The Valley Road in The Pale Mountains was covered in blood, sweat, tears, and fire.
Rhaegar smelled the scent of blood permeating the air; the world had transformed into a battlefield. Blood that flowed for too long turned black.
Rhaegar saw the Mountain Clansmen in the wild forest abandoning the bodies of their comrades and hastily retreating.
They scattered throughout the forest, forming an unstable circle that enveloped Rhaegar's troop.
The natives blocked both ends of the road with large logs and rocks. The Valley Road was only sparsely filled with rocks and wood.
If Rhaegar charged into the forest, the horses wouldn't be able to maneuver.
Rhaegar saw a throng of people; the Mountain Clansmen were riding ponies, so thin and scrawny that Rhaegar thought they would fall apart, yet they traversed the mountain paths as if on flat ground.
Rhaegar led his troop to victory, but it was only temporary.
"Well done, children. This is what a battlefield is like; don't be afraid. The more you fear, the faster you die." Ser Brynden was in high spirits, encouraging the Eagle Guards while brandishing his longbow, pursuing the fleeing natives.
Barristan's gaze became stern. "Damn it, this isn't one tribe, it's many tribes acting together. How is this possible?"
Joffrey Arryn's face was pale. He should have stopped the prince. The Mountain Clansmen had a fearsome reputation in The Pale Mountains; several Arryn dukes had died here.
Only Cesar remained unperturbed; the Braavosi feared neither wind nor rain.
"Surrender! I know there are nobles among you. As long as you surrender, Thrimm of the Burned Men tribe guarantees your lives!" Thrimm, hidden deep within the vast forest, shouted loudly.
"Surrender quickly, or Zick of the Black Ears tribe will cut off your ears!"
"And Dof of the Stone Crows tribe will turn you into meat paste!"
"And Umar of the Moon Men tribe!"
"And Mael of the Milk Snakes tribe!"
The voices of the Mountain Clansmen chiefs rang out, like waves of trembling.
"They're scared, or perhaps they're stalling for time. One hundred against eight hundred, both sides have advantages. My troop has superior equipment and strong members, but most haven't seen blood. The Mountain Clansmen have weak equipment, but their strengths are their greater numbers and their savagery. The most troubling thing is only one: I don't know how many Mountain Clansmen have been mobilized this time, and if there are more reinforcements, it will be troublesome," Rhaegar thought, looking at the wildling deployment.
Rhaegar looked at the vast number of wildlings; there were probably around eight hundred of them.
The wildlings actually launched a coordinated charge; this didn't seem like a coincidence.
Because the Mountain Clansmen liked to bicker and express their opinions. No matter the size of the matter, they would argue endlessly. Except for mountain raids, they rarely gathered together, let alone truly threatened The Vale of Arryn.
"Form ranks!" Ser Barristan and Ser Brynden commanded the troop.
Mounted archers and crossbowmen were in the center, shieldmen raised their long shields on the outermost flanks, and spearmen stood with them.
While forming their formation, they began to retreat.
The Eagle Guards formed a simple formation, which would be difficult for the Mountain Clansmen to break.
Seeing Rhaegar's troop begin to consolidate, the Mountain Clansmen started sending people to provoke them.
A crude wildling stepped forward, exposing his strong physique, while beating his chest. "Cowards of the Vale, come out!"
"Bring me my dragonglass longbow!" Rhaegar shouted. With the dragonglass longbow in hand, arrows flew like a gale, shooting towards the provocateur.
The long arrow, as if it had eyes, fiercely pierced the throat of the Mountain wildling.
A gush of blood, so crimson.
"Long live Rhaegar!"
"Long live the Vale!" Cheers erupted, one after another, greatly boosting morale.
Ser Brynden also picked up his bow and shot fiercely into the forest.
Although the distance was too far, the arrows struck the ground, startling the barbarians.
Seeing the iron-clad formation, shining brightly, the wildlings also felt their scalps tingle.
The Eagle Guards wore various armors: black scale armor, white plate armor, bronze ring mail, and blue and white striped armor. Even with only their upper bodies armored, they were a river of steel, difficult to cross.
Rhaegar looked at the Eagle Guards. This was definitely an elite troop, with a high rate of armor and most having received martial arts training. Plus, there were the three aces: Cesar, Barristan, and Brynden, with Joffrey Arryn barely counting as half an ace.
The Highland Clansmen and Rhaegar's troop formed two circles, one making probing attacks, the other engaging in offensive defense.
Rhaegar and Brynden raised their longbows and fired at will.
Barristan stood beside them, holding a spear and raising his shield, serving as the prince's last line of defense. He would fulfill his honor with his life. If the prince died, he would not live alone.
The dragonglass longbow was indeed extraordinary, sweeping away all in its path.
Rhaegar fired several bows consecutively, almost always drawing blood.
Brynden was not to be outdone; although his longbow's power was not as great as the dragonglass longbow, his accuracy was quite good.
"It's fortunate to have such a divine archer like you!" Rhaegar said.
