Jon Snow, a Man of Little Influence

"Are you sure you didn't let a single one escape?"

When Jon returned with the heads of Westerlands soldiers to the army that had already begun marching south, this was the first question Roose Bolton asked him.

When the others learned that Jon, despite being a scout, had chosen to kill the enemy, they also said it was an unwise decision.

Jon swept his gaze over them from the corner of his eye and spoke firmly.

"If this attack fails because of my poor reconnaissance, then please cut off my head."

"Cut off your head? At most, you'll be hanged."

Jon did not turn around to see who had said it. He could tell from the voice that it was still Lord Severn.

Although Jon was the bastard son of a noble, he was not a noble himself and held no title. Naturally, he could not "enjoy" the privilege of being beheaded.

These nobles always loved emphasizing their status at every opportunity. Jon had long since grown used to it.

After all, Theon had been just as insufferable at first.

At that moment, Lilan Hode spoke up.

"My lords, I can vouch for Jon. We did not let a single Westerlands man escape! We made the decision to wipe out the enemy together."

Seeing how resolute he was, and hearing Lilan Hode say so—a man who had once defeated Arthur Dayne alongside Eddard—the others relaxed somewhat.

Roose Bolton still positioned his own loyal troops in the safest central formation.

He used House Umber and House Karstark, the two Stark vassals most fiercely loyal to House Stark, as the main attacking force.

With House Blackwood and House Seaworth supporting them, they immediately rushed to the designated battlefield and began preparing their attack.

As commander-in-chief, Roose Bolton knew that a true surprise attack was not simply charging in while the enemy slept and crushing them in one rush.

The cavalry unit Jon had killed had merely prevented the army from being discovered ahead of time.

The Westerlands army would at least have watchtowers and the like within its camp.

They would still be spotted once they came within one or two kilometers of the enemy.

Successful reconnaissance merely shortened the Westerlands army's preparation time.

The enemy would certainly discover the Northern Army before the battle began, but by then they might not have time to deploy their formations, or their soldiers might not have time to put on their armor.

But no matter what, they would not lose their basic fighting strength. Besides, Tywin's army was better equipped and had more cavalry.

Thus, before the real fighting began, Roose Bolton still sent men to scout the enemy's troop deployment.

When he learned that the Westerlands army's left flank consisted of poorly equipped Mountain Clans barbarians, he immediately decided to launch his attack there and use it as the breakthrough point.

But Jon knew that Tywin had hidden Gregor Clegane's heavily armored elite troops there—the Mountain himself.

That supposed weakness was actually bait.

The left-flank troops were even positioned far forward.

So before Roose Bolton gave the order to attack, Jon tried to dissuade him again.

"Lord Bolton, although the enemy's left flank is only a group of poorly equipped barbarians, there must be a reason they dare to stick out so far.

Why would they show us such an obvious weakness? Perhaps they have hidden elite soldiers among those barbarians.

I suggest we focus on defense against this force and put our main attacking strength on the enemy's right flank—our left!"

In the original Battle of the Green Fork, the Westerlands army had relied on this simple trick of hiding elite troops among miscellaneous soldiers to inflict devastating losses on the Northern Army.

An army of eighteen thousand had been reduced to barely more than ten thousand by the end.

Although Jon had not gotten along well with these people, he could not simply watch Roose Bolton squander lives.

Especially since doing so would indirectly increase the other side's influence within the army.

But Roose Bolton dismissed Jon's suggestion with a sneer.

"Jon, let me ask you two questions. First, have you ever been on a battlefield before?

Second, who is the commander-in-chief of this army?"

Roose Bolton had long been dissatisfied with Jon over the matter of military authority. He continued, "If you keep obstructing the army's actions, I will deal with you according to military law!"

Before Jon could say anything, Lord Severn's familiar voice rang out again.

"That's right. We can't be afraid of the enemy just because they're wearing a good pair of boots, can we?"

Jon looked at the people behind him and saw mockery, ridicule, and disgust on their faces.

Good advice could not save those determined to die.

Jon might have a cheat now, but the command of the army was not in his hands.

He could only act once the battle began to turn against them.

On a chaotic battlefield, most soldiers attacked on the strength of momentum alone.

And Jon was confident that with his map cheat and the flood, he could definitely turn the tide!

At the very least, he could greatly reduce their losses.

Seeing Jon's proposal rejected, Lilan Hode said nothing either.

In his view, this was the common flaw of young men who had never been on a battlefield.

They either thought too much or too little.

Jon clearly belonged to the former.

What they did not know was that Jon's mind was no longer on the coming battle at all.

He retreated into a corner and used Skinchanging to send his Raven to inspect Old York's "construction progress."

It had to be said, as expected of a noble from near the White Knife.

