My lord, let us charge one more time

The whip in Bronn's hand blurred from how fast he swung it. The warhorse cried out in pain, its hooves flying as water splashed far below.

Yet he still found the horse too slow and wished he could give it wings and make it fly.

"Ser Clegane! Retreat! Ser Clegane! Retreat!"

Bronn began shouting while he was still some distance from The Mountain's troops, but it was already too late.

The Mountain charged forward against the surging floodwaters.

Such reckless behavior naturally brought the consequences it deserved.

Soldiers frequently slipped as their horses lost footing, men and mounts tumbling together in every direction.

Only part of the heavy cavalry reached the foot of Dried Fish Slope.

The caltrops scattered in advance and the sharpened spears hastily planted in the ground finally came into play.

Combined with Howland Reed's precise shooting, the cavalry around The Mountain rapidly suffered losses because they had not had time to armor their horses, greatly weakening their charge.

Jon's formation only swayed slightly.

The Mountain unwillingly rammed hard at Jon's line twice, then chose to retreat amid Bronn's shouts!

The repeated charges had already exhausted this elite force in heavy armor.

They were Tywin's "precious jewels," after all, and they had performed their task admirably. It was time to pull back.

"I hope that breach was an accident. Otherwise, this opponent is far too terrifying."

Watching the cavalry withdraw, Tyrion spoke softly.

At that moment, once they realized they had successfully stopped The Mountain's terrifying assault, cheers erupted from Jon's position again, even fiercer than before.

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

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

Through his bronze telescope, Tyrion knew they were cheering, but he could not clearly make out what they were shouting.

When Bronn returned to his side, he hurriedly asked.

"Something like... Long live Jon, long live the White Wolf..."

Splash!

Tyrion's telescope fell straight to the ground—or rather, into the water.

"Jon? Are you sure they said Jon?!"

Bronn looked at Tyrion with some disdain, unable to understand why he was so shocked.

Scenes of his time with Jon flashed through Tyrion's mind.

Back then, Jon had merely been a sensitive, insecure bastard.

And now he had become a commander who turned the tide?

Had Robb put him in command of the army?

But how could the other northern lords possibly obey him?

"No! Robb!" Tyrion suddenly shuddered. If Robb was not here, then where was he?

Tyrion looked around, then gazed anxiously westward. He decided to return and tell Tywin of his concerns.

Then he suddenly noticed that the torrent had weakened considerably.

However, the ground beneath their feet had become a muddy mess, and fish could even be seen flopping and struggling.

The Westerlands' offensive could no longer be sustained. It was time to retreat.

He believed the North had suffered far fewer losses because of the flood, so they should know when to stop as well.

Meanwhile, at Jon's position.

"Retreat? Who said I was retreating?! Everyone, follow my orders! Counterattack!!!"

Jon spoke firmly as he watched The Mountain withdraw from the battlefield.

The flood had swept through, leaving the land muddy.

Now the fighting strength of cavalry and heavy infantry had been greatly weakened. With his "radar" fully open, this was the perfect time to slaughter his enemies.

Elsewhere, among the North's troops that had already withdrawn, Roose Bolton also spotted what seemed to be a stable defensive line in the distance.

"My lord, our troops have withdrawn to safety."

Because Jon had held the enemy back, Roose Bolton had gained much more time to evacuate his forces.

More northern soldiers had escaped as well—at least two thousand more than in the original Battle of the Green Fork.

Quite a few of them knew why they had managed to escape, and their attention turned to Jon, who was still fighting amid the chaotic battle behind them.

When a cavalry unit set its sights on Jon's hastily established defenses, everyone's hearts pounded like startled rabbits.

When Jon's line successfully resisted that cavalry force from House Sarsfield, they erupted in cheers once more.

Then came The Mountain's attack and the arrival of the flood.

Everyone believed from the bottom of their hearts that this was the gods' blessing.

But some remembered Jon's proposal before the battle.

At the time, they had merely thought the bastard was indulging in wild fantasies. They had never expected him to be the one who was right.

Naturally, Roose Bolton had seen all of this as well.

The knuckles of the hand gripping his bronze telescope had turned white, and his already pale face darkened further.

From Jon's departure to his resistance and then his attack, Roose had watched the whole thing.

But the problem was that none of it made any sense!

The military education he had received since childhood taught that once an army was defeated, it had to "cut off an arm to survive."

Only by preserving as much strength as possible could one win later battles.

Throwing all one's troops into battle when defeat was imminent was the behavior of a novice.

He had thought Jon's plunge into the chaotic battlefield was like a man seeking death throwing himself into a raging river.

Yet Jon had actually cut himself a path through!

With the flood arriving, the Westerlands army could not gain further results, while Jon's reputation soared because he had saved so many soldiers!

If things went badly, Jon might use that momentum to fight him for command of the army.

Worse still, Roose Bolton thought of a terrifying outcome.

Robb's strategic skill at Winterfell, combined with the martial prowess and command ability Jon had displayed now.

If the two brothers joined forces, the entire North would gain a powerful overlord.

An overlord who would leave everyone unable to breathe beneath his pressure.

