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Watching Theon call for the soldiers to collect the body, Robb, whose head and face were covered in blood from standing too close to Roose, said to him:
"Bury the body together with the head. There's no need to mount them on a spike for display."
"Fine, Robb. But you'd better wash that face first."
Seeing the state he was in, Theon handed back the cloak he had picked up from the ground and spoke.
Robb did not reply. He took the cloak and roughly wiped the blood from his face with the inside of it.
Then he turned toward the northern nobles in the stands, each wearing a different expression, and said:
"Roose Bolton, this criminal who disturbed the order of the North, has already received the punishment he deserved.
His bastard, Ramsay Snow, rendered a service by denouncing his own father. I will write to the king and request that the name Ramsay Bolton be legitimized and that he inherit the title of Lord of the Dreadfort.
Does any northern house present here object to this?"
Everyone looked toward the ground at the center, where the soldiers were still cleaning away the corpse and the blood. All remained silent.
In truth, the representatives sent by their houses had no authority to raise objections. And as for the lords who had come in person, most of them had sons serving as high officers in Winterfell, so they had even less reason to oppose it.
Seeing the absolute silence, Robb smiled. The blood on his face had not yet been fully wiped away, and that gave his smile a somewhat unsettling air.
"We have finished everything that needed doing today. Return to Winterfell, present proof, and recover the goods from your caravans.
And, incidentally, all of those goods were transported out of the Dreadfort in front of thousands of eyes. There is no way to falsify that."
At those words, the representatives of the lesser houses looked as though they had just been pardoned by the gods. They gave Robb a hurried bow and quickly departed, heading back to the castle.
The lords present, meanwhile, approached Robb one by one, taking the opportunity to speak with him and build closer ties.
Lord Wyman was one of them. And when he began asking Robb for explanations about those terms he had not understood before, such as "currency circulation" and "stimulating domestic demand," he ended up, without quite realizing how it had happened, turning the shipment of Myrish ointment he had intended to sell at cost into a free gift for Winterfell, as though it were payment for the lessons.
Time passed in that exchange with the lords, and just before noon, they all departed back for Winterfell.
...
After washing up, Robb had lunch with the soldiers, eating the meal prepared by the rear guard. Then he began the distribution of the postwar rewards.
The five troop commanders who had taken part in the battle, Theon and the others among them, could not yet be promoted in rank. And since that war still did not justify grants of land or knighthoods, Robb decided to reward them with golden dragons according to the merit of each.
Owen, who had led the spearmen and held off the enemy heavy cavalry in a desperate fight, received twenty golden dragons.
Theon, responsible for the overall command of the archers and for leading the common infantry against the enemy, received fifteen golden dragons.
Smalljon, who had led the mounted spearmen with great courage, received ten golden dragons.
Edd, who had commanded the light cavalry in coordination with the rest of the force, also received ten golden dragons.
Torrhen, who had led the rear guard and fulfilled the mission of supply and cover, received five golden dragons.
Trogg, the commander of the militia infantry, was transferred to Winterfell as an infantry commander and also received three golden dragons.
Robb had set aside three hundred golden dragons from the spoils in advance as a reward for Lord Rickard and the Karstark riders. In addition, he had also recovered the goods that had been stolen from their own caravans.
Among the more than three thousand Winterfell soldiers in the camp, excluding the archers and infantrymen who had already received their reward at Stone Hedge, each remaining rider received one hundred silver stags.
Naturally, individual merit for enemy kills was recorded by the military officers. Once a soldier reached the required mark, he would be promoted by one rank.
As for the more than five hundred and thirty soldiers who had died in battle, each of their families received two hundred silver stags, and their names were entered into the Warriors' Mausoleum.
The families of the two thousand eight hundred fallen militiamen, meanwhile, each received one hundred silver stags.
The compensation distributed by Robb in that war was not merely high. It could be said to be extraordinarily generous.
After all, in the most chaotic times of Westeros, when prices soared, even the Hound's own head had been worth only a hundred silver stags.
Adding up the rewards distributed in that campaign, including those given to the Karstark riders, Robb had spent a total of two thousand one hundred golden dragons, which was practically nothing more than loose change from the gold obtained at the Dreadfort.
The wealth House Bolton had accumulated over so many years was truly astonishing. In golden dragons alone there had been more than twelve thousand three hundred. The other supplies and resources, taken together, were worth several thousand more in gold.
Even so, Robb considered that the most useful spoils of that war were not the coins, but the warhorses, weapons, and armor.
After all, gold had to be converted before it could become military strength. Horses, weapons, and armor, on the other hand, could be used immediately.
In the future, even immensely rich and well-stocked houses such as Highgarden would eventually be destroyed, and absurd amounts of gold would be hauled away by Cersei to pay debts to the Iron Bank.
With that new stockpile of military equipment, so long as he could train qualified soldiers quickly enough, Robb would at least be able to double the size of Winterfell's elite force.
Even so, despite having seized an enormous quantity of spoils from House Bolton, compared to the vast fortunes and debts of the South, which easily reached hundreds of thousands or even millions of golden dragons, the North was still far too poor.
The environment of the North did not allow for slow development, and the time left for Robb to grow stronger was far too short.
As the War of the Five Kings drew closer and closer, the anxiety within him only continued to grow. He had been searching nonstop for ways to strengthen his army quickly.
But the limited wartime methods he had brought from his former world, though they sometimes produced excellent results, could not be used as the foundation for everything.
By the time Robb finished dealing with the affairs of the camp and began heading back to the castle, the sun was already descending toward the horizon.
And while they were still some distance from the fortress, they saw Catelyn riding toward them with two guards.
The moment he saw the speed at which she was coming, Robb's heart sank at once, and he spurred his horse forward to meet her.
"Robb! Your father had a fierce quarrel with Robert and has left his position as Hand of the King.
And my sister, Lysa, acting in my name, sent more than a hundred knights of the Vale to seize Tyrion Lannister and Ser Rodrik at the Inn at the Crossroads and bring them to the Eyrie."
The moment the two of them met and drew rein to a stop, Catelyn spoke at once, stricken with worry.
"This news is already several days old. Now we no longer know how things truly stand. I'm terribly worried about your father!"
"Mother, there is no use panicking now. For the moment, we do not need to worry about Tyrion or Ser Rodrik.
As for Father... I will handle it.
Let's return to Winterfell first."
After calming Catelyn, Robb gestured for everyone to follow him back.
The fact that Lysa Arryn had acted personally and sent men to seize Tyrion and Ser Rodrik was already something completely different from what should have happened.
Even so, Bronn would probably still have gone to the Eyrie as before, so Tyrion should still get out of it without too much trouble.
As for his father, the moment when King Robert would be killed by the boar was drawing closer and closer.
He had to act immediately.
Mounted on his horse, with his mind racing, Robb finally fixed upon the path he needed to take.
Then he turned his eyes southward, with firm determination in his gaze.
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