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Crack… crack…
Robb's boots crushed the dry vegetation beneath his feet, producing faint snapping sounds.
He moved through the forest alongside Theon's squad. Gigantic trees towered around them, their dense canopies blocking most of the sunlight. Only a few beams pierced through the leaves, scattering patches of light across the shaded ground.
Not far away, behind a tree covered in vines, the rusted tip of an iron arrow slowly emerged between the branches, like a venomous serpent watching its prey.
Hidden within that mass of foliage was a wildling archer, his body covered with leaves used as camouflage.
The wildling observed the group of "southerners" wearing different armors, trying to figure out who the leader was.
At that distance, he would have only one chance to fire before fleeing. Otherwise, there was a good chance he would be caught.
"Ugh…"
As he pulled the bowstring tight, the archer suddenly heard a low growl beside him.
A growl filled with menace.
When he turned his head, his body already stiff with fear, a gray shadow was already leaping toward him.
"Aaaah! Aaaah!!!"
Hearing the scream, Robb's lips curved slightly into a smile.
The fish had finally taken the bait.
"Bloodwind, leave him alive!"
Robb shouted toward the sound while exchanging a glance with Theon.
Theon nodded.
A few minutes later, he returned dragging a wildling — now missing one hand — accompanied by one of his men.
Bloodwind returned with them as well, his snout covered in blood, carrying a severed hand like a hunting trophy. The moment he saw Robb, he ran toward him proudly, as if eager to share his prey.
"Hmm… Bloodwind, thank you, but I don't eat that. Go enjoy your snack over there."
Without the slightest trace of disgust, Robb patted the wolf's blood-stained head and sent him aside.
Then he turned to the wildling who was still screaming in pain.
"Stop screaming. Either you tell us where your camp is… or my direwolf will digest you slowly."
It quickly became clear that not all wildlings possessed the same resolve as their king, who had chosen to burn rather than surrender.
As soon as they discovered the direction of the enemy camp, Robb gathered Theon's squad together with the rest of the guard following behind.
…
"They still haven't returned?"
Osha held her crude spear across her knees while tapping her foot against the ground, clearly irritated.
"No. Neither Ironfang nor Bonebreaker have come back. By the usual timing, at least one of them should have returned with news."
One of the wildlings beside her shook his head.
"Something's wrong… All of you! Grab your things. We're moving deeper into the forest now!"
Osha immediately stood and shouted to the wildlings scattered around the camp.
"Two scouts haven't returned and you already want to abandon the place? If those southerners come in here, I'll—"
The bearded wildling holding an axe stood up to protest.
Before he could finish the sentence, a gleaming arrow pierced straight through his right eye.
He dropped dead instantly.
"The southerners are here! Grab your weapons!"
"Crush the heads of these cursed southerners!"
"Kill them!"
The wildlings were stunned for a moment, but soon began shouting furiously as they rushed toward the attackers.
The moment the attack began, Osha had already slipped behind a tent, watching the situation.
When she saw a group of heavily armed men advancing, she didn't hesitate.
Silently, she began retreating toward the rear.
"Everyone! Spear formation by squad! Captains at the front! Advance!"
Seeing the wildlings charging forward in a chaotic but ferocious wave, Robb immediately gave the order.
The thirty-two guards — including Robb himself — quickly formed a spear formation and advanced directly toward the enemy.
The distance between the two sides was already small.
The clash happened within seconds.
Slash!
The squad led by Robb was at the very front, so they were the first to collide with the wildlings.
With a single downward strike, Robb nearly opened a wildling's throat like a broken faucet.
The enemy's axe also struck Robb's mail.
But thanks to Winterfell's excellent armor, the blow failed to injure him. Even so, the impact made his body shudder.
At that moment, a red mist emerged from the enemy's corpse and entered Robb's body.
ROAR!
Crack!
Another wildling tried to take advantage of the moment when Robb was still absorbing the impact and launched a sneak attack.
Bloodwind leapt in beside him.
The wolf's sharp fangs crushed the enemy's neck with precision.
As the red mist entered his body, Robb immediately felt the discomfort disappear.
A new surge of strength flowed through him.
With Bloodwind fighting at his side, Robb pushed forward with growing excitement, like a war god descending upon the battlefield.
Even so, his mind remained clear.
His blood-stained sword was used only for slashing blows.
Never for thrusts.
In a frontal charge like this, if the blade were driven deep into an enemy's body, the same strength would be needed to pull it out.
Besides the wasted effort, that small delay could be enough for another enemy to kill him.
Because of that, no wildling who faced Robb ever had the chance to react twice.
Those who could be killed in a single blow fell immediately.
Those who survived were finished by Bloodwind, Theon, or the other members of the squad.
The performance of the vanguard squad led by Robb was observed by the captains of the other five squads.
Their respect for Robb grew even stronger.
And they fought with even greater determination.
On the battlefields of Westeros, the heroism of commanders was highly valued.
When a respected leader personally led the charge, the effect went far beyond simply raising morale.
As long as that leader remained alive and fighting, his men would fight to the death.
Surrender simply did not exist.
…
In the Wolfswood, the outcome of the battle was inevitable.
On one side stood well-armed and organized warriors.
On the other were wildlings without armor and with inferior weapons, relying only on their ferocity.
From above, Robb's formation looked like five sharp blades slicing through a slab of butter.
When the blades began to turn, the "block" was torn apart within seconds.
Thud!
Covered in blood from head to toe, Robb decapitated the enemy in front of him with a single strike.
When he raised his head to search for the next opponent, he realized he was already standing in the center of the enemy camp.
There was no one left in front of him.
Bloodwind stood beside him.
The wolf was also completely covered in blood.
True to his name.
Robb looked back.
The ground was covered with wildling corpses.
Blood had stained the green grass red.
A few enemies were still fighting against members of the guard, but they were quickly surrounded and cut down by multiple swords.
Smalljon Umber, enormous and drenched in blood, held two wildling heads in his hands while roaring toward the sky.
Robb took a deep breath of the metallic scent of the battlefield.
He needed to calm his emotions.
The large amount of Blood Pact Points and the red mist flowing into his body were awakening that dangerous sensation again.
The sensation of absolute power.
As if all other lives were insignificant.
"Robb, we eliminated forty-eight enemies. Six men suffered minor injuries. No deaths."
Theon, his face so covered in blood that he was barely recognizable, had fully stepped into his role.
As soon as the fighting ended, he immediately began counting the casualties.
"Theon, good work."
Robb forced a smile and nodded.
Suddenly, Bloodwind growled toward the bushes behind them.
At the same moment, a warning echoed in Robb's mind.
Slash!
The bushes were cut apart by a sword.
Jory emerged, pushing forward a captured wildling woman.
He had led the Winterfell soldiers to surround the camp beforehand, ensuring that no enemy could escape.
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