the next day.
The north wind howled, and the weather was gloomy.
As dawn broke, Galon, who had only slept for three hours, pushed open the tent door and ordered his men to prepare food for the soldiers.
During the soldiers' meal break, he inspected the camp again.
Last night, Galon made preparations for the Euron raid on his camp, but they ultimately proved useless.
They patrolled the area.
Galon noticed the weariness on the soldiers' faces and frowned.
"After two days of continuous forced marches, the soldiers were exhausted."
"Although I rested overnight, I'm still not fully recovered."
"With a major battle imminent, I need to think of a way to motivate them!"
He stood in front of the military tent, looking at the listless soldiers, pondering to himself.
"With morale low, even if they manage to win against the Ironborn, they will suffer heavy losses."
"These are all my soldiers, I can't let them go to waste like this!"
Galon's mind raced, and he quickly came up with an idea.
After the soldiers had eaten, Galon ordered all the soldiers to be gathered together for a final mobilization before the great battle.
Garon, dressed in leather armor and with a long sword at his waist, stepped onto the unconstructed platform that had been built the night before.
The vassals who were fighting followed him and also went up to the high platform.
Galon stood in the center of the platform, his gaze sweeping over the faces below, some excited, some determined, and some nervous.
"Everyone!"
He spoke calmly, his voice not loud, yet it traveled clearly through the cold air to the ears of everyone below.
" Lord Stark is now trapped in King's Landing, and Lord Robb is leading his army south to rescue him."
"While the Ironborn took advantage of our weakened northern borders, they wantonly slaughtered our people and seized our lands and castles!"
"They turned Torrhens Square and Sevon into a wasteland, thinking they could subdue us, the men of the North, with fear!"
Galon's voice gradually became more impassioned.
"They are wrong, terribly wrong!"
"Who are we? We are the children of the old gods, the descendants of the First Men!"
"The blood of resistance and indomitable spirit flows in our veins!"
The soldiers below began to breathe heavily, and their grip on their weapons tightened involuntarily.
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"Today, we will use their blood to tell those vile sea monsters—the North will never fall!"
"Anyone who dares to invade our homeland will pay a bloody price!"
Galon suddenly drew his longsword from his waist, the tip pointing straight at the sky.
"I will fight alongside you until these damned Ironborn are driven off!"
"For the North!"
He practically roared out the last four words, his voice echoing across the surrounding area.
After a brief silence, a deafening roar erupted from the ranks of the Northern allied forces!
"For the North!!"
"For Glover- sama!!"
"Kill all Ironborn!!!"
The deafening slogans drowned out the distant wind, and the weariness in the soldiers' eyes was replaced by anger and determination. Their morale instantly soared to its peak. Galon nodded in satisfaction, then sheathed his sword and strode down the platform.
"All troops, proceed!"
In a short time, apart from a few farmers left behind to transport grain, the rest of the soldiers set off.
House Bolton's thousand men led the way, followed by Garon with the rest of the army.
As for Jon, he and his men had already quietly infiltrated the West Horn Mountain forest, ensuring the safety of Galon's flank and rear.
More than two thousand people walked along Kings Road, heading straight for the south entrance of Ox Horn Mountain.
Two hours later.
The army crossed the narrowest section of Kings Road.
Ramsay, on horseback, followed behind the family army.
He gazed at the increasingly open Kings Road, then focused his attention on West Horn Mountain to his right.
Although the slope was steep and unsuitable for an ambush, the suspicious Little Flayer stared at the shadowy dense forest, a sense of foreboding rising in his heart.
They traveled for another ten minutes or so.
In the distance, a dull tremor came from the ground.
Ramsay's pupils contracted. "All troops on high alert..."
Before he could finish shouting, countless Ironborns, wielding weapons, charged in from the other side of Kings Road.
In his haste, he also saw a group of agile Ironborn silently swarming out of the dense forest on his right.
"kill!"
"Charge!"
"Slaughter every last one of the Northern Territories!!"
There were no warnings, no challenges.
There was no strategy involved.
