Oooooh---
The First Men's war horn tore through the frigid night once more, its sound drifting unpredictably—at times seeming to emerge from the pitch-black woods to the east, at others circling around to the west, like the wailing of lost souls.
Stannis's upright figure had indeed restored some courage to the soldiers, but now... the ancient voice of the First Men instantly crushed what little order remained in the camp.
The fourth assault came without warning. Another hundred or so of Stannis's soldiers fell—more than half of them had not died to enemy arrows, but to the chaotic trampling and mistaken blows of their own comrades.
Arrow shafts and corpses littered the ground, while the snow, dyed dark red, quickly froze into ice.
When Stannis opened his eyes, all he saw were soldiers' faces filled with terror—of the loyalest and most elite veterans he had brought from Storm's End and Dragonstone, only three or four hundred remained.
Creak!
These bravest warriors had not died in a glorious charge, but fallen to Crabb's despicable schemes!
Stannis slowly rose to his feet. After a pause, such extreme fury made this iron-hard man bare his teeth.
His expression was full of mockery and contempt—for that man.
Gryn Crabb—such a treacherous man was actually praised as one of the Seven Kingdoms' two true knights?!
The other was Ned...
Stannis felt this was the most vile desecration of knightly honor!
"We must hold out until dawn!"
"For the king!"
"And so that you yourselves may live to see the sun!"
"The enemy fears us!"
"They only dare skulk in the dark and play tricks! They don't dare face our sharp swords!"
Stannis's captain of the guard dragged his utterly exhausted body through the soldiers with difficulty. His voice was hoarse as though scraped by sandpaper,