Just as Tywin did in the Westerlands.

"My lord, should we support Lord Jon?" At that moment, a noble who appeared to be from House Umber asked.

The moment he saw it was a core Stark family, an inexplicable rage rose within Roose Bolton.

"We have only just withdrawn. Jon merely saved some people on the battlefield; he has not turned the situation around. I must be responsible for the entire Green Fork battlefield!" Roose Bolton replied in a low voice.

But his foul mood made his voice sound especially cold.

The noble from House Umber turned to look at the distant battlefield and agreed with Roose Bolton's reasoning.

Jon must have diverted this river.

But water did not distinguish friend from foe.

The mud beneath their feet affected everyone equally.

For now, retreating was still the best course.

No matter what, Jon saving so many people on the battlefield was already a miracle!

But just then, a knight of House Bolton suddenly shouted:

"Gods! That bastard! That bastard is attacking!"

Roose Bolton jerked his head around and raised his telescope.

He watched helplessly as Jon carried his White Wolf banner down the high slope and advanced toward the Westerlands army!

That bastard was insane!

That was the only thought in everyone's minds.

But how could they know that Jon had already imprinted every detail of the battlefield into his mind?

And it was dynamic, updated in real time.

Jon rode with twin swords in hand, controlling this army of remnants through cavalry messengers riding back and forth with orders.

The moment that White Wolf banner moved, it drew the attention of the nearby Westerlands soldiers.

Howland Reed, who had initially thought he might be able to watch over Jon on the battlefield, had already given up trying to think.

In a rapidly changing battlefield like this, they could only choose to trust the man who had led them to survive.

Any judgment based on experience was useless.

When the Westerlands army realized that this battered northern force was not only refusing to flee but actually dared to counterattack, everyone was filled with the fury of being insulted.

Thus, the army in Jon's hands became a massive magnet drawing in the Westerlands forces.

At least five or six Westerlands units bearing different banners rushed toward this northern remnant force.

The northern soldiers who had already withdrawn from the battlefield wore regretful expressions at the sight.

But they soon realized that something seemed wrong.

Though they were all struggling through the mud, Jon's troops were moving faster than the Westerlands forces!

Like a slippery loach, they easily slipped out of the encirclement from an unexpected angle.

Jon clearly remembered which patches of ground were relatively firm and which were muddy and difficult to cross.

"They escaped?"

Roose Bolton felt as though his mind was no longer enough, as if Jon had performed some trick right before his eyes.

Soon, everyone discovered that this "loach" was apparently not satisfied with merely escaping. It wanted to bite back!

Jon spotted a force made up of Mountain Clans and shouted:

"Follow my orders! Charge!!!"

With twin swords in hand, Jon led the remnant soldiers—whose morale had begun to gather through two consecutive defenses—in a proactive assault.

By now, Jon's orders had become something like divine decrees in their eyes.

Their minds held only one thought:

Follow him! Follow him!

The one following closest behind Jon was Tommen.

Though this fellow was not very bright, he executed battlefield orders quickly enough.

Jon was the first to charge into the Wildlings' ranks, and Tommen followed immediately behind.

As the vanguard, Jon first cut down a Wildling leader with bloodied ears still hanging from his neck.

Then he drove his sword into the chest of a Westerlands soldier mixed in among them.

Sword light flashed, dazzling the eye.

Tommen was no slouch either. As the saying went, when brains were lacking, strength made up the difference.

His Savage Charge was particularly imposing at this moment.

Soon, the soldiers behind Jon caught up, and within mere minutes, they broke this Wildling force.

Harrion, who had already been taken prisoner, had just happened to be thrown to these Wildlings by The Mountain.

A soldier from House Karstark recognized Harrion and hurriedly freed him.

Harrion snatched the longsword from the soldier's hand and began fighting as though venting his fury.

But before long, Jon ordered them to move, and Harrion turned a deaf ear.

Suddenly, the sharp crack of a whip cutting through the air rang out, and Harrion felt a burning pain across his back.

"I said retreat! Did you not hear me?!"

Turning around, he saw the boy on horseback staring at him with icy eyes.

Harrion did not dare voice any complaint and rejoined the formation.

Jon continued his counterattack, simply dividing the soldiers in the force into groups.

The soldiers watched the flags in the messengers' hands, while the messengers pricked up their ears and waited for Jon's every command.

Seeing this loach-like army actually begin biting back, Tyrion was stunned.

This... was this really Jon?

Though he could not see clearly, that young man charging and killing at the very front was exactly what Tyrion had wanted to become all his life.

After several successful attacks in a row, Jon's remnant force seemed to gain some sort of repelling force.

The armies trying to take them down stopped one after another, and some even began to withdraw.

The Mountain wanted to return to the battlefield, but his horse no longer had the stamina.

The formerly unstoppable Westerlands army actually began to retreat in small pockets.

Jon led his men out of that Mountain Clans Wildling force, then crushed another three or four Westerlands units in succession.

If this continued, they might truly turn defeat into victory.

At that moment, the noble beside Roose Bolton spoke again:

"My lord, let us charge once more!"