CLANG!
Galon's longsword collided violently with Victarion's massive axe, producing a deafening boom and a shower of brilliant sparks.
The shock of the impact sent a wave of numbness through Galon's arms, but he held his ground, firmly parrying the blow.
Victarion's pupils contracted. He had felt the staggering weight behind Galon's strike as well.
"Asha did not lose to you without reason. It seems the North is not entirely filled with useless trash!"
A flash of excitement crossed Victarion's eyes.
Relishing the prospect of a true challenge, he swung his great axe again, aiming to cleave Galon in two.
Galon remained intensely focused, his expression cold and lethal. Even as he met the onslaught, he used his words to chip away at Victarion's resolve.
"Oh? Do not be in such a hurry. You will be joining Asha soon enough. Balon sent you ashore for one purpose only: to die."
Galon used a burst of strength to shove the enraged Victarion back.
In the same motion, he cut down a passing Ironborn sailor, showing he still had the presence of mind to monitor the surrounding chaos.
Everywhere, soldiers were locked in a death struggle, the lines between friend and foe blurring into a red haze.
'I must kill Victarion now to secure the victory,' Galon thought.
The ancient blood of the Children of the Forest and the First Men surged within him, sharpening his senses and honing his strength.
He swung his greatsword without restraint, moving and clashing with Victarion amidst the swirling tides of men.
Any soldier unfortunate enough to be caught between them was instantly slaughtered.
In the heat of the duel, the air seemed to thicken.
For Galon and Victarion, the world had shrunk to the screech of steel and the sound of each other's heavy breathing.
As the fight dragged on without a breakthrough, Victarion grew increasingly frantic.
He noticed his crew was slowly beginning to crumble under the Northern pressure.
He realized he had to take down the Northern commander immediately.
But as his desperation grew, his movements became jagged. Following another heavy clash, the sheer momentum of his swing left Victarion briefly off-balance.
Galon seized the moment. 'Now!'
With a flash of cold light in his eyes, Galon lunged forward.
His body snapped like a tightened bowstring as he slammed into Victarion's center line.
Victarion gasped, instinctively trying to bring his axe down, but Galon narrowly evaded the lethal blade and whipped his sword across Victarion's right thigh.
Blood sprayed from the wound.
Victarion groaned in pain, his body instinctively buckling forward.
Seizing the opening, Galon pivoted and drove his blade deep into Victarion's left foot, twisting the steel with brutal force.
"AAAGH!"
Victarion could no longer contain his agony. His eyes burned with a primal fury as he tried to swing his axe to force Galon back.
However, Galon's Greenseer instincts allowed him to perceive the attack before it landed.
He dodged with fluid grace and brought his greatsword down in a massive overhead cleave toward Victarion's chest.
Victarion watched in horror, trying to shift his axe to block, but it was too late.
With a thunderous impact, the strength left his wounded legs, and he collapsed backward. His hand went numb, and his axe thudded to the earth.
Galon blurred forward, bringing the cold edge of his sword down toward Victarion's neck.
Victarion let out a muffled, disbelieving grunt as his life force drained away.
Galon did not hesitate.
He twisted his wrist and pulled the blade across in a single, powerful sweep.
The frozen steel tore through muscle, vein, and windpipe with ease. Victarion's massive frame slumped into the dirt.
Galon planted a boot on the corpse's chest and held the severed head of Victarion Greyjoy high into the air.
He let out a roar that shook the entire valley.
"Victarion Greyjoy is dead!"
His voice rolled out like thunder, cutting through the din of battle to reach the ears of every man present.
The Northern soldiers erupted in joy, taking up the cry in unison.
"Victarion Greyjoy is dead!"
The Ironborn froze.
They stared in disbelief at Galon, who stood over the body of their supposedly invincible Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet.
"How is it possible... Lord Victarion has fallen?"
As the Ironborn stood paralyzed by shock, it seemed as if the gods themselves were watching.
The heavy clouds that had blanketed the morning suddenly split, and a shaft of brilliant sunlight pierced through like a heavenly spear, illuminating Galon as he stood tall.
In that moment, his imposing figure was draped in a sense of the divine.
"Kneel! Those who surrender shall live!" he bellowed.
The Northmen raised their weapons and echoed him with a roar that drowned out the wind.
"Kneel! Surrender or die!"
The cry repeated until it was the only sound left on the battlefield. Panic spread through the Ironborn ranks like a plague.
With Victarion dead and Euron's fate on the flank unknown, their morale vanished instantly.
Some dropped their weapons and fell to their knees. Many more broke and fled toward the south.
The tide had turned completely.
Galon watched the fleeing enemy and tossed Victarion's head to a nearby Bolton soldier who was looking at him with fanatical awe.
Leaning on his sword, Galon took two ragged breaths before issuing his final command.
"Advance on all fronts! Clear out the remnants!"
His voice was hoarse from exhaustion, but it carried the unquestionable authority of a victor.
"For the North!"
"For Lord Glover!"
A world-shaking cheer erupted. The remaining Northern soldiers, their spirits soaring, pursued the fleeing invaders like a dam bursting.
The battle shifted from a struggle into a one-sided hunt.
On the western slopes, the roar of the victory reached Euron's ears, and his resolve shattered.
"Victarion is dead?" Euron blurted out.
The playful, arrogant smirk vanished from his face, replaced by a cold dread he had never felt before.
Around him, the Ironborn resistance crumbled.
Jon, though bleeding from several wounds, stood tall and rallied his weary men. "Lord Galon has won! Hold firm! It is our turn to strike!"
The Northern soldiers on the slope found a second wind, pursuing the Ironborn with newfound ferocity.
Euron looked toward the Kingsroad.
The rustling of the leaves in the dense forest sounded like a thousand Northern soldiers closing in to surround him.
"Retreat!"
He spat the word out with bitter venom.
Abandoning the fight with Jon, he led his remaining men down the southern slope toward Moat Cailin.
Some of his men remained behind to guard the ships, but Euron had lost all confidence in the fight.
Only one thought remained: survive and escape back to the Iron Islands.
"Crossing the North was a mistake," he hissed to himself.
"I should have taken the fleet around Westeros straight to Skagos. Once I have the dragon, I will make them pay a hundred times over!"
He cast one last look at the ruined battlefield before fleeing south along the Kingsroad like a beaten dog.
Galon did not order a deep pursuit. His army was exhausted and needed rest.
More importantly, there were too many internal matters in the North that required immediate attention—starting with what to do with the mass of prisoners.
He exhaled a long breath that tasted of copper and iron, looking out over the valley of corpses and rivers of blood.
'This victory has changed my fate forever.'
'I no longer have to fear Deepwood Motte falling or becoming a prisoner of the Ironborn.'
'From now on, the sky is mine to fly and the sea is mine to swim. I am no longer bound.'
The joy of victory washed over him like strong wine, briefly masking his physical fatigue and mental strain.
It was a moment of pure, unadulterated achievement.
But the feeling was fleeting.
'The Dragon Horn is not yet in my hands. Next, I will use Asha to negotiate with Balon.'
'But before that, I will wipe every last Ironborn stain from the North.'
His reason returning, Galon did not stop his pace. He turned his gaze toward the south.
There was still something there that he desired above all else.
__________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/Xorath