I Demand Trial by Combat!

Before everyone's eyes, Jon strode step by step toward the most arrogant young noble.

The young man still wore that smug expression as he watched Jon approach.

But as the distance between them steadily closed, an ominous premonition suddenly rose in his heart.

It was as though the one walking toward him was not a bastard like himself, but a savage beast whose eyes held nothing but prey.

Jon advanced one step at a time, his stride firm and his expression blank.

The man fought desperately to maintain his composure, because he knew Ramsay stood behind him, and Roose Bolton might be nearby as well.

I absolutely can't back down! Absolutely not!

"W-what...?"

The man realized that his body no longer seemed to obey him. He involuntarily took a step back.

A poison called fear was seeping into the cracks of his bones.

The watching Boltons suddenly realized that what surged from Jon was the purest killing intent.

"He's going to kill someone!?"

Roose Bolton narrowed his eyes. If that was the case, then he would gladly take command of the army.

One life in exchange for command of the army was an absurdly good bargain.

Jon's black staff swept out, smashing into Thickneck's forehead like lightning.

Bang!

The sound of wood colliding with skull was unexpectedly crisp.

Like a drumstick striking the rim of a drum, only heavier.

The blow sounded like some sort of caesura. All noise around them abruptly ceased, leaving only the howling wind.

The young man whose head had been struck felt his vision go black. Then his entire body went limp, collapsing onto the ground like rotten flesh stripped of its bones.

Thud—

The foul-mouthed man was dead.

Before Roose Bolton could do anything, Ramsay rushed over to the corpse and shouted:

"Jon Snow! You dare kill someone! Tie him up!"

The moment Ramsay finished speaking, the surrounding soldiers prepared to swarm forward.

Only a small portion of the Winterfell soldiers tried to stop them.

Following Jon around and beating people up had felt satisfying, and it had even earned them the people's admiration. But now he had killed someone. That was entirely different.

Jon said nothing as he watched the scene unfold. This was the disadvantage of having no personal retainers.

True retainers stood by their lord no matter what happened.

These men had only been lent to him by Robb.

As the surrounding men approached with ropes in hand, Jon pointed at Ramsay and said:

"He insulted my mother!"

"That still doesn't mean you could kill him! His crime did not warrant death!" Though Ramsay sounded grief-stricken, inwardly he was ecstatic.

He had won this contest completely!

"Exactly! No matter what, you can't kill someone!"

"We demand justice!"

"Yes! Justice!"

"Punish him!"

The soldiers Ramsay had arranged beforehand began shouting loudly.

Rickard looked at Jon and shook his head repeatedly.

Seeing that his prey had entered his trap, Roose Bolton spoke:

"My apologies, Ser Rickard, but I believe I must deal with this first. The man beaten to death by Eddard's bastard was my vassal."

"Mm."

Rickard nodded lightly.

He, too, thought Jon's actions had gone too far.

Now that he had left The Wall, he ought to have kept his head down.

If he dared kill someone in front of everyone, then he needed to be prepared to bear the consequences!

With that, he headed toward Ramsay and Jon.

"Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, has arrived—"

At the announcement, the soldiers retreated one after another, clearing a path for Roose Bolton.

Jon also looked toward the newcomer. He appeared to be around forty, with a sickly pale complexion.

Bluish veins could even be seen beneath his eyelids.

Roose Bolton looked considerably younger than his actual age.

His black pupils stood in sharp contrast to his white skin, as though countless schemes lay concealed within him.

"My... lord."

Ramsay had not yet been formally named Roose Bolton's heir, so he could not call him Father in public.

Roose Bolton nodded, seemingly quite pleased with Ramsay.

He then glanced at the dead retainer and said calmly, "Men, bind this murderer."

With their own lord backing them, the Dreadfort soldiers gained even more confidence.

The Winterfell soldiers protecting Jon no longer dared interfere.

At that moment, Jon suddenly spoke:

"I am enforcing the law here under the orders of Robb Stark, acting lord of Winterfell. What right do you have to arrest me?"

Roose Bolton sneered.

"Jon, you killed someone! Did Robb permit you to kill?" In his eyes, invoking Robb was merely the prey's final struggle.

"So Lord Bolton believes me guilty?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Ramsay cut in. "You should be beheaded—no, you should be hanged!"

Hanging was reserved specifically for commoners, while beheading was a privilege of nobles.

Not far away, Rickard watched Jon and noticed that he seemed unusually calm.

Standing at the center of the storm, he looked more like Eddard than ever before, and that filled Rickard with nostalgia.

But Jon was in serious trouble now. If things went badly, he might have to pay with his life.

Rickard found that somewhat regrettable, but it was not something he could influence.

All of Rickard's goodwill toward Jon came from his appearance. Nothing more.

Just as Jon was about to be bound, he fixed Roose Bolton with a pair of gray eyes and said:

"Since you believe me guilty, then I demand Trial by Combat!"

Trial by Combat!

At those words, Ramsay's pupils shrank.

The crowd erupted in uproar.

Trial by Combat was an ancient tradition of Westeros. Under the law, if someone had been found guilty—

Or if someone had been accused of a crime—

Then they could prove their innocence through Trial by Combat.

Win, and they would be released without guilt. Lose, and they would be beheaded on the spot.

Of course, it sounded more like shameless trickery.

In Jon's eyes, it was also one of the ways nobles oppressed commoners.

In Trial by Combat, a noble could choose someone to serve as their champion.

Just as the Imp had chosen the Red Viper for Trial by Combat in the original story.

But that was a method used only when the accused had been forced into a desperate corner.

If Robb were willing to step in, Jon could still save his life in his current situation.

Roose Bolton was somewhat surprised by his demand.

No wonder Robb had sent him out to do the dirty work of offending people. He was truly reckless.

Yet Jon's demand made both Roose Bolton and Ramsay excited.

As long as they defeated him, they would completely seize the moral high ground.

Robb's use of Jon as a blade to enforce military discipline could then be seen as having incurred the gods' displeasure.

They would gain an even greater advantage.

In Roose Bolton's eyes, command of the army was already beckoning to him.

But he still needed to make some show of concern. Rickard was watching from the side.

He said:

"Jon, think this through. Swords have no eyes, and Trial by Combat cannot be withdrawn from. You may be killed outright.

"On the other hand, if you admit your guilt, you may yet be allowed to keep your life."

Jon replied, "If the gods deem me guilty for killing a man who insulted my mother's honor, then I am willing to die."

Jon's words struck the ground like iron. Even the howling northern wind seemed to cheer him on.

Ramsay sneered beside him, thinking that if that was the case, then Jon could go die.

At that moment, everyone heard another announcement:

"Robb Stark has arrived—"

Everyone turned. Surrounded by guards, Robb came before the crowd.

This was the first time the Young Wolf had appeared before everyone since the army had assembled.

Tall, handsome, and straight-backed, Robb was indeed impressive. But in Rickard's eyes, his only flaw was that his reddish-brown hair did not resemble that of a Northman.

Still, everyone present bowed to him in salute.

The Boltons, however, did not care.

If Robb insisted on protecting Jon today, then the only result would be a total loss of face!