White Wolf Banner on Fish-Drying Slope

The Westerlands cavalry crashed headlong into the rest of the Northern army.

On the great plain, cavalry against infantry was nothing less than a one-sided slaughter.

On top of that, Roose Bolton had concentrated all his elite troops on the left flank, leaving the other sections of the battle line extraordinarily weak.

Tyrion watched the scene through his spyglass, practically vibrating with excitement.

His strategy had worked.

Proving himself before Tywin was Tyrion's greatest goal and pursuit.

"Bronn! Let's charge too!"

"Huh? You?"

Bronn looked at Tyrion, who might not even have legs as long as his own and was brimming with excitement, without bothering to hide the contempt on his face.

He even gave Tyrion an exaggerated once-over.

As a bodyguard, it was not his job to provide emotional support.

Especially not when Tyrion suddenly demanded overtime.

"Can't you see? The troops in their rear have already begun retreating. This is exactly when we press our advantage! Help me onto a horse!"

Seeing Tyrion persist, Bronn had no choice.

After all, that was what he was being paid for.

With a worker's resentment in his heart, Bronn somewhat roughly hoisted Tyrion onto his warhorse.

By then, the Westerlands army had begun its full-scale counterattack.

Kevan Lannister, commanding the center, was Tywin's younger brother and had long been known as Tywin's right-hand man.

House Marbrand on the right flank was cavalry-heavy as well. The already-disordered Northern soldiers had no chance of stopping their charge.

Still, this battle's reversal owed much to Tyrion's suggestion.

Naturally, he had no intention of falling behind the others.

By now, the Northern army had collapsed across the entire line. As the Northern soldiers watched their banners grow ever farther away behind them, they realized they had been abandoned.

Some had even realized that, compared with outrunning the enemy, it was more important now to outrun their own comrades.

The weapons fallen to the ground, along with their courage, were buried beneath the mud.

The soldiers fled in panic like startled rabbits.

But the infantry pursuing them came with savage force.

Squelch—

The sound of steel piercing flesh rang out from time to time, like the chanting of evil ghosts.

Jon, moving against the tide, stood out sharply.

His white wolf banner against a black field was like the loneliest sail upon the sea, steadily advancing.

"Anyone who can still fight! Get behind us!"

"Anyone who can still fight! Get behind us!"

Following Jon's prior arrangements, the soldiers shouted at the routed men fleeing in panic.

When those fleeing soldiers saw this mere hundred or so men daring to advance against the flow, their eyes first widened, then they cursed under their breaths in disdain.

Their circumstances were no different from deserters.

Everyone else was running, yet this bunch wanted to counterattack. It made the rest of them look bad.

Of course, some were still willing to join Jon's force.

For instance, Lilan Hode, who had been the first to realize that Roose Bolton was retreating.

He had withdrawn with the soldiers around him almost without hesitation.

When he saw Jon actually daring to salvage this catastrophic defeat with only a few hundred men, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Old and New Gods."

Lilan Hode sighed. He was not sure whether dragonfire flowed within Jon's body, but there was certainly Blood of the Rushing Wolf.

He looked at the remaining arrows in his quiver, then turned to his family's soldiers.

"Follow me!"

With a wave of his hand, he hurried toward Jon.

Jon was not yet far from the battlefield, and even the soldiers fleeing nearby had not been reduced to casting aside their armor and weapons.

By the time they formally entered the battlefield, Jon had gathered more than five hundred men around him, including the original Winterfell soldiers.

With Lilan Hode joining them, Jon's force grew considerably.

It even became rather conspicuous.

By then, he could already see the roaring, charging Westerlands army.

Scenes of seven, eight, or even a dozen Westerlands soldiers chasing down groups of Northern soldiers were everywhere.

The retreating infantry had become the cavalry's finest prey.

On this vast plain, it had become their paradise.

If they won this battle, the morale of Tywin's army would become terrifyingly high.

The Riverlands army had been utterly helpless before them, and now the Northern army that had come to ambush them was being defeated in turn.

In fact, that was how events had originally unfolded. Otherwise, Tywin could never have led them back to reinforce the Westerlands, then brought them to save King's Landing.

Before long, Jon led the Winterfell soldiers and the routed men he had gathered to the designated low hill, where they raised their banner.

Without needing Jon's orders, Lilan Hode arranged the formation himself and prepared to provide fire support at any moment.

"Anyone who can still hold a weapon, join us!"

The fleeing soldiers and nobles were stunned when they saw this. Their first reaction was that Roose Bolton's reinforcements had arrived.

