The Kingswood carried its own unique scent—a mixture of fresh leaves, decaying wood, and earth warmed by sunlight. Towering trees concealed countless figures beneath their canopies.
Yet the smell of smoke and ash had already begun drifting through the forest.
The wildlings under Tyrion Lannister's command had set fires throughout the Kingswood, preventing the horses of the Stormlands from finding enough foliage to graze on.
While the Stormlands' decoy army advanced slowly along the Kingsroad, Gendry led the vanguard through a smaller forest path. From among his forces, he selected eight hundred elite soldiers and personally took command of the spearhead assault force.
"Your Highness Gendry, the fish have taken the bait. We've located their camp."
The report came from scouts who were also skilled hunters. Having spent years hunting deer in the Kingswood, they knew every trail and hidden path like the backs of their hands.
"Tyrion's pets?" Gendry asked.
"Yes. Based on our observations, several groups arrived from King's Landing by fishing boat. First came a group of horribly burned and disfigured men. Then came women wearing strings of severed ears. After that, more groups followed. In short, they're all wildlings."
"So three separate groups."
"That's right. Their camps are divided into three sections not far from one another."
"How many?"
"A little over a hundred."
Lothor nodded.
"It seems the Imp has sent all of his pets. From what I know, there should be around one hundred and fifty of them."
Jon Snow added,
"He has no better options. Mercenaries fight for gold, not suicidal missions. As for the Gold Cloaks, there aren't even enough of them to keep order inside King's Landing."
These wildlings served as Tyrion's scouts and guerrilla fighters.
Their purpose wasn't direct combat.
Instead, they harassed enemy camps and supply lines, ambushed scouts, hunted stragglers, and hung corpses from trees along the roads. They launched surprise night raids and prevented soldiers from getting any rest.
Unfortunately for them, Gendry had anticipated their moves.
"The storm is always one step ahead," he thought.
Barristan Selmy asked,
"Tyrion sent guides with them. Could they discover our approach?"
The hunter shook his head confidently.
"They know the forest, but not as well as we do. Most of them have lived in King's Landing for years. We're natives of the Kingswood."
"Besides, they believe the Stormlands army is still marching slowly along the Kingsroad. They've become complacent."
Gendry nodded.
"Give the scouts food and rest."
Lothor immediately arranged accommodations and supplies for the exhausted hunters.
Afterward, Gendry turned his attention to the coming battle.
"This opportunity won't come again. Once the men are rested, we'll attack before dawn."
Justin Massey frowned.
"Shouldn't we wait for the rest of the army?"
Gendry shook his head.
"Our numbers already exceed theirs fivefold. There's no need to delay."
The wildlings' greatest strengths were mobility and surprise attacks.
In open battle, they stood no chance.
---
"I'll handle the Burned Men," Gendry declared.
"Ser Guyard Morrigen will attack the Black Ears and the Moon Brothers."
"Lothor, you and Anguy will strike the Stone Crows."
"Justin, cut off their retreat."
Everyone answered immediately.
"Yes, Your Highness!"
---
The wildling camps were spread along a narrow river winding through the Kingswood.
The Burned Men occupied the upstream section, while the other clans camped along both banks further downstream.
The attack began during the darkest hour before dawn—when men slept most deeply.
Horse hooves muffled by fallen leaves advanced silently through the forest.
Stormlands soldiers and Gold Cloaks crept forward beneath the cover of darkness.
Then, at the perfect moment, they charged.
Golden banners rose into the air.
Standards bearing stags, dragons, wolves, and symbols of liberated slaves fluttered proudly in the wind.
Gendry raised his warhammer.
"Long live the Storm!"
"LONG LIVE THE STORM!"
"For Baratheon!"
The knights answered with thunderous roars.
The Kingsguard cavalry wore gleaming black plate armor.
The Stormlands cavalry followed behind in mismatched armor gathered from years of warfare.
Among them, Ser Barristan stood out most of all in his brilliant white armor.
---
The formation accelerated.
The forest trembled beneath hundreds of charging horses.
"Our luck is good," Gendry observed.
The wildlings had posted only a handful of sentries.
Their camps lacked proper fortifications and watchtowers.
Because they relied on mobility, they rarely built permanent defenses.
The wedge formation surged forward.
Steel clashed.
Hooves thundered.
Battle cries echoed through the forest.
Together, they formed a deadly symphony.
---
The wildlings realized the attack only when it was too late.
The roar of charging cavalry tore them from sleep.
Arrows filled the sky.
Whistling projectiles rained down upon tents and campfires alike.
Fires erupted across the camps.
Panic spread instantly.
---
"Bang!"
Gendry's warhammer descended.
Empowered by his immense strength and the momentum of his charging horse, he became an unstoppable force.
A wildling stepped into his path.
The man's mouth opened as if to shout.
The hammer struck.
His head exploded like a smashed watermelon.
Blood, bone, and brains scattered through the air.
Without slowing down, Gendry charged onward.
Any wildling foolish enough to stand before him met the same fate.
His hammer became the herald of death itself.
---
The Burned Men truly lived up to their name.
Many were missing fingers, ears, or entire limbs.
Some had even gouged out their own eyes as part of tribal rituals.
Though Tyrion had equipped them with proper weapons and armor, they remained undisciplined wildlings at heart.
The ambushers had become the ambushed.
They never stood a chance.
---
"Die!"
A fierce shout rang out.
Gendry turned his head.
A one-eyed warrior charged toward him.
The missing eye immediately identified him as a member of the Burned Men.
---
Elsewhere, in the Stone Crow camp, Shagga suddenly realized something was wrong.
The sounds of battle came from every direction.
Knights clad in black armor and golden cloaks were already storming through the camp.
"Who dares challenge Shagga, son of Dolf?"
He burst from his tent in a rage, axe in hand.
His massive frame made him look terrifying.
Unfortunately, his recklessness would be his downfall.
---
Swish!
Swish!
Two arrows pierced the darkness.
Anguy had fired.
The first arrow struck Shagga's left arm.
The second pierced his right.
Blood sprayed into the air.
Before he could recover, Lothor rode forward atop his warhorse.
Around them, the Stone Crow camp had already become a slaughterhouse.
"Curse you, lowlanders!"
Shagga roared.
Ignoring the pain, he raised his axe and charged straight toward Lothor.
But fate had already decided the outcome of this battle.
________________________________________
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