The Westerlands cavalry crashed into the rest of the Northern Army.
On the open plains, cavalry against infantry was a one-sided slaughter.
Furthermore, Roose Bolton had concentrated all his elite forces on the left flank, which made the other parts of the battle line exceptionally weak.
Tyrion watched this scene through his spyglass, looking exceptionally excited.
This was his strategy at work.
Being able to prove himself in front of Tywin was Tyrion's greatest goal and pursuit.
"Bronn! Let's charge once too!"
"Ah? You?"
Bronn looked at Tyrion, who was excitedly animated and not necessarily as tall as his own legs, making no attempt to hide his scornful expression.
Instead, he scrutinized Tyrion with an exaggerated look.
As a bodyguard, he was not responsible for providing emotional value.
Not to mention Tyrion's impromptu request for 'overtime'.
"Didn't you see? Their rear forces are already retreating. This is the time to pursue the victory. Help me onto my horse!"
Seeing Tyrion's insistence, Bronn had no choice.
Who else was earning this money?
With a bit of a worker's resentment, Bronn somewhat crudely helped Tyrion onto his warhorse.
At this moment, the Westerlands army had also begun a full-scale counterattack.
Kevan Lannister, in the center, was Tywin's younger brother, and he was already known as Tywin's 'right-hand man'.
The House Marbrand on the right flank was primarily cavalry, and the already disorganized Northern Army soldiers simply could not withstand their charge.
However, to be fair, the ability to turn the tide in this battle was largely due to Tyrion's suggestion.
He naturally would not be content to lag behind.
At this point, the Northern Army was in full retreat, and the Northern Army soldiers watched as the battle flags behind them grew further and further away, realizing they had been abandoned.
Some had even realized that it was more meaningful to outrun their comrades than to outrun the enemy.
Weapons dropped on the ground were covered in mud along with their courage.
The soldiers fled in panic, like startled rabbits.
But the infantry behind them came fiercely and violently.
Splat—
The sound of steel piercing flesh echoed intermittently, like the chanting of a demon.
And Jon, as a 'reverse-charger', seemed somewhat out of place.
His black-and-white wolf banner was like the loneliest sail on the sea, steadily advancing.
"Those who can still fight! Stand behind us!"
"Those who can still fight! Stand behind us!"
Following Jon's prior arrangements, the soldiers shouted loudly at the fleeing routed soldiers.
When they saw these mere hundred or so men daring to go against the flow, they first widened their eyes, then sneered and cursed under their breath.
Their current situation was no different from deserters.
Now everyone was fleeing, and yet this group of people wanted to counterattack, making everyone else look bad.
Of course, some were still willing to join Jon's ranks.
For example, Lelan Horode, who was the first to realize Roose Bolton's retreat.
He almost without hesitation led the soldiers around him to withdraw.
When he saw Jon daring to salvage such a catastrophic defeat with only a few hundred men, his eyes nearly popped out.
"Old Gods and New Gods."
Lelan Horode sighed. He wasn't sure if Jon had dragonfire in his body, but he certainly had the 'Blood of the Wolf'.
He looked at the remaining arrows in his quiver, then turned to his family soldiers and said:
"Follow me!"
With a wave of his hand, he rushed towards Jon's direction.
At this time, Jon was not far from the battlefield, and the surrounding soldiers, even if fleeing, had not yet abandoned their armor and weapons.
When they officially entered the battlefield, including the original Winterfell soldiers, Jon had already gathered over five hundred men around him.
And with Lelan Horode's addition, Jon's force grew significantly.
It even became quite conspicuous.
At this moment, he could already see the roaring and charging Westerlands army.
Scenes of seven, eight, or a dozen Westerlands soldiers chasing a group of Northern Army soldiers were commonplace.
And the retreating infantry became the best hunting targets for the cavalry.
On this vast plain battlefield, it had become their 'paradise'.
If this battle was won, the morale of Tywin's army would be terrifyingly high.
The Riverlands army had been helpless against them, and the Northern Army that came to ambush them had been turned back from defeat to victory.
In fact, according to the original course of events, this was indeed the case, otherwise Tywin would not have been able to lead them back to reinforce the Westerlands and then lead them to save King's Landing.
Soon, Jon led the Winterfell soldiers and the gathered routed soldiers to the designated small hill, and erected his banner there.
Without Jon's command, Lelan Horode himself formed a battle array, ready to provide fire support at any moment.
"Those who can still wield a weapon, join us!"
The fleeing soldiers and nobles suddenly saw this scene and were somewhat incredulous. Their first reaction was that Roose Bolton's reinforcements had arrived.
