Lynn's palm hovered over the murky swamp.
Everyone held their breath, waiting for the solution Lynn was about to propose.
However, just as everyone thought Lynn truly had a plan, he slowly lowered his hand.
"Hmm?"
Greatjon Umber let out a confused grunt, his face, previously full of anticipation, instantly fell.
"Lord Lynn, this...?"
Lynn glanced back at him, his look as if he were staring at an idiot.
Roose Bolton was still there; he couldn't very well freeze the swamp right in front of him, could he?
"This is such a vast swamp; do you think it's just a puddle outside your house?"
Lynn's words were like a bucket of cold water, extinguishing the hope that had just ignited in everyone's hearts.
Yes, this was The Neck.
It was a land of death, stretching for hundreds of miles, having swallowed countless lives.
To expect one person to enable an entire army to cross it was beyond what a mortal could achieve.
Even a god would probably have to think twice.
"Then... then what do we do?"
Robb Stark's voice held a hint of anxiety, yet a flicker of a smile passed through his eyes.
"Do we really have to go around from here?"
"Go around?"
Lynn scoffed.
"If we go around, we won't reach The Twins until next spring."
Lynn walked to the map, and all the lords' gazes followed him.
"Yesterday, I was still thinking that if we could cross The Neck, we might achieve a surprise victory."
"Now it seems this plan is completely unfeasible!"
"We'll stick to the original plan."
Lynn's finger tapped heavily on the Kingsroad, which wound southwards.
"The swamp is too dangerous, too many variables. We won't go that way."
"We will march directly down the Kingsroad and fight our way through with dignity!"
His voice was decisive, leaving no room for discussion.
"Let Lysa Arryn, let Walder Frey, let all of Westeros see that the North's fury cannot be stopped by any schemes or tricks!"
These words were filled with the arrogance and confidence of youth.
Great Jon's eyes darted around, then he slapped his thigh suddenly, startling the person next to him.
"Well said! That's how we should do it!"
"When have us Northern men ever resorted to such sneaky tricks!"
"Exactly! Let them see our might!"
"Crush them!"
Among the crowd, a young man wearing the armor of the Flayed Man family lowered his head, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk on his lips.
Rams Snow, or rather, Rams Bolton.
In his light-colored eyes, just like his father's, flickered a morbid ecstasy.
Idiots.
A bunch of fools whose heads were clouded by hot blood.
My dogs are smarter than you!
Originally, Rams had thought Lynn was going to change his plans at the last minute.
His father had already informed Lysa that the Northern army would head straight for The Vale via the Kingsroad.
If Lynn messed things up, their plan would be disrupted!
Fortunately, Lynn didn't cause any trouble.
That Lynn didn't seem like much after all.
His head was turned by a few praises, and he actually gave up the only chance for a surprise victory.
Instead, he chose the most foolish and direct head-on confrontation.
He could already imagine the magnificent scene of rivers of blood when this massive army, squeezed onto the narrow Kingsroad, was surrounded by the Vale army from all sides.
He quietly gave a look to a knight from The Dreadfort who was standing beside him.
The knight understood, discreetly withdrew from the crowd, making an excuse to tend to his horse, and soon disappeared into the rear of the column.
A raven would take flight from the nearest castle, carrying this "latest" military intelligence to its destination with the utmost speed.
"Robb."
Lynn's voice interrupted Rams's fantasy.
Robb immediately stepped forward.
"You, as the commander-in-chief of the Northern army,"
"will lead forty thousand troops along the Kingsroad, straight to Riverrun!"
"I have only one request."
Lynn looked into Robb's eyes.
"Be fast!"
"I want everyone in The Twins to hear the neighing of our warhorses before they are even ready!"
"I understand!"
Robb nodded heavily, his young face etched with determination.
He knew that his performance was only truly beginning now.
"Very good."
Lynn nodded in satisfaction, then turned to the others.
"I will lead my army as a reserve, ready to provide support at any time."
No one had any objections to this.
Lynn's army was too specialized; neither giants nor mammoths could maneuver on the narrow causeways.
Being a reserve force was indeed the best option.
However, Rams still felt that something was amiss.
But he quickly dismissed it, merely thinking Lynn was a coward.
Soon, the massive army began to move again.
The Northern "forty thousand strong army," led by Robb Stark, with banners flying, marched majestically onto the Kingsroad.
The thunderous hoofbeats and the rolling of wheels seemed to crush the entire earth.
