King Karl swiftly divided his cavalry force of nearly three thousand riders into five separate units.
The largest force, consisting of one thousand cavalrymen, was placed under the command of Jon Snow, the White Wolf.
Two additional cavalry units of six hundred riders each were entrusted to Sandor Clegane—the Hound—and Ser Alex Oakheart.
These three cavalry detachments formed a broad triangular formation and were stationed roughly half a league ahead of the main army, each accompanied by a small number of infantry attendants.
From a distance, they appeared to be shielding the main force positioned behind them.
The remaining eight hundred cavalrymen were divided equally between the left and right flanks of the main army, where they were commanded by Ser Garlan Tyrell and Ser Balon Swann.
Bronn, on the other hand, remained with the central force.
Karl deliberately assigned him there because the seasoned sellsword had little experience commanding cavalry.
Rather than explaining further, Karl simply patted Bronn on the shoulder.
The mercenary understood.
That was enough.
With his deployment complete, King Karl calmly awaited the enemy's next move.
The open plains offered neither a significant advantage nor a serious disadvantage.
The terrain stretched endlessly in every direction, leaving little room for surprise attacks.
Even someone as capable as Randyll Tarly would struggle to make use of cavalry superiority without exposing his movements.
Hundreds of scouts had already spread across the surrounding countryside.
Should anything unusual occur, warning horns and signal fireworks would relay the information to the main camp almost instantly.
To ensure everyone remained battle-ready, Karl ordered every soldier to sleep in full armor.
At the same time, he made another thoughtful arrangement.
The attendants accompanying Jon, Sandor, and Alex's cavalry units were forbidden from participating in combat.
Their sole responsibility was to ensure the cavalry commanders remained well-rested before battle.
After making every necessary preparation, Karl settled into patient anticipation.
He was genuinely curious.
This would be his first true contest against Randyll Tarly.
Would one of Westeros's greatest commanders live up to his legendary reputation?
Could Randyll halt his advance...
Wear his army down...
Or even hand him his first military defeat before Highgarden?
Or would the famous commander become the stepping stone upon which Karl forged his own legend?
Because of that curiosity, Karl deliberately restrained himself.
Unless absolutely necessary, he had no intention of personally tipping the scales of battle.
From this point onward, he couldn't solve every problem with his own hands.
As his influence expanded, so too must the abilities of those who served beneath him.
Jon.
Sandor.
Garlan.
Bronn.
Each of them needed opportunities to grow.
If Karl handled everything personally, there would be little point in sitting upon the throne.
His kingdom required capable commanders, not followers who relied entirely upon him.
This battle wasn't merely a war.
It was also a test.
A chance to evaluate the people he intended to entrust with the future.
He couldn't remain everyone's caretaker forever.
Some lessons could only be learned on the battlefield.
For that reason, Karl chose to remain the commander behind the lines.
Unless circumstances demanded it, he would not interfere.
---
As darkness settled across the plains, Karl quietly disappeared into the camp.
Moving unnoticed among his soldiers, he inspected every defensive position personally.
He verified that each order had been correctly transmitted.
Although he noticed a few minor flaws, he deliberately chose not to correct them.
His officers needed room to learn from their own mistakes.
Afterward, he continued toward the three forward cavalry camps commanded by Jon, Sandor, and Alex.
Only after completing his inspection did he move farther ahead into the darkness.
"If Randyll Tarly truly intends to attack..."
"He'll have to break through my outer defensive line first."
Karl quietly analyzed the battlefield as he walked beneath the moonlit sky.
"Given the terrain..."
"Cavalry is his only realistic option."
"Only mounted troops possess enough speed to punch through my defensive screen and harass the main force."
"The real question is..."
"Will he choose to attack during the night?"
"If he plans to launch a surprise assault..."
"The darkness is his greatest ally."
Karl wasn't certain what Randyll would do.
But he certainly wasn't ruling out the possibility.
That uncertainty made the coming battle all the more exciting.
Hundreds of pickets had already been stationed across the open plains.
Together, they formed a vast warning network that Randyll simply couldn't bypass unnoticed.
As for Karl himself...
He had already slipped beyond those defenses.
Perched comfortably atop a massive tree overlooking Randyll Tarly's camp, he leisurely enjoyed a roasted wild boar chop taken from his storage space as a late-night snack.
The unfortunate sentry originally assigned to that tree had long since disappeared.
His neck had been silently broken.
Now his body hung from a thick branch, swaying gently in the night breeze like a strip of dried meat.
Karl merely glanced at the corpse before turning his attention back to the enemy camp.
This location provided an excellent vantage point.
Although the Red Comet had vanished long ago, the moon still illuminated the battlefield whenever drifting clouds allowed its light to pass.
Ordinary soldiers struggled to see through the darkness.
Karl did not.
After months of consuming vampire potions, his eyesight far surpassed that of any normal human.
Night offered him no disadvantage.
Below him, Randyll Tarly was already receiving reports from his scouts.
The seasoned commander stood silently, listening without interruption.
Only after a long pause did he begin issuing fresh orders.
Randyll possessed a broad, bald head and a thick, graying beard.
His sharp eyes and permanently stern expression gave him the appearance of a man who had forgotten how to smile.
As his commands spread throughout the camp, the five thousand cavalrymen quietly settled down for the night.
Apart from a handful of attendants maintaining the camp, silence gradually returned.
Watching from his perch, Karl smiled faintly.
The night wind carried the sounds of insects across the open fields.
Time passed quietly.
Eventually...
Just before dawn...
The silence shattered.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
Urgent warning bells rang throughout the camp.
Within moments, the sleeping army sprang into action.
Attendants hurried to feed the horses.
Breakfast was prepared.
Only after every knight had eaten his fill did preparations continue.
Soon, countless torches transformed the darkness into a flowing river of fire.
At the darkest hour before sunrise...
That river suddenly divided into three separate streams.
One advanced through the center.
The other two swept around the flanks.
Like the jaws of a predator closing around its prey, the three columns steadily advanced toward King Karl's army.
Watching from nearby, Karl couldn't help but grin.
"So..."
"It begins."
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