As the sun set, the Red Fork was bathed in a warm, rosy glow, flowing down from the north and transforming into a docile maiden at the shallows, allowing hurrying soldiers to tread upon her as they made their way to the East Bank.
By this time, half the men had successfully crossed, mostly cavalry, while the other half remained in place, waiting to cross the river.
Duke Tywin, riding a tall warhorse soaked with sweat, stood on a gentle slope, making himself visible to everyone.
The roaring Lion on his banner emitted a faint golden light.
Upon realizing he was surrounded, Tywin immediately thought of retreating.
The old lion was proud but not foolish; if he were to engage in a desperate battle with the enemy and his soldiers due to a temporary setback, he would not be the awakened Lion.
That little wolf cub from Stark wanted to make him unable to advance or retreat, like being surrounded by a pack of wolves, dying in struggle and bloodshed.
But he would not let Stark have his way!
Tywin decisively ordered his soldiers to abandon all baggage that hindered rapid marching; infantry even stripped off their iron armor while on the move, keeping only their weapons.
Finally, he arrived at the shallows one step ahead before Stark could intercept him.
However, when facing a pincer attack from the enemy, the transition from retreat to rout was but a single thought away.
Only when the commander remains calm in danger will the soldiers have enough confidence to complete the plan of abandoning everything to break out of the enemy's encirclement.
That little wolf cub wanted to keep him here; it was simply wishful thinking!
"Tell Lyness Lydden to have his men move faster."
"Someone, inform Tybolt Crakehall, the Crakehall army can prepare to cross the river."
"Go, convey my order, tell Ser Kevan to be ready for battle at all times."
Duke Tywin's eyes were cold and stern, constantly issuing various commands; the dispatch riders were exhausted, running several horses to death.
At this time, one West Bank army after another, led by their family banners, crossed from the West Bank to the East Bank in an orderly fashion, without scramble or brawls.
The entire process was silent, with only the sounds of armor rubbing, water splashing, and weapons clashing.
Those who did not obey would be left behind as pawns.
For example, the Lord of Fair Isle, Count Stafford Farman, who initially intended to preserve his strength and be the first to leave, was too impatient and dared to question Duke Tywin's arrangements.
Now, he knelt bound hand and foot nearby, his eyes filled with terror, while resentment could only be hidden deep within his heart.
His son, Ser Vylant, still had to lead the family army under Ser Kevan's command, forming a defensive formation against the North's attack.
This was the consequence of challenging the Duke of Casterly Rock.
In the distance, three light cavalrymen galloped forward, their shields strapped to their left arms, bearing the orange burning tree, indicating they were from the Marbrand family.
Upon approaching, the men dismounted and knelt, their faces showing an indescribable mix of fear and sorrow.
Duke Tywin expressionlessly asked, "Ser Senno, how is Ser Adam?"
The leading officer said sadly, "My brother was caught by men from the Umber Family while intercepting the enemy. I... I only saw him fall from his horse and had no time to confirm if he was alive or dead."
He was Ser Adam's younger brother and now the only free heir to Marbrand.
"Hmm, you three cross the river with the Crakehall army."
After speaking, Tywin's expression did not waver in the slightest; he merely stared intently at the distant hills and the suddenly appearing Running Wolf Flags.
Immediately after, dense figures emerged, holding weapons, bows, and shields, looking down from above at the West Bank army attempting to cross the Red Fork.
Originally, they should have arrived sooner, but a thousand-strong elite West Bank cavalry, with tenacious fighting will and superb combat skills, stubbornly held them back.
The commander was naturally Ser Adam of Marbrand.
Robb Stark's eyes were cold; he pointed his longsword forward and roared, "Advance!"
Thousands of North cavalry, forming a dozen small teams, like a true wolf pack, galloped across the wilderness. Amidst the thundering hooves, they surrounded the hedgehog formation set up by Ser Kevan, circling outside the longbowmen's range.
While intimidating the enemy, they also sought opportunities to attack.
The moment Robb saw Tywin safely cross the river, he knew that even if he sacrificed all his cavalry, he probably wouldn't be able to stop the enemy.
Lannister had set up a massive hedgehog formation of long spears at the shallows; the sharp spear blades were awe-inspiring!
Even if they defeated the enemy's thick formation, they wouldn't have enough strength left to pursue them!
The old lion was indeed the old lion, just as Eddard had said, the most ruthless person under the heavens. He actually abandoned the wailing wounded on the ground and the brave warriors who fought to the death for him.
He chose to force a retreat with his troops!
However, even though he had lost the opportunity to completely defeat Tywin, Robb intended to do his best to retain the enemy's soldiers, weaken the Lion's strength, and ensure Lannister could no longer threaten the Riverlands and the North.
And as soon as he rendezvoused with the infantry and rested briefly, he could follow Tywin's tail all the way to King's Landing.