Lynn, meanwhile, led his wildling army and the silent Frost Giant, following far behind, as if truly just waiting for the right moment.
It wasn't until Robb's army completely disappeared over the horizon that Lynn signaled all the wildlings to stop.
Night fell.
At the edge of The Neck, campfires dotted sparingly.
Unlike the bustling scene during the day, the camp was eerily quiet now.
Lynn stood by the swamp, with Arya, Jon, and Benjen behind him.
"Lynn, are you really going to…"
Benjen looked at the swamp, which appeared even more sinister under the moonlight, still feeling uneasy.
"Hush."
Lynn held up a finger.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of the unique air of this swamp, mixed with decay and moisture.
The next second, he opened his eyes.
In his dark pupils, deep blue ice seemed to condense.
He raised his hand again.
This time, there was no holding back!
"Buzz—"
A visible, solid stream of deep blue cold energy erupted from his palm!
It wasn't mist, nor was it gas.
It was pure, absolute cold!
Wherever the cold stream passed, the air seemed to be sucked dry, emitting a grating "crackle" sound.
The murky swamp water, upon contact with the cold stream, was instantly frozen solid!
It wasn't ordinary freezing.
Instead, in an instant, from the surface of the water to the deepest mud at the bottom, everything was frozen into indestructible black profound ice!
The ice spread rapidly into the depths of the swamp at a visible speed!
A hundred-meter-wide ice road appeared out of nowhere in this land of death!
During the freezing process, countless poisonous insects and leeches in the swamp, and even some lurking Lizard-Lions, were solidified within the black ice, preserving their last moments of life.
Arya and Jon's mouths hung open, watching this miraculous scene in shock.
Benjen Stark, the first ranger who had traversed every inch of the North, was completely speechless at this moment.
He felt as if everything he had ever known had been completely overturned tonight.
Is this... Lynn's true power?
Lynn's face was somewhat pale, and fine beads of sweat seeped from his forehead.
Creating such an ice road through The Neck was by no means easy for him.
Lynn intensified the activation of his Ice Magic.
Instantly, the speed of the ice path's spread more than doubled!
In just over ten minutes, a black ice road, stretching to an unknown destination, completely traversed this seemingly boundless swamp.
"Let's go."
Lynn withdrew his hand, letting out a long puff of white breath.
"Our path is laid."
Scattered horn calls echoed in the silent night.
Lynn's army began to move.
The wildlings silently stepped onto the ice road.
Next were the giants and mammoths.
These behemoths carefully walked on the ice, their heavy footsteps making the solid ice groan faintly.
Finally, came the ten members of the Winter Ghost Legion, cloaked in black.
They moved like specters, silently gliding over the ice, their emanating deadliness even more chilling than the swamp itself.
Lynn held Arya's hand, escorted by Winter, and walked at the very front of the procession.
The destination of this army was not The Riverlands, nor Riverrun.
Instead, it was to bypass everyone's sight and strike directly into the heart of The Vale—The Bloody Gate!
...Meanwhile, on the Kingsroad, south of Moat Cailin.
This was the end of The Neck, and the true dividing line between the North and the South.
On both sides of the narrow causeway were seemingly calm but deadly swamps and dense forests.
Robb Stark rode his horse, his brows tightly furrowed.
The army had been force-marching for two days, and an unsettling tension filled the air.
He knew he was the bait.
He also knew that the enemy could appear at any moment.
"Situation—!"
A scout galloped back from the front, his face full of panic.
"Lord Stark! Large numbers of troops spotted ahead!"
"Their banners are... from The Vale!"
They're here!
Robb's heart sank.
"All troops, prepare for battle! Get ready to meet the enemy!"
His order was relayed at top speed.
The Northern soldiers immediately formed a defensive formation.
"Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—"
A dense volley of arrows whistled through the air!
An overwhelming rain of arrows, like a dark cloud, poured down from the high ground on both sides of the road!
The scouts along the sides of the column had been silently dealt with by the enemy at some unknown point.
In an instant, Robb found himself in a passive situation.
Screams instantly erupted.
Some Northern soldiers were hit by arrows, howling as they fell to the ground.
When the first arrow shot down from the high ground, Robb Stark knew they had walked into a trap.
A soldier from House Umber, walking at the very front, didn't even have time to let out a cry of alarm before a black feathered arrow accurately pierced his throat.
Blood gushed out.
He clutched his neck, falling incredulously, his body twitching twice on the muddy road before falling silent.
