The God Who Commands Floods

The knight dragged from his horse was still dazed even as someone flipped up his visor and drove a dagger into his head.

Had there ever been such a fierce warrior in the North?

The cavalrymen and knights in the first wave were also startled by Jon, this fierce warrior who had appeared out of nowhere.

Still, they were cavalry, with more than a hundred men charging behind them, so they nevertheless broke through the first line of defense Jon had arranged.

But when they reached the second line, things began to go wrong.

The Northern soldiers behind Jon had been inspired by him, and every one of them burst forth with renewed fighting spirit.

Coupled with the cavalry's overconfidence and the high slope weakening their charge.

After suffering dozens upon dozens of casualties, they retreated in panic.

"Long live Jon! Long live the White Wolf!"

Cheers erupted across the small position.

The fleeing Northern soldiers nearby saw that they had actually stopped the cavalry charge and rushed over as well.

"They actually stopped them!"

What had just happened challenged Howland Reed's understanding.

He was a crannogman, his lands lying at the southernmost edge of the North, and he had been among the last to join Robb's army.

He had long heard of Jon's martial prowess, but he had assumed it was exaggerated. Yet now that he had seen it for himself, those people's descriptions seemed not nearly accurate enough.

But with the battle having reached this point, could Jon turn defeat into victory?

Right! His flood!

Howland Reed suddenly remembered Jon's suggestion, which had been mocked and disputed so heavily before.

Yet when he looked around, there was no sign of any flood.

Using his exceptional eyesight, Howland Reed looked into the distance and saw the Mountain still fighting—or rather, wantonly slaughtering the fleeing Northern soldiers.

He was no more than a quarter of an hour away from Fish-Drying Slope.

Perhaps the heavily armored force moved somewhat slower, but even the assembled Northern elite had failed to stop them. With only the hastily built defense line Jon had put together... the final outcome was not hard to imagine.

"Hold the formation! Hold the formation!"

Jon had naturally thought of that as well. He was constantly adjusting and reinforcing the formation according to the soldiers' condition.

More soldiers joining meant a sturdier defense line, but it also meant a more conspicuous target.

The soldiers behind Jon quickly grew from one thousand to more than fifteen hundred.

And that number was still rising.

Looking around, the fleeing Northern soldiers nearby seemed to be forming a current.

It was as if Jon's position were a gigantic magnet drawing them in.

But defending a position was not simply a matter of having more men. Jon needed to place the soldiers in different positions based on their various conditions.

His repeated shouts had made his throat somewhat hoarse.

What gave him a headache was that quite a few wounded soldiers had come seeking shelter!

The commotion on Jon's side soon caught the Mountain's attention in the distance.

He was already tall, and he could see farther than most.

When he saw a defense line formed by fleeing soldiers who still refused to accept defeat, he was immediately as excited as a bandit spotting a virgin.

It was not only the Mountain. Tyrion, who was eagerly pursuing the enemy and trying to capture a knight himself, also noticed the activity around Jon.

"A white wolf banner on black?" Tyrion's oversized head spun rapidly, but he could not recall which house used that sigil.

First of all, the wolf naturally corresponded to Stark.

But how could he possibly fail to recognize the Stark banner?

"Stark's bastard?" Bronn beside him reminded him.

"A bastard?" Tyrion immediately thought of Jon, but quickly shook his head. He had personally watched Jon remain at The Wall.

And the Starks placed particular importance on that. If Jon had truly left The Wall without permission, he would definitely be beheaded when he returned.

Bronn was unconvinced as he listened to Tyrion's explanation.

But there was no point wondering whether the man resisting was Jon. Defeat him and capture him, and they would know everything.

"Look! The Mountain is almost there!" Bronn said, pointing at the Mountain in the distance.

Though their continuous charges had reduced the numbers of the heavily armored cavalry, they remained a force capable of rampaging across the battlefield.

Their movements drew countless eyes.

When the Westerlands and Northern soldiers saw where the other side was headed, the vast battlefield fell into a brief silence.