"Prince, your divine archery is superhuman, and your stamina is truly extraordinary," Brynden said with emotion.
"Ser Barristan, Ser Brynden, I leave the prince's protection to you." Cesar picked up his longsword and led the spearmen. While resisting, he shouted.
"Kill! Kill that silver-haired boy!" Thrimm roared furiously, speaking with malice.
"No, Lord Red Hand. There are nobles in this troop; we should capture them for ransom, not kill them directly." Dof's body was as massive as a rock, but his mind was very keen.
"I can't worry about that much, nor can I worry about Chief Eagle. Every moment we stay here is very dangerous. As long as we kill these people, and then divide their weapons and equipment, we will have time to fight with the people of the Vale. But now, we must end this battle and not wait for reinforcements to arrive." Thrimm's heart was bleeding; so many good warriors had died in this siege. If they didn't get this equipment, they would suffer a huge loss.
No other tribal members objected; they also felt that dragging it out would be troublesome. The Mountain Clansmen were suited for plunder, but not for sustained combat, and even less for siege warfare. A swift, violent raid and then a quick retreat was most in line with their wishes.
The two circles began to clash, with the Mountain Clansmen charging out of the forest again on their ponies.
If they accepted a tragic defeat, they couldn't go back and explain. They could only bite the bullet and keep charging.
Rhaegar clearly saw these natives; most were thin and small, gaunt and ragged. Perhaps only a portion of a tribe had meat, likely the noble chiefs. Their longswords and spears were even rusted or chipped, all cheap.
The only truly lethal weapons were the shortbows made by the Mountain Clansmen themselves; at such a short range, they still had killing power.
The long shield wall, interspersed with cavalry, slowly advanced. The logs and stones blocked their path, making it difficult to push through quickly.
"Shoot arrows!" Thrimm shouted, and waves of arrows rained down, fiercely striking the long shields.
The Mountain Clansmen, relying on this arrow barrage to suppress the enemy, began to charge the shield wall again.
People behind them threw rocks, which clattered down.
Shouting slogans, they cautiously moved forward.
"Prince Rhaegar, shouldn't you dismount?" Ser Brynden said. The prince's silver hair was too conspicuous, and the arrow rain was heavily suppressing him. Barristan remained silent, only raising his shield for the prince.
"Ser Brynden, watch me break the bandits." Rhaegar raised his dragonglass longbow, shooting left and right from horseback. In the arrow rain, he seemed to grasp the essence of Bloodraven's archery: precision, stability, a longbow and a great horse, dominating the world.
Arrows assailed Rhaegar; he parried left and right, constantly shifting as he anticipated danger, which consumed most of his strength.
All the Eagle Guards did not flinch. They had all heard the legends of the Mountain Clansmen; these people hated the people of the Vale most and would even roast children. They would rather die in battle than fall into their hands.
The fires of war tempered the troop; they would become true warriors. By properly training these young men, he would cultivate an elite force similar to the Raven's Teeth.
Rhaegar looked at the warriors, who had endured too much pain. The unexpected part of this battle was that the Mountain Clansmen had actually united.
For now, they could only wait for Lord Jon to arrive.
The wildling clans charged again and again, but they did not break the shield formation, only leaving behind corpses.
The smell of blood grew thicker, horses neighed in agony, and human voices roared in pain.
The guards' faces had shed their terror, sorrow, and fervor, leaving only numbness.
Rhaegar also felt a bit anxious; he had the bug of the 'Spark of Life,' but his guards were mere mortals.
The wildling clans abandoned their dead; the bodies of men and horses piled up, pressing against the shield formation again.
Blood stained the ground, making it muddy; perhaps only the grass would enjoy the scent of blood.
"Ser, you take the dragonglass longbow; I have something important to do." Rhaegar tossed the dragonglass longbow to Brynden and dismounted.
"Boom! Boom!" Rhaegar stood in the center of the crowd, beating the war drum for everyone, its sound reverberating loudly.
The drumbeats were strong and powerful; Rhaegar's drumming was like a surging tide. When the war drum sounded, one should fight with all their might. He beat the drum selflessly, its sound corresponding to blood and fire.
"Soldiers, break your spears! Use morning stars, flails, broken spears, to hammer the heads of these wildlings!" A flash of inspiration struck Rhaegar's mind, and he shouted loudly, his silver hair plastered to his scalp, covered in sweat and blood, but he still fought to the death without retreating.
Rhaegar ordered men to break their spears and fiercely hammer the wildlings' heads in the blood. Rhaegar also raised his arm, striking again and again.
Most wildlings were unarmored, lacking even proper helmets; those who charged on horseback were often hammered to death directly.
Blood dripped down; the battlefield had become a paradise of blood.
Even with Rhaegar's enduring stamina, he felt somewhat weary.
Horn blasts sounded again; blue and white crescent moon and falcon banners fluttered, and blue-cloaked Vale Knights charged from the rear, fiercely ravaging the wildling forces.
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