This was just the beginning.
Thousands of arrows rained down from the high slopes and forests on both sides of the road, engulfing the entire vanguard of the Northern army.
"Enemy attack—!"
"Shields up!"
Piercing screams and angry roars instantly mixed together.
The soldiers instinctively raised their shields, but the narrow road made the formation cramped.
Many simply didn't have enough space to protect themselves.
Arrows pierced through leather armor, embedding into flesh, raising plumes of blood mist.
Warhorses, startled, let out pained neighs, throwing their riders to the ground, then were pinned down in the mud by more arrows.
Chaos erupted instantly.
"Hold steady! Everyone, goddammit, hold steady!"
Greatjon Umber's thunderous voice cut through the clamor of the battlefield.
He wielded his massive tower shield, deflecting all the arrows aimed at him, sending sparks flying.
However, amidst this shower of arrows, Robb Stark, the commander-in-chief, remained exceptionally calm.
He did not dodge, letting arrows whistle over his head.
His eyes quickly scanned the entire battlefield.
The Vale army, at least twenty thousand strong.
They were well-rested and held an absolute topographical advantage.
Their main force consisted of heavy cavalry, supplemented by a large number of longbowmen.
Their commander was clever, choosing this narrowest section of the road, where it was most difficult to deploy formations, to launch the ambush.
This was a perfect slaughterhouse.
Any other commander, facing such a desperate situation, would probably have lost their composure long ago.
But Robb did not.
His gaze swept past the chaotic vanguard, through the dense rain of arrows, finally landing on the Direwolf banner fluttering behind him.
He was a hungry, young, wolf king eager to prove himself with blood!
"Deliver my orders!"
Robb's voice was firm and resonant.
"Front lines to the rear, rear lines to the front! All troops retreat three hundred paces and reform the formation!"
"Spearmen to the front, form a three-tier spear wall!"
"Shields on both flanks!"
"Archers return fire freely, suppress the high ground!"
The orders were relayed at maximum speed.
The previously somewhat chaotic Northern army, upon hearing these clear and decisive commands, seemed to find their backbone.
They were no longer headless chickens but began to execute the orders in an orderly fashion.
The rear units quickly moved to the front, enduring the arrow rain, using their shields and bodies to buy precious breathing room for their retreating comrades.
A distance of three hundred paces was enough to temporarily move them out of the enemy archers' optimal range.
High upon the plateau, the commander of the Vale Allied Forces, Ser Nestor Royce, frowned slightly as he watched the Northern army below reforming its ranks.
Although he was not as famous as his relative, Ser Yohn Royce.
He occupied a crucial and unique position in the political and military structure of the Vale.
His Milkwater Gate was situated within the Mountains of the Moon.
It was the last large castle connecting the Vale to external regions like The Riverlands, serving as a barrier for The Eyrie and the Vale plains.
Almost all merchants and armies passing through the mountainous region had to pass beneath Milkwater Gate, making it an absolute economic and military choke point.
Precisely because Milkwater Gate was so important, Nestor Royce, the Earl of that city, ranked among the foremost of the Vale nobility in power and influence.
By controlling Milkwater Gate, he essentially controlled the Vale's overland connection to the outside world.
Unlike Bronze Yohn, Nestor Royce was a very typical "pragmatist" and "royalist" noble.
He was an extremely staunch Arryn loyalist.
During the rule of Lysa Arryn and her son Robert Arryn, Ser Nestor was always one of The Eyrie's firmest supporters.
He upheld the House Arryn's authority, desired stability and unity for the Vale, and was highly obedient to young Robert and Lysa. He was the one who previously enforced the blockade to prevent outside news from flowing into the Vale.
Although he and Yohn were kinsmen, fierce competition and disdain existed between the two.
Nestor considered himself the "true" Royce because his domain, Milkwater Gate, was acquired through his own family's merit.
He believed that the Royces of Runestone relied only on ancient bloodlines and a Valyrian steel sword.
This internal strife prevented them from ever forming a united front.
Even when Bronze Yohn's son died, he considered it a deserved consequence.
He believed Lysa's one-sided story and remained indifferent while Bronze Yohn was imprisoned in the terrifying sky cells.
"Quite the hard bone to crack."
Ser Andar, who was beside him, snorted coldly.
"It's nothing more than their final struggle."
"Give the order," Nestor said calmly, ignoring him.
"Sound the horn, the knights attack."
"Charge them while they haven't stabilized their footing, and crush them in one fell swoop!"
