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The green flames reflected in Roose's pupils, and even he, who always remained calm no matter what changed around him, was momentarily stunned.
When he finally reacted, he shoved the rider beside him hard, pointed toward the wall where Ramsay had already vanished, and roared,
"Take men with you and seize that bastard!"
"Ah... y-yes, my lord!"
The rider, who had also frozen in shock at the sight of the flames, snapped out of it and immediately moved to gather men to capture Ramsay.
But the gate guards had been wiped out in an instant, and the soldiers patrolling the castle or resting between shifts had not yet arrived.
After thinking for a moment, he drew his sword and rushed off alone to hunt him down.
"If you don't want to die, call men to put out the fire right now!"
He had not even gotten close to the burning gate before the heat washed over him. He grabbed a soldier off the ground whose legs had gone weak with fear and bellowed at him.
The man nodded numbly and ran toward the fortification where the soldiers were quartered, shouting for help to put out the fire.
Thud thud thud thud!
A rapid string of hoofbeats came from outside the walls and reached Roose's ears.
At once, he understood.
Outside waited Robb Stark with his cavalry, waiting for the flames to die down. The moment that happened, he would be able to lead his men into the Dreadfort without obstruction.
Luckily, those stubborn flames would still buy him some time, enough time to make a few preparations for the brutal battle that would follow.
But soon after, through the gaps between the flames, Roose noticed the strange movements of Winterfell's cavalry outside the gate.
He shook his head, let out a faint sigh, and turned toward the inner castle. He stopped responding altogether to the soldiers running up to ask how they were supposed to put out the fire.
"Hold formation! Forward!"
Outside the Dreadfort, Robb raised his hand and swept it forward.
Behind him, the cavalry advanced in orderly ranks toward the burning gate.
Just before reaching the fire, they pulled cloth sacks tied to their saddles and hurled them forward with all their strength. The sacks struck the flames with dull thuds.
The green fire quickly set the cloth ablaze, but from the burning sacks began to spill heavy clumps of damp earth.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The Winterfell riders threw their sacks, then wheeled away on horseback, allowing the men behind them to repeat the same step.
The whole process unfolded with precision and order.
As more and more sacks of wet earth were thrown in, the green flames, unable to consume the soaked soil, gradually weakened until a path into the Dreadfort was formed.
"Charge! Anyone who throws down his weapon will be spared!"
When Robb, through that muddy passage, saw the men inside the Dreadfort scrambling to put out the fire and hurriedly form ranks, he gave the order to charge at once.
The Winterfell riders had blindfolded their horses and forced them forward through the muddy passage still lined with flames.
As they thundered through at full speed, even through their armor they could feel the searing heat biting into their skin.
Slash! Agh!
When Winterfell's cavalry burst into the castle, the soldiers gathered there numbered barely more than a hundred men.
Under a single charge, the ground was littered with corpses and with wounded men struck by nonlethal sword cuts, rolling on the ground and screaming in pain.
"Lord Rickard, take two hundred men and hold this position. Smalljon, Edd, take one thousand men and attack the three fortifications on the left. The rest of you come with me to take the one on the right.
Anyone who surrenders is not to be killed. The spoils will be distributed after the battle. Anyone who dares ignore my order or is caught raping will be executed by my own hand!"
The moment he passed through the scorching gate passage with Bloodwind and entered that Dreadfort, so easy to defend and so hard to storm, Robb immediately began issuing the orders he had already prepared in advance.
"Right! I'll hold the gate!"
"Yes!"
"As you command, Lord Robb!"
The commanders of Winterfell around him nodded solemnly and left with the men assigned to them.
"Lord Robb!"
Sam, his skin badly burned, was supporting one of the infiltrated wolf guards whose arm had been severed. Limping, the two of them came out from behind a stone pedestal in one corner and shouted to Robb, who was about to advance with his men.
"Medics! Treat them now! I don't care how, take care of both of them!"
When he saw the condition Sam and the other man were in, their bodies badly burned, their faces as ruined as the Hound's, Robb felt his chest tighten and shouted behind him at once.
A medic, his head wrapped in linen and carrying a wooden box, broke from the formation and ran over to begin treatment.
"And the other two brothers?"
After glancing behind Sam, Robb asked in a strained voice.
Sam first helped the wounded wolf guard lean against the medic. Then, hearing the question, sorrow spread across his face, his eyes glistening with tears, and he only shook his head in silence.
Seeing that, Robb clenched his teeth hard.
"When the Dreadfort is fully ours, the greatest merit will belong to you."
"Everyone, with me!"
"Ahhh!"
With the final cry of the last Bolton guard still defending that position with sword in hand, Robb seized the last fortification on the right side of the Dreadfort.
At that moment, he was covered in blood from head to toe, both the enemy's and his own.
The struggle to take the interior of the Dreadfort had been completely different from the cavalry charge earlier, which had swept in like the wind.
Apart from a small number who surrendered without fighting, the Bolton soldiers had resisted fiercely.
Because they knew the layout of the Dreadfort so well, at a bend in one corridor, during a sudden ambush, Robb took a sword cut to his left arm.
Even so, because the red mist kept flowing into his body without pause, the wound did not affect his fighting ability in the slightest. Earlier, he had even found time to glance at it and saw that the bleeding had already stopped on its own.
Beside him, his direwolf was still full of energy, still working through his prey, but by the look of it, he had been hurt even worse.
Three arrows were lodged in his back, his left hind leg, and his left flank. They had been fired by Bolton archers from ambush. After all, his massive body made the perfect target.
But that had also happened because he had been focused on fighting and was attacked from behind. If they had shot from the front, with his sight and speed, he would have dodged easily.
This time, fearing that too much red mist entering his own body would make him lose control, Robb had spent all of his blood pact points on the wolf before the battle, raising his attributes. And during the fighting, whenever he found the chance, he kept investing points in real time.
At that moment, Robb kept his blood pact points at around twenty, and Bloodwind's other two attributes were already close to matching his Constitution again.
After finishing the fight for the right-side fortification, Robb came out with the Winterfell soldiers, bringing the few enemies who had surrendered with him.
Outside, morning was already breaking beneath a sky washed in rosy light. Without realizing it, they had fought through the entire night.
As soon as he drew near the courtyard by the gate of the Dreadfort, Robb saw Smalljon and Edd coming forward with their men, apparently to reinforce him.
Perhaps because the resistance the two of them had faced had not been as severe, the soldiers under their command also bore the marks of battle all over their bodies, but they looked nothing like Robb's men, who looked utterly spent and worn down.
"We... won!"
Looking at the Winterfell soldiers who were now loyal to him and fought for him, Robb raised his right fist and thrust it into the sky, shouting with all his strength.
"Woooo!"
All the Winterfell soldiers let out a hoarse roar in unison, every face burning with excitement.
As for the surrendered soldiers, they only lowered their heads even further.
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