Yes, but when two armies meet on a narrow path, the brave will prevail!
The moment Victarion Greyjoy appeared on the battlefield, his Ironborn, under his demonic power, let out a ferocious and bloodthirsty roar and surged towards Ramsay's army.
"Release the arrows!"
Mihawk, positioned to Ramsay's right rear, immediately waved his hand, signaling his archers to draw their bows and fire, before Ironborn could engage Bolton in battle.
Arrows flew like locusts, hurtling towards the Ironborn directly in front.
In an instant, dozens of Ironborns were killed by arrows, but more Ironborns stepped over the bodies of their comrades and charged forward like a black tide, fearless of death.
"Form ranks!"
Ramsay did have some fighting skills; he quickly ordered his men to form a shield wall, blocking the center of Kings Road.
Bang!
The terrifying sounds of impacts and shattering shields filled the air; the battle skipped all prelude and went straight into the most brutal melee phase.
A battle axe cleaved through chainmail, a spear pierced a chest, and a scimitar severed an arm.
Screams, roars, and the wails of the dying instantly turned the valley into a scene of carnage.
"Kill one—"
Victarion charged ahead like a battering ram, each swing of his giant axe sending up a spray of blood and shattered limbs.
He single-handedly almost tore through Bolton's defenses, and Ironborn, under the Demon's command, seized the opportunity to storm into the shield wall.
Led by Victarion, who was like a demon god, Ironborn's offensive was as unstoppable as a torrential downpour.
Bolton's casualties increased at an alarming rate, and the lines began to falter.
Taking advantage of this opportunity, some Ironborn captains led their crews past Bolton, which was under heavy attack by Victarion, and went straight to the archers' position to fight.
For a time, Mihawk and his men were too busy to defend themselves and had no choice but to put down their bows and arrows and engage in hand-to-hand combat.
The two sides engaged in a fierce and entangled battle.
"Hold on! Hold on!"
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Ramsay roared at the top of his lungs, constantly encouraging the Bolton soldiers to withstand the Victarion's fierce attack.
"My lord, we can't hold on any longer!"
"If we don't retreat now, we'll all die here!"
A Bolton nobleman, his face covered in blood and his helmet nowhere to be seen, rushed up to Ramsay and begged for mercy, his eyes filled with despair.
Looking at the battle line ahead, which resembled a meat grinder, and at Victarion's unstoppable figure, Ramsay's instinct for survival almost overwhelmed everything.
But when he recalled Galona's promise of the " Ramsay Bolton " inheritance, his greed for power eventually overwhelmed his fear, even twisting into a kind of insane hysteria.
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"Hold on! We just need to lure them to the narrow area at the back, and we'll win!"
"For the North!"
Ramsay's voice was as shrill as an owl's.
He suddenly drew his sword and charged toward Ironborn.
Of course, Little Flayer cleverly avoided Victarion.
But Little Flayer's heroic performance allowed Bolton's army to miraculously hold out for another 15 minutes.
But they were filling the battle lines with their own flesh and blood, and every step they retreated was covered with the bodies of their own people.
They painstakingly led Victarion's army into a narrower section between the south and north entrances, shrinking their own size by nearly a third.
Behind the narrow Kings Road, Garonford stood like a statue, calmly assessing every change on the battlefield. He saw the heavy casualties of Bolton's army and Ramsay's madness, as well as Victarion's troops gradually crowding into the narrow passage as they advanced victoriously.
Ironborn's formation became denser, and they lost their initial momentum.
"The time has come."
His voice was calm and even, yet it carried the weight of decisions that determined the lives of thousands.
"Ron, come with me and charge in!"
Ming Yi Yi!
The northern horn sounded a long, desolate, and resolute cry, its sound echoing repeatedly through the narrow valley.
Galon dismounted, drew his greatsword, and led the remaining army out from behind like a dam that had been holding back for so long.
Their formation was impeccable, their morale high, like a cold, steel torrent, swiftly and methodically replacing the nearly decimated remnants of Bolton's army, and clashing fiercely with Victarion's main force.
The scale of the battle suddenly escalated.