"Tear them apart!!!"

In the eyes of the Westerlands army, the defense line Jon had assembled was not worth mentioning.

It was merely the last struggle of men on the brink of death.

Tyrion, however, stared fixedly at that newly raised banner.

For some reason, he had an absurd premonition that the Mountain would not be able to break through that formation.

But the Mountain soon launched his charge, and that terrifying momentum quickly smashed the absurd premonition to pieces.

Yet at that moment, Tyrion suddenly realized that the smell of blood lingering around his nose had weakened considerably.

A thick surge of damp air swept toward him.

Along with a rumbling roar of water, Tyrion witnessed an unforgettable sight.

Waves more than a man's height, frothing yellow, swept across the entire battlefield.

They made no distinction between friend and foe. Whether Westerlands soldiers or Northern men, all who were struck were thrown sprawling.

"A dike burst?! At a time like this?!"

The sudden arrival of the flood threw the battlefield's chaos into an even greater state of disorder.

At the edge of the battlefield, pursuers stopped chasing and began running in the opposite direction, while the fleeing soldiers continued to flee, only faster than before.

The Mountain, who was heading toward the point of attack, also noticed the incoming water.

The churning waters of the Green Fork did not extinguish his fighting spirit. Instead, they made him irritable and furious.

They were mounted, so the water would not drown them, but it would greatly weaken the force of their charge.

As the water began to submerge the horses' hooves, he had to decide whether to attack or retreat.

"Quick! Make the Mountain and his men retreat!" Tyrion shouted at Bronn after coming to his senses. Bronn looked troubled, and Tyrion immediately said, "I'll pay you more!"

Tyrion was so anxious because he knew that if the Mountain's unstoppable assault was halted, it would be a tremendous boost to the Northern army's morale.

The battlefield, where victory had already seemed assured, would become unpredictable once more.

At the words "pay you more," Bronn put on his helmet and raced toward the Mountain's force.

At Jon's position, everyone was making the most of every moment, ready at any time to face the terrifying charge of the Mountain's heavily armored troops.

When Meiqi Saiwen saw the Mountain's heavily armored force advancing in his direction, his legs nearly gave out beneath him.

He could only be heard muttering to himself.

"It's over. We're finished. The Mountain is coming."

When the fleeing soldiers learned that the Mountain was coming, their expressions turned equally grim.

They had just been defeated by the Mountain once. Now that their side had been scattered to pieces and temporarily cobbled together again, how could they possibly hold him off?

Seeing them like this, Howland Reed could not hide the disgust on his face.

Suddenly, his ears twitched, as if he had heard something.

Archers had sharp ears as well as sharp eyes.

He turned to the west, where surging river water was sweeping toward them.

"The flood! His flood really came!"

Seeing this miracle-like scene, Howland Reed stood dumbfounded, even forgetting to warn the others.

"A flood! It's a flood! We're saved!"

When the hastily organized fleeing soldiers saw the flood rapidly rushing closer and closer, they erupted in ecstatic joy.

The roaring flood nearly swept across the entire battlefield.

Westerlands troops, Northern troops.

Karstark, Umber, Mormont, House Frey, or Marbrand, Lannister, Sharlot.

The power of the flood belonged to neither side. It vented its fury without discrimination.

But the flood was not deadly. As it continued spreading, the waves gradually fell until they reached only an adult's waist.

Apart from a few unlucky men, most would survive.

The land the flood passed over quickly became muddy.

Though it swept through in a roaring, indiscriminate rampage, for the Westerlands army, it had undoubtedly interrupted their offensive.

Furthermore, the Westerlands army consisted mainly of cavalry and heavily armored soldiers. After the flood washed through, it directly erased the gap between the two armies.

Now they had only two choices.

Either fight a miserable battle in the mud, or abandon the glory already within their grasp and retreat at once.

If it were Tyrion, he would choose the former.

But the Mountain, that battle-crazed maniac, clearly preferred the latter.

Before the flood could reach him, he had already led his troops in a charge toward Jon's Fish-Drying Slope.