"Are those Lord Bolton's reinforcements?"
"No! Only us! Those who want to live, come over!"
Upon hearing that there were no reinforcements, those previously hesitant soldiers fled en masse.
At this time, Lord Severn was fleeing in disarray, surrounded by his attendants.
An arrow was lodged in his back, though not fatal, but his face was pale, and he appeared to be in considerable discomfort.
A Westerlands cavalry unit behind him was in hot pursuit.
When he saw Jon's banner, although he didn't immediately recognize which family it belonged to, he desperately plunged into Jon's formation, like a ship fleeing a storm finding a safe harbor.
And when he recognized the young commanding officer on horseback, an unspeakable sense of shame almost consumed him.
"Don't you dare run around! Take your men and guard the flank for me! Quick!"
Jon did not have Greatjon's masochistic tendencies. For this Lord who always liked to mouth off at him, he naturally showed no good face.
However, Lord Severn knew he had no right to criticize Jon's tone.
To establish a defensive line in the midst of a complete army rout was already incredibly impressive.
"Where are our other reinforcements?"
Lord Severn, having just joined the battle line, asked a Winterfell soldier.
"There's only us here, my Lord, only we can save ourselves!"
Upon hearing this news, Maegor Severn's heart grew cold.
Needless to say, the Westerlands cavalry in front of them was already difficult to stop, and there were also the Mountain's heavy cavalry roaming nearby.
For a moment, he again felt like running.
But the pursuers were already upon them; they could only push them back for now.
Jon then noticed that the cavalry pursuing Maegor were flying blue peacock banners.
They should be House Shallot of the Westerlands.
But which family didn't matter; the distance between them and him was barely two kilometers.
Fisheaters Hill might not even have five minutes left.
Jon could clearly feel their high morale and their excitement upon discovering that there were actually enemy forces daring to resist.
This House Shallot cavalry unit numbered about three hundred, fully capable of breaking Jon's defensive line.
And they, too, realized this, and after a brief regrouping, prepared to charge.
In this situation, he had no time to construct any defensive works; he could only use flesh and blood to resist the enemy's iron hooves.
Jon placed the less well-equipped soldiers in the first row at the front, and the elite soldiers on both sides of the second row.
He himself stood in the very middle of the first row.
The advantage of this arrangement was that if the enemy broke through the first row, as long as he wasn't killed, he could lead the elite of the second row to tie them down.
And by placing himself in the most dangerous position, he could also maintain morale and prevent it from collapsing.
This kind of tactic was unthinkable for generals with ordinary martial prowess.
Initially, the less well-equipped soldiers had complaints about Jon placing them directly in the front.
But when Jon stood among them, all dissatisfaction vanished.
Especially after Jon stood directly a step ahead of them, everyone had only one thought: to grip their weapons tightly.
And Lelan Horode, after seeing Jon employ such a reckless tactic, also ordered his archers to aim carefully before firing.
As for himself, he repeatedly checked his bowstring and counted his remaining arrows.
The very next second after he completed the formation adjustment, the House Shallot cavalry launched their charge.
"Lower your center of gravity! Raise your spears!"
Jon shouted as loudly as possible, ensuring his command reached every soldier's ear.
These routed soldiers still felt fear as they watched their pursuers charge towards them.
Especially Maegor Severn, who felt his mouth go dry.
He swallowed hard, but there was no saliva left in his mouth.
As the enemy's charge drew nearer, everyone knew that to survive, they had to meet force with force.
At this point, Jon's position held nearly a thousand men; such a force had already attracted the attention of other fleeing soldiers.
Both the Westerlands pursuers and the Northern Army deserters slowed their pace to watch the offense and defense unfold here.
The blue-clad cavalry drew closer and closer to Jon's banner.
Jon stared intently at the several knights charging towards him with raised spears.
They were all well-trained and could also distinguish Jon from other ordinary soldiers.
They hadn't expected such a foolish noble to place himself in the front row.
'Three! No! Five men, at least five men want to kill me!'
Realizing this, Jon's nerves were stretched taut.
As the House Shallot cavalry gradually approached, Jon could see the excitement clearly visible in their expressions.
He was not only prominently positioned but also constantly issuing commands to his soldiers, clearly a noble.
They didn't know why Jon, this 'noble', dared to stand so far forward, but all they needed was a spear thrust to kill him; they could think about other things after the fight.
Facing the iron spears thrusting towards him, Jon dodged agilely, then grabbed one of the long spears, and using his powerful grip and the momentum of the enemy's warhorse, dragged the rider off his mount.
Whether Jon's plan would succeed, and whether this defensive line could hold, depended on the outcome of this engagement.