I'll Bet My Life with You!

The camp, where a small conflict had just broken out, was now exceptionally quiet.

The north wind stirred the Dreadfort's "Flayed Man" banners, making the place seem all the more grim and murderous.

Among those banners, Winterfell's Direwolf banner appeared somewhat isolated and helpless.

Even so, more and more people were gathering nearby.

After hearing what had happened here, lords from elsewhere had all sent people over to watch the spectacle.

Seeing the crowd grow larger, Robb could not help feeling nervous.

In his fifteen years of life, he had never seen how Eddard displayed his authority publicly in a setting like a military camp.

But during that earlier period when the lords had suddenly become "well-behaved," Jon had already discussed a plan with Robb.

All he needed to do at the end was curse everyone out.

Yes, everyone.

This was also experience Jon had gained from being a boss in his previous life.

As someone in a position of power, he could not lose his temper at or order around a single person alone.

If he cursed everyone out in one breath, people would fear him without anyone holding a grudge against him.

Robb first learned the full details of what had happened, then spoke.

"Although Chasen insulted Jon first in this matter, Jon killed him in an excessive rage and has also violated the law.

"Jon, do you still believe yourself innocent and demand a Trial by Combat?"

Though his expression remained stern, Jon could see the concern in his eyes.

This would be a fair, direct confrontation.

Chasen was the name of that arrogant young nobleman from earlier.

"Yes, Lord Stark. I believe I am innocent, so I ask the gods to prove my innocence!"

Seeing Jon say this, the amusement in Roose Bolton's eyes deepened, though he still spoke.

"Jon, you left the Night's Watch to avenge Lord Eddard. I understand how you feel. As long as you apologize to Chasen's family, your punishment can wait until after the war."

Roose Bolton's magnanimity won the praise of those around him.

Rickard in particular seemed to regard him more favorably.

And Roose Bolton's skill at advancing by retreating made Jon wary.

It seemed the old man did not merely have good judgment; his political methods were also first-rate.

But right now, he definitely wanted Jon to undergo a Trial by Combat.

That way, he would thoroughly seize the moral and public-opinion high ground.

Robb would likely have no choice but to hand military command over to him.

Yet no matter what, he could not imagine what kind of opponent he was about to face.

Jon said expressionlessly, "Thank you for your kindness, Lord Bolton. But if the gods deem me guilty, then I am willing to use my life to atone."

To the others, Roose Bolton's concession appeared magnanimous.

Jon's insistence, however, seemed somewhat irrational and made him difficult to like.

Seeing that he remained so stubborn, Roose Bolton laughed inwardly before turning to Robb.

"Very well. Since he insists, my lord, let the gods pass judgment. Please choose a time for the Trial by Combat."

Robb looked at Jon, who spoke.

"The army is about to march. We should not delay because of my affairs. Now."

Jon's attitude made everyone else look at him differently.

Watching Jon act as though he had been carried away by emotion, Ramsay sneered inwardly.

Since Jon insisted, Roose Bolton naturally went along with it.

Robb nodded in agreement as well.

Before long, the soldiers began preparing the grounds.

Taking advantage of the pause, Theon asked worriedly.

"Jon, are you confident?"

After all, the Dreadfort had brought a full army of four thousand men. There were certainly quite a few capable fighters among them.

Although Theon had confirmed over the past few days that Jon's martial skill was formidable, he still did not feel assured.

Jon looked toward Robb, who was discussing something with a group of nobles.

But that was unimportant. He spoke.

"Theon, no matter what I say later, you only need to make Robb agree. We need to crush Roose Bolton's ambition to command the entire army in one blow. The army must remain in our hands."

"All right. I understand."

Soon, the grounds were prepared, and Roose Bolton chose a champion knight from the Dreadfort.

The instant he appeared, everyone believed Jon was as good as dead.

He was a burly swordsman in heavy armor.

He was nearly six feet three inches tall. With shoes and a helmet on, he stood close to six feet six.

Especially that massive two-handed greatsword, gleaming with cold light as though it could split even a mountain apart.

Every family actually had fighters of this type.

When two armies clashed, the purpose of heavily armored greatswordsmen was to break formations.

Wielding terrifying two-handed swords, they could cleave through armor and take heads with unstoppable force, often clearing out a large space in the blink of an eye.

Swordsmen like this were extremely rare.

Among a hundred men, there might not even be one Warrior like him.

And he had even cleverly put on chainmail.

Compared to plate armor, chainmail was more flexible and could effectively prevent cuts from sharp weapons.

When Robb saw that Roose Bolton had actually sent out such a fighter, he could not help feeling worried.

Soon, the surrounding soldiers began the common gambling activity found in military camps.

But unlike usual, no one bet on Jon winning. They bet on how many exchanges Jon could survive against that swordsman.

"I'll name a number! Three exchanges! That bastard will definitely die within three exchanges!"

"I don't think we should underestimate him that much. He's beaten so many people lately. I'll bet on ten exchanges."

Silver Stags and Copper Stars clattered onto the ground one after another.

Mixed among them were several glittering Gold Dragons!

Suddenly, a soldier who had placed a bet felt someone squeezing past him and turned around unhappily.

He saw a "Giant" standing behind him, a full head taller than even that swordsman.

"Hodor!"

Everyone hurriedly backed away, and a little boy's head poked out from behind the Giant's shoulder.

"I bet Jon can win!"

As he spoke, Bran tossed out several Gold Dragons.

"Who's that?"

The others whispered among themselves, but the Winterfell soldiers responsible for protecting Bran told them his identity.

No one said anything after that. They all stared at those glittering Gold Dragons, wondering how they would divide them later.

Before long, the soldiers had finished arranging the grounds, and both sides entered the field.

Soldiers handed weapons to each of them.

The heavily armored swordsman walked to the center of the marked-off arena, like a gorilla entering a human gladiatorial pit.

The moment he appeared, the Dreadfort soldiers erupted in cheers.

"Rip him apart!"

"Kill him!"

Ramsay had promised him that if he won, he would ask Roose Bolton to reward him with more lands.

And with so many people watching today, he had to make a good show of himself.

When Theon tried to hand Jon his sword, Jon shook his head, pointed at his staff, and spoke.

"Lord Robb, I saw that Chasen was acting under Ramsay's orders. I will use only my staff. If I win, then he is guilty! I want to kill him!"

"Jon!" Robb hurriedly tried to stop him.

Everyone else had only one thought in mind—this idiot had gone insane.

Roose Bolton let out a disdainful snort.

Rickard curled his lips as well.

Where had Eddard found that woman back then, to give birth to such a reckless child?

At that moment, a large man beside Robb suddenly spoke.

"Hahaha, I haven't seen such an interesting young man in a long time."

The speaker was Greatjon, who had arrived with his troops only yesterday.

His lands, Last Hearth, were the farthest away, which was why he had arrived last.

Theon, standing beside Robb, hesitated briefly before whispering something into his ear.

Robb knew Jon was not the rash type, so he turned to look at Roose Bolton.

Although Roose Bolton did not know what they had said, the situation was advantageous to him no matter what. After thinking for a moment, he spoke.

"Insulting another man's mother is indeed dishonorable. If he truly can win, then the gods mean to punish Ramsay. I have nothing to say."