"Woooo—"
A desolate horn blast echoed through the valley.
Like floodgates opening, thousands of heavily armored Vale knights launched an overwhelming charge from the gentle slopes on both sides!
The sound of hooves shook the heavens and earth, as if they would shatter the very ground!
They were the most elite knights in Westeros, the pride of the Vale of Arryn.
In their eyes, these Northern infantrymen, who lacked even decent cavalry, were nothing more than lambs waiting to be slaughtered.
However, when they charged down the high slope and stepped onto the causeway stained red with blood, what awaited them was not panicked, fleeing soldiers.
But a forest composed of death and steel!
"Pikes! Up!"
"First rank! Thrust!"
"Second rank! Prepare!"
"Third rank! Steady!"
Robb's commands struck the heart of every Northern soldier.
More than three thousand pikemen formed an impenetrable, massive spear formation.
Since Robb had known his opponent was the Vale, famous for its cavalry, he had prepared long ago.
The specialized pikes they held were over four meters long, their tips gleaming with a chilling light in the sun, and they were incredibly tough.
The first rank of soldiers knelt, jamming the butts of their pikes firmly into the ground, the tips angled upwards, aimed at the chests of the charging warhorses.
The second and third ranks rested their pikes on the shoulders of their comrades in front, forming three tiers.
The sworn swords and private troops of some houses didn't even equip their warhorses with barding; that was reserved only for knights' personal mounts, let alone this hastily assembled cavalry corps.
During Lysa's preparation period, she had artisans focus on crafting Dragon-Hunting Crossbows; it was good enough that they had warhorses, where would they find so much barding?
For warhorses without barding, the horse itself was the weak point.
"Boom—!"
The leading Vale cavalry had no retreat, squeezed forward by the riders behind, they smashed headlong into this forest of steel!
The wails of warhorses and the screams of knights instantly intertwined into a symphony of death.
The sharp pikes easily pierced the horses' chests. The immense impact flung the riders high into the air, only for them to be impaled mid-air by the pikes thrusting from behind.
Like skewers of roasted meat, they were pinned dead in mid-air!
The momentum of the charge was halted in the very first second!
Subsequent knights, unable to dodge, slammed violently into the corpses of their comrades and horses in front, sending men and mounts tumbling.
The cavalry further back were helpless against the human wall ahead and were completely unable to utilize their proper combat effectiveness!
The entire charging formation of the knightly corps instantly devolved into chaos.
"Well done!"
Great Jon roared excitedly.
However, Robb's face showed no trace of joy.
He knew this was just the beginning.
"Archers! Target the enemy's rear ranks!"
"Great Jon!"
"Here!"
"I'll give you three thousand men, charge the left flank!"
"Lord Karstark!"
"Here!"
"Take three thousand men and outflank them on the right! Drive them off the causeway!"
"The rest! Follow me to meet the enemy head-on!"
Robb drew the longsword from his waist and pointed it toward the confused Vale knights ahead.
"For the North!"
"Kill—!"
On the battlefield, Rams Bolton and the three thousand Dreadfort soldiers he led were stunned by this sudden turn of events.
They had expected to witness a one-sided slaughter.
Yet now, the tide was being reversed in an unbelievable manner!
The "Young Wolf" whom they viewed as a callow youth had not only stabilized the line in such a desperate situation but had even launched a textbook counterattack!
Using a pike formation to counter a cavalry charge, using two-flank encirclement to segment the battlefield, and using the main force to crush the enemy's morale!
This... was this the kind of tactic a teenager could devise?
Cold sweat broke out on Rams's back.
But what truly terrified him was not Robb's almost monstrous command ability.
It was... the numbers.
He had been observing closely.
Although the banners of the Northern army were many and their momentum seemed vast.
After the recent chaos and reorganization, he had roughly estimated their actual troop strength.
They only had twenty thousand!
Twenty thousand!!
At most, just over twenty thousand!
What happened to the promised fifty thousand troops?
Where were the other thirty thousand men?
And what about Lynn!
And his dragon!
And those monstrous Giants, Mammoths, and that... that Frost Giant!
Where did they go?!
Weren't they supposed to be following behind?
The battle had already begun.
Where were they???
A chilling thought instantly drilled into his mind.
Bait.
They were the bait!
Robb Stark's Northern army was a sacrificial pawn thrown out from the start to attract firepower!
Lynn, that truly terrifying fellow, had taken the North's m
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