Old York was extremely familiar with the river's behavior, and he had chosen a river valley as a reservoir.

The original dam had already been torn down, and he was reinforcing a new one in the valley.

He had tied ropes around key points of the dam. All it would take was a pull, and the entire dam would collapse.

The two had already agreed to use the Raven to pass messages, so Old York did not need to return to camp. He only needed to guard the valley.

Meanwhile, in the Westerlands army.

Ever since Tywin had led them out of the Westerlands and into the Riverlands, this army had conquered every city and territory in its path.

Not a single Riverlands army or castle had been able to slow them down.

This had inevitably made the army somewhat lax.

The meat soup in iron pots had congealed into grease.

Armor lay scattered everywhere like shed snakeskins.

Some men even managed to make chainmail look as languid as silk.

An ugly dwarf noticed several poorly equipped yet defiantly proud figures staring into the distance.

Their braided hair hung loose, their bodies were lean, but their eyes were fierce.

Their armor was mismatched. Some wore no armor at all, while others wore only crude leather armor.

Following their gaze, the dwarf saw a man built like a small mountain.

The warrior, more than eight feet tall—over two meters and thirty centimeters—was sitting with his men and drinking.

Not only was his body enormous, even his head was a full size larger than an ordinary man's.

When he widened his eyes, he looked as savage as a beast.

Merely curling his lips was enough to make people afraid.

This man was Tywin's most formidable commander—the Mountain, Ser Clegane!

Because Catelyn had privately arrested Tyrion, Tywin, enraged, had ordered the Mountain to raid the Riverlands.

He alone had thrown the Riverlands lords into misery.

As for the Riverlands commoners, there was no need to mention them. His greatsword, nearly as tall as a man, still reeked of blood.

The dwarf was Tyrion, and the warriors around him, like uncivilized savages, were the Mountain Clans he had recruited.

He had exchanged weapons and food for their participation in the war.

Though these Wildlings varied greatly in combat ability, they were cheap and hardy. If they died, they died.

Besides, the real killing move was the Mountain, hidden among them.

Tyrion said to the Mountain Clans warriors beside him, "All right, if you want to challenge him, be prepared to lose your lives. And the Northern Army will probably be here soon, so you'd better be careful."

"Hmph! We're not afraid of any Northern Army." A woman with a dog's head painted on her forehead spoke. "We've even killed a king!"

This woman came from the Painted Dog Tribe.

The king she spoke of was an Andal king from before Aegon the Conqueror's landing.

This tribe also worshipped the Fire Witches, and they seemed particularly skilled at using fire.

Tyrion merely smiled and said nothing.

Even that king in the Vale could have fallen. Anyone could stumble.

Take Eddard, for example.

More than a month ago, he had heard news of the Northern Army's movements.

Tyrion guessed that Robb would lead his army south before long.

Combined with a few coincidences, he had only then recruited these Mountain Clans Wildlings for his own use.

In his view, the Northern and Westerlands armies would likely face each other somewhere in the Riverlands.

Then he could go persuade Eddard.

Eddard had been captured, but they could not truly sentence him. The key was still finding a way to reach some sort of deal.

"Sansa still has to marry Joffrey... as for Eddard's younger daughter..."

Just as Tyrion was lost in thought, a horn suddenly sounded in the distance.

Enemy attack!!!

Tyrion casually tossed his wine cup onto the table, then jumped down from his chair.

Unfortunately, given his height, all he could see were asses.

"What's happening!"

Tyrion looked around in alarm and asked, his tone somewhat panicked.

At that moment, a mercenary-looking attendant came to Tyrion's side.

"Enemy attack! Fucking enemy attack! The Northerners are coming!"

"What?!!"

The one shouting at Tyrion was the mercenary Bronn.

His stubble was messy, like a freshly harvested wheat field.

But his eyes were fierce.

It was also thanks to this man that Tyrion had been able to leave the Vale unharmed.

Tyrion hurriedly climbed to higher ground, took out a bronze telescope, and peered through it carefully.

The Northern Army had already formed up. The banners of Karstark, Severn, and Glover slowly advanced.

"Frey!"

Tyrion's pupils contracted as he realized House Frey had formed an alliance with the Northern Army.

He looked back at his own army, which was scrambling to prepare.

Even the Mountain was hurriedly putting on his armor.

Tyrion hardened his heart, turned to the Mountain Clans warriors, and shouted.

"Everyone, obey my orders! Aren't you afraid of death? Haven't you killed kings before? Follow me! The entire army, advance one kilometer!"

Tyrion wanted to use these Mountain Clans Wildlings to draw the Northern Army's attack.

This was also a strategy he had planned in advance with Tywin.

There was no time to ask for instructions now.

Tyrion knew that his father did not like him, this dwarf.

But when it mattered, he was still willing to trust him.