrew his longsword and casually flicked it toward the ground. The blood coating the blade splattered onto the earth, forming a blood mark like a new moon.
With nothing left to support it, Dick's corpse fell to the ground with a thump.
After removing his helmet, Robb caught the sweet, coppery scent in the air.
This sweet, coppery smell actually came from the ferrous iron ions in large quantities of blood or in the blood of internal organs.
Yet large quantities of blood or blood from internal organs usually signified death, so it could also be called the scent of death.
House Stark had always raised its sons with Wolf nature. In his merged memories, the original Robb had long since grown accustomed to corpses and blood and had personally ended many lives. He was already familiar with this scent.
But the current Robb found himself somewhat unable to adapt to it. He knew, however, that this smell would accompany him constantly in the future.
Robb lowered his head and looked at his hands, feeling the power continuously surging within his body. Recalling the longsword with which he had just ended an enemy's life, he could not help feeling as though he possessed control over the life and death of every living thing.
Was this what it felt like to command power and authority in this world?
He shook his head and forcibly suppressed the distracting thoughts in his heart. Then Robb raised his head and surveyed the battlefield, which was strewn with corpses and wreckage.
Facing the Winterfell cavalrymen who were watching him intently, he announced loudly, "The killers are all atoning in the Seven Hells! When we return to Winterfell, each man will be rewarded with fifty Silver stags! The families of those who died in battle will receive triple that amount."
"Eternally loyal to House Stark!"
"Long live Lord Robb!!"
Robb's rewards instantly ignited the Winterfell soldiers' enthusiasm, and everyone cheered in unison.
His reward was by no means small. A fine meal consisting of mutton, duck, buttered peas, oat bread, and four cups of ale cost one Silver stag, and still gave back a handful of Copper coins in change.
In the original story, Emperor Joffrey's bounty of merely one hundred Silver stags was enough to make people launch a fearless attack on the tall and formidable The Hound.
"Robb, we killed sixteen enemies in total. Two of our men died on the spot, and another was too badly injured. I have already sent him on his way."
Theon approached Robb's side and quietly reported the results and casualties of the battle.
PS: The currency will be simplified to Gold dragons–Silver stags–Copper coins, with an exchange rate of 1:210:11760.
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