Old York's Change of Heart

Two days later, a force of around two hundred men returned to the Northern camp.

When the Northern soldiers learned that they had breached the dike and flooded the enemy, they immediately gave Old York and his men a heroes' welcome.

"Fine work, old ser!"

"We have you to thank! And Lord Jon as well."

"You did us proud."

"So that bastard's plan really worked?" As he accepted everyone's congratulations, Old York could not suppress the smile on his face.

Amid his delight, he began asking about the day's battle.

The more he learned, the more alarmed he became!

What did they mean Jon had gone onto the battlefield even after losing?

What did they mean Jon had led the routed troops in a counterattack?!

What did they mean they wanted to make him commander-in-chief of the entire army?!

What!? He had refused!

When he learned that Jon was at the prisoner-of-war camp, he hurried over.

At that moment, Jon had indeed found a valuable prize in the prisoner camp—Amory Lorch.

Amory was a vassal of the Westerlands. Back when he had followed Tywin into the Red Keep of King's Landing, he had committed an atrocity that outraged both gods and men.

To curry Tywin's favor, he had tortured Princess Rhaenys, Rhaegar's daughter, who had not yet reached six years of age.

The princess's corpse had been covered in blood, and Tywin had needed to wrap it in red cloth before presenting it to Robert.

And Princess Rhaenys's mother was Elia, Princess of Dorne, the Red Viper's sister and Prince Doran's younger sister.

Her fate had been equally tragic—she had been raped and murdered by The Mountain.

The Martells of Dorne dreamed of having The Mountain's head.

Naturally, Amory was also on their "shopping list" for heads.

Speaking of which, Jon and Princess Rhaenys could be considered half-siblings through their father.

Capturing Amory was truly an unexpected windfall.

With Amory in hand, Jon could exchange him for certain benefits from Dorne in the future.

Looking at Amory, Jon had to admit that the man's appearance was truly unpleasant.

His bloated cheeks, thick and stubby neck, and piggish little eyes were all utterly repulsive.

His skin was also deathly pale, making him look even more disgusting.

Amory sensed that there was something wrong with the way Jon was looking at him.

But Jon's performance on the battlefield that day had already terrified him out of his wits. On top of that, he was a prisoner, so he did not dare say much.

He forced out a smile and said,

"My lord, I am from House Lorch. My family will soon redeem me with at least one thousand Gold Dragons, but your heroic bearing today has been deeply etched into my mind. I am willing to pay three... two thousand Gold Dragons."

Yet Jon merely smiled and shook his head.

"No, Lord Lorch. You are worth at least ten thousand Gold Dragons."

"Ten thousand... This..." Hearing Jon's outrageous demand, all color drained from Amory's face.

He was not some great lord. How could he possibly produce ten thousand Gold Dragons?

Just as he was about to say something else, Jon said to the attendant beside him,

"Guards, cut the tendon in this man's right foot. Keep him under close watch."

"Yes, my lord!"

The moment he heard that Jon intended to cut his tendon, Amory began struggling wildly.

If his tendon were severed, it would be no different from losing a leg.

He cried out in panic,

"My lord! My lord! I'll pay! I'll pay ten thousand Gold Dragons!"

Amory twisted his bloated body as he wailed. The soldier who was about to cut his tendon turned back to look at Jon.

"Cut it!!"

Jon snapped coldly. Though the soldiers did not know why Jon hated this man, they obeyed.

With a scream, Amory became a cripple for good.

His fate left even more Westerlands prisoners too frightened to make a sound.

Jon had ordered his tendon cut partly to collect a little interest on behalf of little Rhaenys, but more importantly, to prevent the man from escaping.

Though the possibility was small, caution was still necessary.

It made him wonder: if Amory could be traded to Dorne for ten thousand Gold Dragons, what about The Mountain?

The Red Viper might even be willing to get into bed and serve him.

Just then, Old York hurried over after hearing the commotion.

Seeing Amory's blood-soaked heel, he could not help trying to dissuade Jon.

"My lord, Amory is a noble. If you do this, the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms will look down on you.

"How about this? I am nearly sixty years old anyway. Just say that I did it!"

Jon looked at Old York, whose attitude had changed so drastically, and understood what was going on.

"There is no need. I am merely seeking a little justice for the innocent Princess Rhaenys.

"It has nothing to do with sides. I simply despise this piece of scum."

Once Old York learned that Amory was the man who had murdered Princess Rhaenys, he said no more.

Instead, he began praising Jon's strategy, broad-mindedness, and hatred of evil.

Amid his flattery, Jon arrived at the place where the Mountain Clans prisoners were being held.

Unlike Amory, whom Jon had personally sought out, the Mountain Clans prisoners had requested to see Jon themselves.

When he arrived at the enclosure holding the Mountain Clans prisoners, he saw a group of people deliberately standing in a circle.

Using their bodies, they had separated off a relatively private space for someone behind them.

There was nothing particularly strange about that.

The person's status had to be quite high, perhaps some sort of chief priest.

"The person you asked to see is here."

The soldier who had brought Jon over called out loudly. Soon, a strong woman wearing clothes sewn from animal hides emerged from behind the wall of people.

She came before Jon and dropped to her knees with a thud.

These barbarians beyond the pale, after all, disdained submitting to the customs of mainstream Westeros.

It seemed they must have something important to beg of him.

"My lord, one of our people is injured. We hope you can save her." As she spoke, the wall of people parted slightly, revealing a white-haired woman.

The woman's face was pale. She appeared to have suffered serious injuries.

"Bring her over and let me take a look," Jon said.

"No, she cannot move right now," the woman who had spoken earlier refused.

Jon approached the fence enclosing them, and the soldiers behind him hurriedly warned, "My lord, be careful!"

Jon waved to indicate that it was fine, but the soldiers behind him had already placed their hands on their sword hilts.

When Jon took a closer look, he was greatly surprised.

He had assumed she would be some "old priestess," but the injured woman looked extremely young.

Her white hair seemed natural!

If she had been better nourished, it might even have been silver.

Though the continent of Westeros had more than just Targaryens with silver hair, whenever silver hair was mentioned, people still thought of the Targaryens first.

Yet Jon truly could not remember any record of a Targaryen being abducted.

"Perhaps it is some sort of illness?"

Without thinking further, Jon stepped forward to examine the woman and found a horrifying sword wound on her back.

Though it had not injured her internal organs, the wound was difficult to stitch and risked infection.

Combined with her excessive blood loss, he was not sure whether she could pull through.

Just as Jon was preparing to refuse, the woman suddenly said,

"If you can treat her, we are willing to serve you."

Jon shook his head. "It is not that I am unwilling to save her. I simply am not confident that I can." With that, he turned to leave.

But the woman who had spoken suddenly placed her hand beneath Jon's foot. Jon drew his step back, and she hurriedly touched the tip of his boot.

"As long as you are willing to try, whether you save her or not, we are willing to offer you a great gift! The entire world has already disapp—"

But unexpectedly, before the woman could finish, the woman who was barely clinging to life from blood loss gave a weak cough and desperately opened her eyes wide, signaling for her not to continue.

That action undoubtedly caught Jon's attention.

He ordered the soldiers to bring a stretcher and carry the woman away.

Soon, a camp maester skilled in treating external injuries came to tend to her.

What valuable thing could a Mountain Clans tribe possibly have?

Jon thought, but there was no harm in trying.