The Mountain's iron hooves were like a heavy hook punch.
Panic, regret, and fear were meaningless under the crushing weight of the heavily armored troops.
The mission of the Northern Army's right flank, centered on the House Karstark army, was originally to attack.
Because of their contempt for those barbarians, their plan was to charge directly into the Westerlands army in one fell swoop and then wreak havoc.
The Mountain's massive physique and terrifying charge overshadowed everything else on the battlefield.
Boom—
Like a Flood breaking through a dam, the temporary defenses the Northern Army had erected were smashed open by the impact.
More Westerlands soldiers poured through the breach opened in the north, heading straight for their rear.
The long spear in the Mountain's hand pierced through the body of a nobleman, and a crimson banner embroidered with a moose fell limply.
That was the banner of House Holland.
However, no one paid attention anymore.
The collapse of an army creates a chain reaction, and only a few exceptional commanders can stem such a decline.
When one banner falls, others are also in peril.
At this moment, Lelan Horode, who had been mixed into the archer unit, also witnessed this scene.
Their offensive had been going smoothly until that heavily armored knight, like a small giant, launched his attack.
At this point, Lelan Horode finally remembered Jon's words.
High-level martial arts, shrewd strategies, and accurate judgment of enemies.
He had thought his evaluation of that young man was already very high, but he hadn't expected to still underestimate him.
Of course, now was not the time for sentimentality.
Although the Mountain's offensive was extremely sharp, if there were no orders from Roose Bolton, they could only remain rooted to the spot.
"Draw your bows—!"
The officer in charge of commanding the archers seemed to be from House Blackwood, but it wasn't important.
The strings of over a thousand bows creaked and groaned as they were drawn taut and aimed in the direction of the charging iron-clad army.
"Fire—!"
A dense rain of arrows poured down, striking the heavy armor with no more threat than mosquito bites.
Only a few arrows hit the warhorses, but they were completely insignificant.
After breaking through the defense, the Mountain charged from back to front again, aiming directly for House Karstark's black-and-white sun banner.
Harrion, who had just been enjoying the killing, recognized the fierce Westerlands warrior charging at him.
As a nobleman, heraldry was a mandatory study.
The banner embroidered with three hounds was indeed House Clegane, so the giant, like a small mountain, could only be the legendary, infamous Mountain!
Just at first glance, he knew he was no match for this heavily armored cavalry.
But as the heir of House Karstark, he could not retreat under any circumstances.
Otherwise, upon returning, Rickard Karstark would personally cut off his head.
Harrion wielded his sword with both hands, shouting for his soldiers to change formation and prepare to meet the impact.
He casually adjusted his beard to avoid obstructing his vision.
'He's charging at me.' A thought exploded in Harrion's mind.
For some reason, Harrion and the Mountain, despite being far apart, could see each other's eyes.
It was a cruel, bloodthirsty gaze, and Harrion felt like a very valuable prey in the Mountain's eyes.
Especially since the opponent's height far exceeded that of a normal person, and riding on horseback, he was practically a human tank.
That oppressive feeling was like a horse's hoof pressing on his chest, almost making it difficult for him to breathe.
"For the North!!!"
Harrion shouted, trying to drive away the spreading fear.
He commanded the soldiers of Karhold to engage the Mountain's heavily armored cavalry.
The black and red battle lines quickly intertwined.
But in just the blink of an eye, the Mountain's heavily armored troops crushed them with their momentum.
Such a huge disparity could not be compensated for by will alone.
The soldiers in front of Harrion fell one after another, like mud walls destroyed by a Flood.
He himself was even knocked over by the Mountain's long spear, and before Harrion could react, he was already overwhelmed and bound by a group of Westerlands soldiers.
Although Harrion was still disoriented, instinct told him he had been captured.
A strong sense of shame wrapped around him like spider silk.
He let out an unwilling roar, like a wild beast.
After the Karstark line was broken, the Mountain did not stop.
As mentioned before, he was a left hook.
This heavily armored cavalry charged wildly, almost penetrating deep into the Northern Army's formation.
Roose Bolton had placed almost all his elite on the left flank; if the left flank couldn't stop the Mountain, then the others certainly couldn't.
It should be known that the Westerlands army did not consist solely of the Mountain; a full three thousand cavalry in the right flank army were already charging.
And with turmoil in the rear, the offensive at the front could not be sustained, and even a temporary defensive line would be difficult to establish.
