The Mountain's army truly deserved its reputation as a heavy-armored force; everywhere they marched was flattened smooth.
Not to mention four or five hundred of such heavily armored soldiers—even four or five of them could have changed the course of a "tribal clash" among the Mountain Clans.
So the warriors from the clans closest by could not help feeling somewhat intimidated.
Especially when The Mountain roared out, demanding to know who Jon Snow was, they unconsciously tightened their grips on their spears, wondering whether those suits of armor could even be pierced.
Jon could sense his soldiers' emotions, so he waved his hand, and torches suddenly blazed across the mountains and plains around them.
The Mountain turned to look, and the dense sea of lights made his eyes swim.
Judging by the number of torches alone, there had to be at least two or three thousand people here.
But if he had looked closely, he would have noticed that quite a few soldiers in the rear had one torch stuck into their backs and were holding two more in their hands, making their numbers appear far greater than they truly were.
Though Jon's soldiers knew the truth, the sight of their own imposing momentum and seemingly abundant forces dispelled more than half the unease and fear in their hearts.
Jon had even ordered the Howling Mountain Tribe warriors to continuously shout meaningless commands, further convincing The Mountain that the ambush force before him was vast.
But that was not enough to frighten him. He tugged his reins and roared again:
"Who is Jon Snow?!"
Jon had yet to move, but those around him were already worried.
"My lord, though your martial skills are exceptional, this Mountain..." Old York tried to dissuade him. What he meant was that The Mountain could