"Are Lord Bolton's reinforcements here?"

"No! It's only us! If you want to live, come over!"

The moment they heard there were no reinforcements, the soldiers who had been hesitating scattered and fled.

At that moment, Count Severn was fleeing in disarray amid a cluster of retainers.

An arrow was lodged in his back. It was not fatal, but his face was pale, and he clearly was not feeling well.

A unit of Westerlands cavalry was close on his heels.

When he saw Jon's banner, he did not recognize which house it belonged to, but he still plunged into Jon's formation as desperately as a ship escaping a storm finding a safe harbor.

When he discovered the young commander on horseback, an indescribable sense of shame nearly swallowed him whole.

"Stop fucking running! Take your men and hold the flank! Now!"

Jon did not share Greatjon's masochistic tendencies. He naturally had no pleasant expression for this count who always liked to talk trash at him.

Still, Count Severn knew he had no standing to criticize Jon's tone.

Being able to establish a defensive line while the entire army was collapsing was already remarkable enough.

"Where are our other reinforcements?"

Count Severn, having just joined the formation, asked a Winterfell soldier.

"There's only us, my lord. Only we can save ourselves!"

Hearing this, Meiqi Saiwen's heart sank.

The Westerlands cavalry before them would already be difficult enough to stop, not to mention The Mountain's heavy cavalry roaming nearby.

For a moment, he wanted to run again.

But the pursuers were already upon them. They could only drive them back first.

Jon then noticed that the cavalry pursuing Meiqi flew blue peacock banners.

They should be from House Shaluete of the Westerlands.

But which house they belonged to was unimportant. The distance between them was no more than two kilometers.

Fish-Drying Slope might not even have five minutes left.

Jon could clearly sense their soaring morale and their excitement at discovering enemy troops who actually dared resist.

This cavalry force from House Shaluete numbered around three hundred men, more than enough to smash through Jon's defensive line.

They realized it too, and after a brief reorganization, they prepared to charge.

Under these circumstances, there was no time to build any obstacles. They could only use flesh and blood to block the enemy's iron hooves.

Jon placed the more poorly equipped soldiers in the front rank, with the elite troops on both sides of the second rank.

He himself stood at the very center of the front line.

The advantage of this arrangement was that even if the enemy broke through the first line, as long as he survived, he could lead the second line's elite troops in tying them down.

And by personally standing in the most dangerous position, he could keep morale from collapsing.

This was a tactic that commanders of ordinary martial skill would never dare attempt.

At first, the poorly equipped soldiers resented Jon for placing them at the very front.

But when Jon stood among them, every trace of dissatisfaction vanished.

Especially after Jon positioned himself a full step ahead of them, everyone had only one thought left: tighten their grip on their weapons.

When Lilan Hode saw Jon employing such a suicidal tactic, he ordered the archers beside him to take better aim before firing.

As for himself, he repeatedly checked his bowstring and counted his remaining arrows.

The very next second after he finished adjusting the formation, House Shaluete's cavalry charged.

"Lower your center of gravity! Raise your spears!"

Jon shouted as loudly as he could, ensuring his orders reached every soldier's ears.

The routed soldiers still felt fear as they watched their pursuers charge toward them.

Meiqi Saiwen in particular felt his mouth go dry.

He swallowed desperately, but not a drop of saliva remained in his mouth.

As the enemy charge drew closer and closer, everyone knew that if they wanted to live, they had to meet it head-on.

There were now nearly a thousand men in Jon's position, a force large enough to draw the attention of the other deserters.

Whether Westerlands pursuers or Northern fugitives, they slowed their pace to watch the battle unfolding here.

The blue-toned cavalry drew ever closer to Jon's banner.

Jon stared fixedly at the several knights thrusting their leveled lances toward him.

They were all well trained and could likewise distinguish Jon from the ordinary soldiers around him.

They had not expected such a foolish noble to put himself in the very front rank.

"Three! No, five of them—at least five want to kill me!"

Realizing this, Jon's nerves drew taut.

As House Shaluete's cavalry closed in, Jon could see the excitement written on their faces.

Not only was he positioned conspicuously, but he was constantly issuing orders to the soldiers. He was obviously a noble.

They did not know why this "noble" dared stand so far forward, but they only needed to kill him with one thrust. They could worry about everything else after the battle.

Faced with the iron lances thrusting at him, Jon dodged nimbly, seized one man's lance, and used his powerful grip and the momentum of the rider's horse to drag him from the saddle.

Whether Jon's plan could succeed, whether this defensive line could continue holding, all depended on the outcome of this clash.