Forcing Joffrey on the Iron Throne to release Sansa and sign a truce with him.
Thinking of this, a rare hint of relief appeared on Robb's face.
Eddard, standing beside him on horseback, noticed the change in Robb's expression, but he merely shook his head and turned his gaze to the battlefield.
Through observation, he saw that to defend the narrow crossing, Tywin had deployed at least three thousand spearmen, forming a thick, crescent-shaped shield wall with spears raised and shields interlocked. The dense, cold-gleaming spearheads were intimidating under the setting sun.
Behind them, two thousand longbowmen stood in neat rows, their arrows already nocked.
It was a desperate stance, determined to cross the shallows.
Although the North cavalry had charged down, it would be very difficult for them to break through such a defense.
Not to mention the spearmen, even a few rounds of arrow fire from two thousand archers would be too much for the unarmored warhorses to bear.
The current situation could only be a standoff.
The Lannister soldiers, arrayed in formation, dared not make a move under the pressure of the cavalry.
Because even the slightest disarray in their formation would become a fatal weakness.
And the North cavalry, circling around, found no opening against the hedgehog-like enemy.
Mostly light cavalry, they lacked the strength to break through a spear formation; a rash attack would only lead to them being impaled like candied hawthorns.
"Where are Ser Eddard and Roose Bolton's infantry?"
Eddard muttered to himself, gazing northward. Through the twilight's afterglow, he finally saw familiar banners.
The constantly leaping Running Wolf Flag, the silver Trout leaping from the water, the awe-inspiring Flayed Man, the comforting white Sunburst...
Beneath the banners were soldiers in relatively neat formations.
The twenty thousand strong army of the North and the Riverlands had finally arrived, guided by the cavalry.
However, as Eddard watched, his face darkened. He clearly remembered from his memories that House Karstark had brought three hundred cavalry and two thousand spear-and-shield infantry to Winterfell.
Rickard, with his cavalry and two sons, had crossed Twin River City with Robb Stark, fighting all the way, with fewer than fifty casualties, including dead and wounded.
But at this moment, there were only a little over a thousand infantry marching under the Sunburst banner!
Old Flayer, that dog, was truly ruthless!
Just one battle at the Green Fork River, and he had sent more than half of House Karstark's soldiers to their deaths, and Eddard's half-brother was captured at Harrenhal!
"Dog-eating trash!"
Eddard cursed fiercely in his heart, then shifted his gaze, observing the number of soldiers under other banners. A grim expression flashed across his face as he tugged on his reins and rode his horse to Greatjon's side.
Because he had suffered a minor injury during the capture of Golden Tooth, Jon Umber did not participate in the ambush, instead sending his son, Smalljon.
In fact, not just him, most counts or family heads did not participate.
Because everyone knew that it was just a standoff for now, and it would be difficult for the two sides to truly fight before the infantry arrived.
Greatjon was still looking at the battlefield below when a voice suddenly sounded in his ear: "Lord Umber, I heard that the warriors of Last Hearth can fight ten men at once on the battlefield, incredibly brave. Seeing it today has truly broadened my horizons."
"Huh?"
Greatjon's rough, hairy face first froze, then he turned to see Eddard Karstark. He didn't understand why the other party would praise his soldiers out of nowhere.
But being praised by someone extremely intelligent and capable of killing Gregor Clegane, it was a pleasant thing no matter how he thought about it.
He burst out laughing and said, "That's right, our men from Last Hearth, for the North, for Winterfell, for Stark, they are absolutely daring to kill and fight on the battlefield, never afraid of injury or bloodshed."
After a boastful speech, the rough man seemed a little embarrassed and added, "Your House Karstark isn't bad either; they're tall and mighty, and they fight diligently on the battlefield."
"Hmm, you're right, but I think the soldiers of both our houses are not as good as the Bolton family from Dreadfort."
As Eddard spoke, he glanced at the infantry phalanx approaching from a distance.
Jon Umber followed his gaze but saw nothing, asking confusedly, "Why do you say that? Roose Bolton's men don't look like good people; like their master, who knows how many bad ideas they're brewing in their heads."
Eddard shook his head with a look of regret and said, "My Lord, I remember Lord Bolton fought a battle with Tywin at the Green Fork River, right? You see, House Karstark's soldiers suffered more than half casualties, and your Umber Family lost at least a quarter. House Mormont should be a fifth, and the Deepwood Motte infantry must also be a quarter."
As he spoke, a look of admiration appeared on his face as he looked at the Flayed Man banner and said, "But the Bolton family's soldiers are still at full strength, three thousand, with perhaps not even dozens of casualties. Doesn't this prove that the warriors of Dreadfort are stronger than both our houses?"
"Is that so?"
Advance Chapter Available In Patreon
patreon.com/Achilles_Stein
patreon.com/Achilles_Stein