"Kill! What a stroke of luck—we've run into this pack of masterless pups. They're really going to be in for it now!"
At the edge of the woods near Oakenshield Hall, two groups were locked in bloody combat.
The side holding the advantage flew a black-and-white boar banner. They launched a sudden assault on the force hiding in the forest. With superior numbers and equipment, they quickly smashed their opponents.
Ser Burton Crakehall rode his horse back and forth across the battlefield in a frenzy, cutting down foes as he charged. One soldier after another fell beneath his iron-shod hooves.
He was the younger brother of Count Crakehall of the Westerlands, currently carrying out Lord Tywin's orders to burn, kill, and plunder across the Riverlands.
Burton Crakehall had already burned five villages. Dozens had died by his sword. What he loved most was the sound of women screaming as they were violated in full view of others.
Of course, the sounds they made while being dismembered were also exquisite.
The two were equally delightful, really.
Originally, Ser Burton Crakehall had planned to move on and loot the next village. Instead, he found an unexpected prize in the woods.
A group of armed men was hiding there. At first, he thought they were just bandits or roaming outlaws. He hadn't expected them to be Tywin's wanted criminals—the Brotherhood Without Banners.
On the battlefield, a man dressed in a red robe, looking like a priest, was running back and forth, trying to gather any brothers still able to fight.
As he ran, he shouted, "No—we can't beat them! We have to retreat!"
A soldier roared back, "Damn it! They killed Brother Beric! I'm going to avenge Brother Beric!"
The red-robed priest grabbed him hard. "Fall back first, then we'll find a way! If you go now, you're just throwing your life away. How will that avenge Beric?"
"But where do we retreat? They're everywhere!"
"Toward Oakenshield Hall. That lady should let us take refuge there. Her lands were ravaged by the Lannisters—we share a common enemy!"
The soldier looked stricken. "Even if we go to Oakenshield Hall, it won't help. Their men were all pulled away to fight at Riverrun. If the Mountain knows we're here, he'll bring his men to Oakenshield Hall right away!"
The red-robed priest flew into a rage. "To hell with the Mountain! Have you forgotten our oath? We fight for the farmers of the Riverlands! If you go die now, aren't you betraying that oath?"
Stirred by the priest's words, many soldiers rekindled their fighting spirit. They quickly regrouped, preparing to break out through a weak point in the enemy lines.
The red-robed priest saw several men dragging a corpse along. "Retreat comes first—why are you carrying a body?"
The men wiped the blood from their faces. "This is Brother Beric's body. We can't leave him here for the enemy to desecrate."
The priest froze for a moment. "Alright. You take the middle."
Members of the Brotherhood Without Banners began gathering their comrades as best they could and started to retreat.
Ser Burton Crakehall noticed this small cluster. It was one of the few units still managing to hold together. In a rout, any group that can still assemble must be shattered.
Once everyone runs for themselves, they'll never pose a threat again.
"Go! Kill them! Capture their leader! Lord Tywin's bounty is enough for us to spend a whole day enjoying ourselves in the finest brothels of King's Landing!"
Dozens of cavalry followed their lord, charging straight at the small group led by the red-robed priest.
The priest roared in despair, "Damn it!"
When cavalry pursue scattered infantry, it's a completely different level of battle. The cavalry held overwhelming crushing power.
In the blink of an eye, Burton Crakehall and his men crashed into the fleeing ranks. Watching his companions fall one after another, the red-robed priest's eyes instantly filled with blood.
Again and again, he struck his longsword.
"Damn it—burn! Why won't you burn?!"
"Lord of Light, why won't you answer me?!"
"Why can't I be like the others—see the future in the flames, wreathe my sword in fire?!"
"Why is it only me… who can do nothing?!"
The red-robed priest sank into despair—not because the battle was beyond saving, nor because his warriors were falling one by one, but because his faith, held for so long, completely collapsed at this moment.
All along, he had wondered why he could not manifest the miracles of the Lord of Light.
Now, at the brink of life and death, he still felt no response from his god.
Damn it!
Was everything about to end?
"Sir, what are you standing there for? Retreat, now!"
"You all go! I'll hold them off!"
"We can't leave Lord Beric's body on the battlefield—everyone, over here!"
The tugging and shouting of his companions dragged the red-robed priest out of his daze and forced him to face the reality before him.
Though Burton Crakehall's cavalry had scattered them, quite a few soldiers were still converging here.
Some came to escape.
Some came for honor.
There was still a chance!
He couldn't give up!
If the god would not answer, then he would rely on himself!
At the critical moment, the instinct to survive spread from man to man, somehow erupting into a spark of strength. The Brotherhood Without Banners fought more fiercely, and those who had been fleeing in all directions actually turned back and joined them when they saw this.
The red-robed priest staggered to his feet, strained to find the right direction, and then led his people charging toward Oakenshield Hall.
On both sides of the formation, several spearmen stepped forward on their own initiative, raising their long spears high to face any cavalry charge at any moment, protecting the comrades in the center.
But there were too few of them. The cavalry also had bows.
They fell quickly.
"Bastards—where are the archers? Shoot them!"
Someone in the ranks couldn't take it anymore and grabbed a bow, shooting back at the cavalry.
But shooting while running at moving targets was nearly impossible. They loosed arrows wildly, more to intimidate than to hit.
"Sir, there are too many cavalry!"
"I know! Damn it, I'm thinking of something!" The red-robed priest slammed his weapon again and again.
He wanted it to catch fire. If it burned, it could frighten the horses, make them afraid to keep pursuing.
But no matter what he did, the weapon showed no response.
"Damn it all—how did those witches do it? Why can't I?!"
Furious, the red-robed priest cursed aloud. "Damn it! Lord—answer me!"
Awooo!
At that moment, a wolf's howl suddenly echoed from beyond the battlefield.
Then the Brotherhood heard the thunderous sound of galloping hooves. Confused, they looked toward where the sound came from.
A force bearing the direwolf banner appeared at the edge of the forest.
After a brief reformation, they charged silently toward Burton Crakehall's troops.
A少年 with blue eyes and auburn hair rode at the very front, a massive direwolf running at his side.
On his charge, no enemy could withstand him for even a single exchange, while the direwolf tore apart anyone who tried to strike at him.
In just a few breaths, the youth reached the red-robed priest.
The priest looked at him. The glaring sunlight made it impossible to see the boy's face clearly.
But his voice was strong. Even amid the deafening clash of battle, the priest heard him clearly.
"What's wrong with your god?"
...
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Here are a few fan-fic titles that I've recently uploaded on my Patreon:
"Game of Thrones: Dragon Prince"
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"The Game of Thrones Upgrade System"
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"Game of Thrones: Godzilla vs. Dragons"
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" Game of Thrones: From the Elden Lord to the Young Wolf"
"Game of Thrones: Rise of a Lord with the Army-Building System"
(End Chapter)