Robb nodded and ordered him, "Theon, have the heads of these sixteen enemies cut off and tie them to the horses along with the bodies of the three fallen soldiers. We'll take them back to Winterfell."
"Got it. I'll take care of it!"
Theon answered and immediately turned to find someone to do the job.
"Wait, Theon."
Hearing Robb call out, Theon turned to look at him with a puzzled expression.
"Thank you!"
Robb smiled and spoke softly to him.
At that, Theon's lips curled up. He waved casually to acknowledge him, then turned and went to see to the task.
Robb watched Theon's retreating figure, pondering how he could win him over completely in the future.
Theon wasn't bad by nature, and he had some talent for military affairs, capable of leading a squad in small-scale combat.
His fighting ability was also above average in Westeros, and he was especially skilled with a bow.
He had grown up alongside Robb and the others, receiving the same education from Eddard, and had already developed a measure of familial affection for them.
Theon had always been close to Robb, treating him like a true brother.
In the original story, before Theon was tricked by his father, Balon, and his sister, Arya, into attacking Winterfell, he had thought about writing to warn Robb.
But Theon was indecisive and lacked resolve. That made him easy to sway, turning him into a fence-sitter.
If Robb could win him over completely now and make him serve with unwavering loyalty, he would undoubtedly become a valuable ally.
"Jon, go check the bags on those horses over there."
Knowing the personalities of those around him well, Robb gave Jon the task of sorting through the spoils.
Jon nodded expressionlessly and went without a word toward the horses Dick and the others had tied up beside the small trees in the hollow.
"You did well, Robb. You made the right tactical decisions on your first time leading a squad, and won with relatively few casualties."
Captain Jory, his chainmail stained red with blood, had only just reached Robb's side when he began praising him.
Robb had directed this entire long-distance pursuit on his own. In the first half of the night, the scouts he had sent ahead found Dick and the others camped and resting by following their tracks.
But Robb and the others were all exhausted, and their horses were tired too. So he hadn't attacked recklessly. Instead, they ate and rested until dawn before launching their surprise attack.
Of course, these elite Winterfell cavalrymen regularly ate plenty of fruit, meat, and animal organs. As a result, they were mostly free of the night blindness common among ordinary people of this era.
The greater endurance of Northern horses compared to Southern ones had also been an important advantage.
"You're too kind, Captain Jory. Even if the three of us hadn't been there, you could've easily wiped out this group of enemies."
Robb remained respectful and modest toward this captain of the guards, who had followed Eddard for nearly twenty years.
"Haha! When your parents got married, I told them while I was throwing them a rowdy wedding party, 'The son you two have is sure to be extraordinary.'"
"Heh!"
As Jory reminisced about the past, Robb laughed politely to humor him. But his mind drifted back to the moment he had just gained Blood Contract Points.
When Robb killed Dick, a thumb-thick wisp of red mist had risen from Dick's body in his field of vision, then vanished into Robb in an instant.
At that moment, he had felt a steady stream of strength surging through his body.
[Blood Contract Points +5]
In fact, Robb had gained a total of seven Blood Contract Points from that battle.
But when he broke through the defensive formation and killed the first soldier, the fighting was so intense that he hadn't had time to look at the notification that had flashed before his eyes.
He now had seven Blood Contract Points in total.
The portable rations he'd eaten during yesterday's pursuit hadn't earned Robb the one point he was supposed to receive each day.
He guessed that was because the portable rations were too crude and lacked sufficient nutrients.
Before long, Theon and Jon had each completed their tasks and returned to report to Robb.
Jon suspected that Dick and the others had raided more than just Eastwatch Village. While taking inventory, he had found a total of twenty-seven Gold dragons, over a thousand Silver stags, and a large sack of Copper coins.
There were also seventeen fine Northern horses, along with two bags of valuable herbs and game.
That much wealth couldn't have come from just one village.
