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Robb nodded and ordered Theon:
"Theon, take some men and cut off the heads of those sixteen enemies. Tie them to the horses along with the bodies of the three soldiers who died. We'll bring them back to Winterfell."
"Alright, I'll take care of it right away."
Theon answered immediately and turned to call the men.
"Wait, Theon."
Hearing Robb call him, Theon turned his head with a puzzled expression.
"Thank you."
Robb said softly with a faint smile.
Theon curled the corner of his mouth in a confident grin, waved his hand casually, and went off to carry out the task.
Watching Theon walk away, Robb began thinking about how he might fully win him over in the future.
Theon was not a bad person by nature. He possessed a certain degree of military ability and was capable of leading small-scale combat units.
Moreover, his combat ability in Westeros was above average, and his archery was particularly impressive.
Over the years, he had grown up alongside Robb and the others, receiving the same education from Eddard. In truth, a certain familial bond had already formed.
And Theon had always been very close to Robb, treating him like a real brother.
In the original story, before being persuaded by his biological father Balon and his sister Yara to attack Winterfell, Theon had even considered writing a letter to warn Robb.
But his hesitant personality and lack of resolve made him give up.
Because of this, he was easily influenced by others and tended to shift with the wind.
If Robb could truly win him over now and secure his absolute loyalty, he would undoubtedly become a very capable commander in the future.
"Jon, go check the bags tied to those horses over there."
Knowing the personalities of those around him well, Robb assigned Jon the task of inspecting the spoils.
Jon nodded with an expressionless face and silently walked toward the group of horses tied to the small trees in the hollow.
"You did very well, Robb. Leading troops for the first time and still arranging the correct tactics to achieve victory with minimal losses."
Captain Jory, his mail armor stained with blood, approached and offered his praise.
The entire pursuit had been commanded solely by Robb.
During the first half of the night, the scouts Robb had sent ahead discovered Dick and his men camping, following the tracks they had left behind.
But at that time, both men and horses were already exhausted.
So Robb did not launch an immediate attack. Instead, he ordered everyone to eat and rest, beginning the assault only at dawn.
Of course, the riders of Winterfell were elite troops.
They regularly consumed fruits, meat, and animal organs, so they rarely suffered from the night blindness that was common among peasants in that era.
In addition, Northern warhorses possessed greater endurance than the horses of the south, which was also an important factor.
"Captain Jory is being far too generous. In truth, even if the three of us hadn't been here, you could have wiped out those enemies with ease."
Facing the captain of the guard who had served Eddard for nearly twenty years, Robb maintained a respectful and humble attitude.
"Haha! When your parents were married, I said during the wedding feast, 'The son you two have will surely be extraordinary.'"
"Hehe."
As Jory reminisced about the past, Robb responded with a polite smile.
But in his mind, he was recalling what had happened just moments earlier when he received the Blood Pact Points.
When Robb killed Dick, he saw a thumb-thick red mist rise from the man's body within his field of vision and quickly flow into his own body.
At that moment, he felt a steady surge of power rising within him.
Blood Pact Points +5
In fact, the entire battle had earned Robb 7Blood Pact Points.
However, when he broke through the defensive line and killed the first soldier, the battle had been so intense that he had no time to check the notification that flashed briefly before his eyes.
At present, his total Blood Pact Points stood at 7.
During the pursuit the day before, the dry rations he ate during the pursuit hadn't granted him the daily point.
He guessed it was because the food was too simple and lacked sufficient nutrition.
Soon after, Theon and Jon finished their tasks and returned to report.
Jon estimated that Dick and his men must have looted more than just Eastwood Village.
He counted twenty-seven Gold Dragons, more than a thousand Silver Stags, and a large sack full of copper coins.
In addition, there were seventeen excellent Northern warhorses, as well as two large sacks of medicinal herbs and mountain goods.
Such a large amount of wealth could not possibly have come from Eastwood Village alone.
After resting for about ten minutes, Robb gave the order to depart.
The experienced riders of Winterfell quickly took control of multiple horses each, organizing the extra mounts and spoils before beginning the return journey.
On the way back, they did not travel at forced march.
First, the horses were already quite tired, and second, the additional horses and spoils slowed their progress.
After roughly half a day's journey, Robb's group arrived at the point where the White Knife River met the Long River.
"Theon, have everyone eat and rest. And have them clean the blood off themselves as well."
Seeing that the place offered wide visibility and access to water, Robb gave the order.
Theon nodded and rode back along the column, shouting for everyone to dismount and rest.
"Jon, take a man and scout ahead. I'll send someone to relieve you later."
Jon nodded and acknowledged the order, gesturing to a rider he knew from the troop. The two rode ahead.
Leading troops independently for the first time, Robb began applying in practice the military strategies his father Eddard had taught him.
He did not allow everyone to dismount and rest at the same time.
Instead, he ordered them to rest in shifts, keeping part of the troop alert in case of a surprise cavalry attack.
Clop, clop, clop.
After Robb and the others finished wiping the dried blood from their armor and eating some rations, Jon and the rider with him quickly returned.
"Robb, there's a group of riders ahead carrying the flayed man banner of House Bolton."
As soon as he approached, Jon reported.
"House Bolton... Did they show any intention of attacking you?"
Robb frowned slightly as he asked.
"No. They're riding very slowly. It almost looks like they're out for a casual ride."
"Alright, I understand. Jon, you two get some rest. Everyone else form up and prepare for battle."
After Robb issued the order, the riders quickly adjusted their mail and mounted their horses again, ready for combat.
Soon afterward, a column of riders appeared in Robb's field of vision.
When they reached a certain distance, they stopped.
One rider carrying the flayed man banner approached Robb's troop alone.
After a brief exchange of words, Robb learned that they were led by Ramsay Snow, the bastard of Roose Bolton, and were pursuing deserters who had looted two villages.
Once the rider learned Robb's identity, he bowed respectfully and returned to report.
A few minutes later, Ramsay Snow, wearing a bright smile with his black hair and dark eyes, approached Robb accompanied by two men and two hunting dogs.
"Heir Stark, Ramsay Snow of House Bolton offers you his most sincere greetings."
"Ramsay, I imagine the deserters you are hunting are these."
Robb smiled and pointed at the heads tied to the horses behind him.
"Yes, those are them. How fortunate they were to die at the hands of the heir to House Stark."
"Fortunate?"
"Yes. I would have preferred that they had the misfortune of falling into my hands."
"They massacred a village within our lands. I will take these heads back to my father as proof.
You may take your men and return to the lands of House Bolton."
After exchanging a few words, Robb observed Ramsay's constant smile—and the dangerous glint in his eyes.
Frowning slightly, he decided to end the conversation.
"Yes, yes. As you wish. Please send my regards to Lord Eddard."
Ramsay's smile froze for a brief moment.
Then he bowed slightly and left with his men and his dogs.
After they had moved some distance away, one of Ramsay's men—a short, fat man with an unpleasant face—spoke:
"Lord Ramsay, there was no need to be so respectful to that 'little Stark.' After all, our loyalty is to his father."
Ramsay smiled coldly.
"Alyn, we are hunting dogs. In front of our master, we must appear absolutely loyal."
He looked back toward Robb's group.
"The legitimate son of the Warden of the North... what an enviable identity."
A sinister expression appeared on his face.
"Well, Dick was lucky to die. That left me in a bad mood.
Now… let's find somewhere to have a little fun."
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