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Lushen and Roslyn received their orders and departed.

Only Suleiman and Bronn remained in the tent.

"You don't seem worried at all?" Suleiman looked at Bronn, his gaze calm.

Bronn spread his hands. "Worried about what? That we won't win? My ability to run away is every bit as good as my ability to kill!"

Bronn flexed his wrists, causing them to crackle softly. "But let's get one thing straight: if things go south, I'm not dying with you."

"Of course," Suleiman replied noncommittally. "But if you do run, you had better hope that I die."

"Otherwise, you will be a wanted man throughout the Seven Kingdoms! 'Deserter' will be the label branded upon you!" Suleiman chuckled.

Bronn: ...

"What a pity!" Bronn suddenly exclaimed, as if struck by a thought. "If only you and I had been this age during the War of the Usurper."

Suleiman sheathed his short sword and spoke slowly: "You will still have your chance."

Bronn looked at him strangely. "Are you talking about the Ironborn? Forgive my candor, but they won't last long!"

Suleiman said nothing, offering him only an enigmatic smile.

"Damn it! They burned everything!" The chieftain of the Milk Snakes let out an angry roar, slamming his fist against a charred stone wall.

The chieftain of the Howlers remained silent.

The pursuit had gone more smoothly than expected; the Flatlanders had initially erased all traces of their passage.

Yet, they had still left behind clues that could not be hidden from the Free Folk who lived in the high mountains.

They were experts at tracking prey.

But the Flatlanders had realized they were being followed and burned everything.

They had destroyed it more thoroughly than the Wildlings ever could.

They had intended to slaughter every Flatlander they laid eyes on!

But all along the way, they hadn't seen a single soul.

Everywhere they looked, there were only the broken walls and ruins left behind by the Flatlanders.

Charred wooden stakes poked out of the ground in disarray, and the air was thick with the pungent smell of charcoal and an indescribable stench of rot.

"Damn these cursed Flatland sheep!" the Milk Snakes' chieftain continued to curse, kicking a piece of charred wood away. "They didn't even leave us a bite to eat!"

The village wells had been filled with dead livestock, and the Flatlanders had even dumped animal and human excrement into them.

Now, they emitted a nauseating odor.

The Howlers' chieftain walked to the edge of a well and took a spear from one of the Wildlings.

He used the tip of the spear to push aside the debris, and a thick, foul stench surged up to meet him.

"Chieftain, there is another village ahead!" a scout reported. "The tracks continue forward."

The party continued their advance.

They marched until midday, with the sun hanging directly overhead, baking the earth.

The Wildlings were dressed in animal hides covered in thick fur, and they were soon drenched in sweat.

The sensation of thirst burned in their throats like fire.

They passed the second village, which was likewise a ruin; there was no food, and the well had been destroyed just the same.

The third village, the fourth...

Every place where they had pinned their hopes of finding food and water.

There was nothing left but blackened scorched earth and poisoned water sources.

The pace of the party slowed significantly.

The initial towering rage, and the excitement and bloodlust of finally having found the Flatlanders.

Were gradually replaced by agitation, hunger, and thirst.

"Chieftain, how much longer are we going to chase them?" a young Howler Wildling couldn't help but ask, his lips cracked and his voice hoarse. "My waterskin is empty."

"Shut up!" another Howler Wildling snapped. "The Flatlanders are right ahead; kill them, and we'll have everything we need!"

But his words sounded pale and weak.

Even he felt his own throat parched and his stomach completely empty.

The Howlers' chieftain remained silent, merely scanning his surroundings with a strange look in his eyes.

This road was too smooth.

Were the Flatlanders trying to drag them down?

But this only served to prove that the Flatlanders did not have many warriors.

Otherwise, they would have had no need to resort to such tactics.

The chieftain of the Howlers suddenly reined in his mount and raised a hand.

The column came to a halt.

He scanned his surroundings; this was a relatively open river valley.

On both sides were low hills with sparse vegetation.

"Scout again!" The Howler chieftain's voice carried a trace of imperceptible fatigue and vigilance. "Look carefully, and report anything unusual!"

He had just lost his only son.

But he could not afford to lose any more of his tribesmen.

Several Wildlings acknowledged the order and departed.

The remaining Wildlings slumped to the ground, gasping for air.

Some licked their cracked lips in vain, while others stared at the Howler chieftain with bloodshot eyes, waiting for his decision.

The air was filled only with heavy breathing and the sound of the distant wind.

"Howlers!" The chieftain of the Milk Snakes could no longer contain his impatience. "We cannot wait here! Wasting time here! The gap between us and the Flatlanders will only grow wider!" He did not continue, but his meaning was clear.

The Howler chieftain did not look at him, his gaze fixed on the distance, where a patch of slightly darker grass seemed to lie.

He was uneasy, deeply uneasy.

"If you keep waiting! We are leaving first!" The Milk Snake chieftain roared at the Howler chieftain, his expression one of extreme fury.

"Puchi!"

The dull sound of flesh being pierced.

The sound of blood and shattering bone was jarringly sharp in the silent valley.

The Milk Snake chieftain stared blankly at the Howler chieftain.

It happened in an instant; his consciousness had not even registered it yet.

A throwing axe was embedded in the Howler chieftain's head.

The Howler chieftain did not even have time to let out a scream.

He collapsed limply, his body twitching a few times before falling silent.

The blade of the throwing axe was buried deep in his skull, the handle still vibrating slightly.

Blood and brains spurted from the gaps in the wound.

The entire scene fell into a deathly silence.

No one had reacted to what had just happened.

A Flatlander had leaped up from a dense thicket of trees fifty meters away—perhaps even less.

He had thrown a hand axe, striking the Howler chieftain's head with lethal precision.

After the brief silence came a deafening roar!

"Flatlander!"

"Damn it!"

"Kill him!"

Hunger and fatigue were instantly swept away, the strings of reason snapping completely!

The Milk Snake chieftain, having witnessed the death of the Howler chieftain with his own eyes, saw his pupils turn blood-red, and he let out a thunderous roar like a provoked beast.

He bellowed, "Kill him! Kill him!"

A naked provocation.

The Wildlings were driven into a complete, frenzied rage.

"Kill him!!"

"Avenge the chieftain!!"

The Flatlander spat, "Pah!"

Then he vaulted onto a Mountain Clans warhorse hidden in the thicket.

His movements were fluid and swift.

He galloped away.

"Damn it, Suleiman! Making me do such a dangerous job! And not even giving me a decent horse!"

Bronn was cursing as he rode.

Inside, he was also swearing like a sailor.

The horse was short, and it ran slowly.

Behind him were countless sprinting Wildlings.

And all manner of thrown weapons.

They whistled past his head and ears like raindrops.

Every sound of air being torn apart made his heart leap into his throat.

Bronn yanked a throwing axe from his waist and hurled it fiercely at the nearest Wildling behind him!

The axe whistled through the air and struck its target; a scream rang out, and the Wildling collapsed to the ground.

But the pursuing crowd did not diminish in the slightest.

Bronn galloped his horse wildly!

"Damn it!! Damn it!! Damn it!!"

He roared incessantly!

As if shouting a thunderous cry toward Suleiman in the distance:

"Screw you and your Foulkeep, Suleiman! More money! I demand more money!"