Soon, another cavalry unit of about two thousand men was organized, led by Kevan Lannister, known as Tywin's'shadow' and 'arm'.
The Westerlands began his counterattack.
On the other side, Roose Bolton, who was still in the rear, gradually looked grim.
The course of the battle was unfolding as Jon had predicted.
This would be a huge blow to his prestige.
But if he wanted to reverse the tide, he would have to commit his own core forces to the battlefield.
This seemed extremely unwise at a time when his side was rapidly sliding towards a disadvantage, or rather, defeat.
Hesitating for only a moment, Roose Bolton ordered a full retreat.
"My Lord, are we to abandon them?"
A nobleman pointed to the distant battlefield and asked.
After all, it wasn't a complete defeat yet; retreating, while preserving strength, would undoubtedly result in heavy losses for their forces.
Those were Northern soldiers!
"I said! Full retreat!"
Roose Bolton said angrily, and the retainers from House Bolton around him all looked at the nobleman attempting to dissuade him with unfriendly eyes.
Just then, Jon arrived at his tent.
Feeling the atmosphere in the war tent, he realized that Roose Bolton had already decided to retreat.
In fact, his decision was not wrong; in this situation, retreating was the right move, as it was the only way to cut losses in time.
But Jon estimated that the waters of the Green Fork would reach the battlefield in at most fifteen minutes, at which point it could hinder the Westerlands army's attack.
Many lives could be saved.
So he spoke:
"My Lord, I have ordered men to breach the Green Fork's embankment; the Flood will soon pour over, if we hold on a little longer, our losses can be minimized!"
The generals not from House Bolton, seeing Jon speak up for the soldiers still fighting, looked at the Earl of Dreadfort with expectant eyes.
"Jon! I am the commander of this army! Did I not tell you that if you dared to obstruct my orders, I would deal with you by military law!?"
Jon knew that he could not back down at this moment.
Especially since he also planned to command this army in the future, he sneered:
"Hmph, does the Earl of Dreadfort only know how to threaten others with military law? So many people have died because of your recklessness; I'll see how you explain it to the other noblemen then!
You won't save them? Fine! I will!"
With that, Jon turned to leave, but then remembered something and spat fiercely on the ground.
In Northern culture, this represented intense contempt.
Although Jon could not obstruct him, he could curse him.
Watching Jon's retreating figure, Roose Bolton's pale face also turned ashen.
And the others, seeing Jon truly lead men towards the already crumbling front line, felt a surge of emotion.
They had almost laughed at and disdained this bastard since the army set out.
Regardless of whether he succeeded, this awe-inspiring spirit alone made people want to entrust their backs to him.
At this moment, Roose Bolton suddenly spoke again, looking at the others and saying coldly:
"Jon's men are not under my command, but if any of you dare to disobey orders, I will cut off his head right now!"
Ultimately, under Roose Bolton's oppressive authority, the remaining army began to retreat.
Jon came among his soldiers and shouted:
"Everyone, follow me! We go to support them!"
'Ah? Now?'
Some Winterfell soldiers with a certain level of military training were somewhat incredulous.
They watched as not only Westerlands soldiers charged towards them, but even their own routed troops began to disrupt their formation.
According to common sense, this situation was beyond saving.
Going there now would only add to the enemy's achievements.
Jon, who had already mounted his horse, realized their mindset and said from his elevated position:
"Old York has already breached the Green Fork's embankment; the river water will block the enemy for us.
If you don't obey orders now, then you don't need to return to Winterfell."
Seeing Jon say this, they could only grit their teeth and follow.
However, Jon knew that after scaring them, he still needed to offer a grand vision, so he continued to add:
"I'm not asking you to defeat the Westerlands army with me, only to save as many people as possible.
Killing is a merit, and saving lives is, of course, also a merit."
After a simple mobilization, Jon gathered an army, primarily composed of Winterfell soldiers, and rushed to the battlefield.
Of course, these soldiers were only the portion Robb had given him; most Winterfell soldiers were still under Roose Bolton's control.
He maximized his Gods Perspective, trying to find a reliable location on the battlefield.
'Found it!'
Jon observed a small hill to the southwest; it could both be defended and provide refuge from the water when the Flood arrived.
That seemed to be where the archer unit had been arrayed not long ago, apparently called Fisheaters Hill.
Fishermen would place the fish they caught there to dry, and Fisheaters Hill got its name from that.
"Raise my banner!"
Jon commanded, and the black-and-white wolf banner was erected, like a sail moving against the current, steadily advancing towards its destination.