After resting for a little over ten minutes, Robb gave the order. The Winterfell cavalrymen efficiently mounted multiple horses each, took control of the horses and spoils, and began the journey back.
They didn't hurry on the way back. For one thing, their horses were already rather tired; for another, the extra horses and spoils slowed them down.
After about half a day, Robb and his men reached the confluence of the White Blade River and the Linwen River.
"Theon, have everyone eat and rest. They should wipe the blood off themselves while they're at it."
Seeing that the area had a clear view in all directions and that two sources of water converged nearby, Robb, who was riding at the head of the group, gave Theon the order.
Theon nodded, wheeled his horse around, and rode back along the column, shouting for the cavalrymen to dismount and rest.
"Jon, take one man and scout ahead. I'll send someone to relieve you in a little while."
At Robb's command, Jon nodded, then tilted his head toward a cavalryman he knew fairly well. The two rode off to scout ahead.
Now that he was leading troops on his own, the military tactics his father Eddard had always taught him were gradually becoming practical knowledge.
Robb hadn't let all the cavalrymen dismount at once to rest and clean themselves up. Instead, he had them take turns in shifts, in case of a possible cavalry ambush.
Clip-clop, clip-clop!
After Robb and the others had briefly wiped off the dried blood and eaten their rations, Jon and the other scout quickly rode back.
"Robb, there's a cavalry unit up ahead flying House Bolton's Flayed Men banner."
As soon as he drew near, Jon reported what he had seen.
"House Bolton... Did they make any move to attack you?"
Robb rubbed the stubble on his chin, thought for a moment, then asked.
"No. They were riding very slowly. It felt like one of our usual leisurely outings."
"Good. I understand. Jon, you two rest. Everyone else, form up and be ready for battle."
At Robb's order, the cavalrymen quickly adjusted their chainmail, then mounted up and prepared for battle.
Before long, a cavalry unit appeared in Robb's field of vision. When they reached a certain distance, they stopped.
One of the cavalrymen carrying the Flayed Men banner rode up to Robb's unit.
After exchanging a few words, Robb learned that they were led by Ramsay Snow, the bastard son of Roose Bolton, and were pursuing the deserters who had raided two villages.
After learning who Robb was, the cavalryman respectfully saluted, then rode back to report.
A few minutes later, Ramsay appeared, wearing a radiant smile. The black-haired, black-eyed man approached Robb with two attendants and two hounds in tow.
"Honored Lord Stark, Ramsay Snow of House Bolton offers you his heartfelt greetings."
"Ramsay, I assume the deserters you're pursuing are the ones over there?"
Faced with someone he loathed, Robb instead smiled and pointed at the severed heads on the horses behind him.
"Yes, those are them. They're truly lucky to have died at the hands of Lord Stark!"
"Lucky?"
"Yes. I only wish they'd had the misfortune to fall into my hands."
"They slaughtered a village on our lands. I'm taking these heads back to report to my father.
Take your men and return to House Bolton."
After exchanging a few words, Robb looked at Ramsay, who wore a beaming smile even as a dangerous glint flickered in his eyes. Frowning, he decided not to prolong the conversation and spoke.
"Yes, yes! As you command. Please send my regards to Lord Eddard."
At that, Ramsay's smile faltered slightly.
He then bowed and scraped as he replied, before turning back with his attendants and hounds.
"Lord Ramsay, you don't have to be so respectful to this 'young Lord Stark,' do you? After all, our House Bolton owes its allegiance to his father."
After Ramsay and the others turned to leave, one of his attendants, a short, stocky man with an ugly face, spoke up.
"Aelin, we're a pack of hounds. We have to look as loyal as possible in front of our master.
The Duke of the North's eldest legitimate son... Tsk, tsk. What an enviable position."
A sinister smile curled Ramsay's lips. His eyes shifted as he spoke in a chilling voice,
"Enough. That lucky bastard Dick died, and I'm in a foul mood. Let's find somewhere and have a little fun to blow off some steam."
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