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The next morning, the allied Winterfell army had already begun organizing its tents and supplies, preparing to withdraw.
The Winterfell troops and House Karstark's forces were the first to leave.
After them came the reorganized remnants of the militia.
The rearguard, burdened with the largest share of the spoils and the wounded, took the longest to move. Because of that, they were the last to depart.
But the facts proved that Roose Bolton was exactly as Robb had predicted.
Even with the rearguard full of wounded men and spoils right in front of his eyes, he showed no intention at all of leaving the castle to launch a surprise attack.
That left Lord Rickard's cavalry force, hidden behind the hills and waiting for an opportunity, deeply frustrated.
After marching for about half a day, the imposing allied Winterfell army reached the fork in the road between the path leading to Stone Hedge and the one leading back to Winterfell.
Robb ordered Theon and Owen to take the force of more than three thousand archers and infantry, escorting the two thousand prisoners, toward Stone Hedge.
Even though the rearguard had brought back plenty of food and supplies this time, it still wasn't enough to feed that many mouths.
The mission he gave the two of them had two parts.
First, occupy Stone Hedge and resupply the army.
Second, reorganize the two thousand prisoners.
Those willing to join Winterfell's army would be split up and absorbed into the militia.
Those who refused could be put to work as miners in Stone Hedge, extracting mineral resources for Winterfell.
As for Robb, claiming that Winterfell's defenses were too thin and that something unexpected might happen, he took Lord Rickard, Smalljon, Edd, and the others and returned first with the bulk of the cavalry.
The moment Robb's order was formally issued, the Winterfell army split in two at the fork.
...
On the night of the third day after the battle for the Dreadfort ended, the smell of blood still hung heavily outside the walls.
Mixed with the stench of a few rotting corpses that had not yet been cleared away, it made the darkness of the night feel especially sickening.
Clop, clop, clop!
The faint sound of hooves woke the drowsy Bolton soldiers standing guard on the walls.
The nerves that had relaxed somewhat after the Winterfell army's withdrawal tightened again at once.
A cavalry force of three to four hundred riders, carrying torches and the flayed man banner of House Bolton, was slowly approaching.
Looking more closely, there were also three wagons moving at a sluggish pace in the middle of the column.
Even though they knew that a cavalry force of that size, moving at that speed, could not possibly threaten the Dreadfort's tall, solid walls, the officer in charge of the gate guard still sent word to Lord Roose.
After all, discipline at the Dreadfort was strict. Any carelessness could be punished harshly.
"Open up already! It's me, I'm back!"
When the riders finally reached the gate, winding their way around the piles of corpses and severed limbs scattered below the walls, one of them raised his head and shouted upward.
By torchlight, the guard officer recognized the man immediately.
It was Ramsay, Lord Roose's bastard.
"Lord Ramsay, the Dreadfort is under martial rule. Without Lord Roose's order, we cannot open the gate on our own.
I've already sent for him, so he should be here soon. Please wait."
The officer did not dare offend that cruel and vindictive bastard, so he spoke in a very respectful tone.
Hearing that, Ramsay did not get angry.
He simply nodded with a smile and waited patiently.
Not long after, Roose appeared atop the wall.
After observing for a while, he gave his orders to the guard officer.
"Gather three hundred archers on the inner wall and keep them in position. If they show any suspicious intent, kill them with arrows immediately.
Then open the gate only enough to let the wagons through. Other than Ramsay, every soldier who enters must surrender his weapons at the gate and be held temporarily."
As he watched the officer leave to carry out the orders, Roose did not think he was being overly cautious.
He had seen too many lies and betrayals in his life.
Outside, by the time Ramsay had been waiting so long that even the smile had faded from his face, the gate of the Dreadfort finally opened halfway.
As for Roose's demands, Ramsay naturally raised no objections.
After being disarmed by the garrison soldiers, he was the first to enter.
"Father!"
The moment he passed through the gate on horseback, Ramsay saw Roose waiting for him.
He immediately jumped down from the saddle and bowed.
"Mm. On the way back, you didn't run into the Winterfell army?"
Roose gave a slight nod in response and got straight to the point.
"We did. The scouts I sent ahead discovered their movements while they were still at the fork leading to Stone Hedge.
There were probably seven or eight thousand men, moving in a long column toward Stone Hedge.
After all of them passed the fork and continued on toward Stone Hedge, we stayed hidden for another full day before daring to return."
Ramsay nodded and directly reported what he had encountered on the road.
"Ah, then Stone Hedge is beyond saving.
But as long as we hold the Dreadfort, we'll make House Stark pay twice over for this in the future."
Hearing that, Roose let out a faint sigh.
His face remained unchanged, but a cruel shadow appeared in his eyes.
"Father, earlier I received a raven saying the battle situation was highly favorable. How did it suddenly turn around like this?"
"I underestimated that wolf pup.
I don't know when he managed to hide several thousand men inside the camp's tents.
At the same time, he also deceived Locke's scouting cavalry and left nearly two thousand horsemen in ambush behind them."
In response to Ramsay's question, Roose briefly summarized what had happened in the battle.
But as he spoke, that man who almost never showed any emotion revealed a rare trace of weariness on his face.
As a veteran commander known throughout the North, being deceived and defeated by a young man who had never formally led an army before left him deeply embittered.
"Father, just as you said, as long as we hold the Dreadfort, we'll still have a chance to take revenge on House Stark."
Seeing that rare look of discouragement on Roose's face, Ramsay immediately tried to comfort him, his own face full of concern.
"Mm. What's inside those wagons?"
Recovering from that mood with remarkable speed, Roose lowered his gaze to the wagons coming through the gate and asked quietly.
"Father, on the way back, I took the opportunity to raid a caravan.
They're loaded with Arbor red, the finest vintage.
That kind of wine is rare.
In the North, it's worth far more than it is in the South.
You could call it liquid gold."
Roose's eyes flickered slightly at Ramsay's answer, and he replied in an unusually gentle tone.
"Oh? So there really was a caravan bringing Arbor red to the North?
In that case, I really should have a taste."
"You're right, Father. You really should taste it.
I'll pour you a cup myself."
Ramsay answered with a smile and immediately ordered one of the wagons that had just entered through the gate to be stopped.
Then he had one of the barrels opened.
The moment the barrel was unsealed, a rich, mellow wine fragrance spread through the air.
Roose first drew in the scent through his nose.
Then he leaned forward and looked into the barrel.
Inside, the rosy liquid rippled lightly from the shock of the lid being removed.
"This barrel seems a little cloudy.
Open that one for me instead."
Roose shook his head after glancing into the first barrel, clearly dissatisfied, and called for the soldiers to open another one he pointed out himself.
After three barrels were opened in succession, he finally seemed to find one he liked.
Seeing that, Ramsay took a goblet from a cargo box on the wagon and personally poured the wine for him.
"Father, please."
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