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In the northeastern part of King's Landing, in Flea Bottom, many workers were tearing down the old slums. Dirty, mottled stones crashed into the drains below, splashing black, foul water.
"Heh. There was a reason Lord Tywin was once called the Savior of King's Landing.
"Look at the mess that damned Lothor Brune made of the city some time ago. Lord Tywin restored order in so short a time.
"Most importantly, he is even solving the rot of Flea Bottom that has troubled King's Landing for two or three hundred years."
A middle-aged man who looked like an overseer watched Flea Bottom slowly disappear and laughed with another overseer beside him.
"To be honest, my family was targeted by Lothor Brune some time ago. He squeezed us on every pretext. At first it was bearable, but he grew greedier and greedier.
"In the end, after my family discussed it, we were preparing to leave King's Landing. We never expected Lord Tywin to save King's Landing again and save our family with it.
"So my family is supporting Lord Tywin with coin and labor for tearing down and rebuilding Flea Bottom."
The other overseer nodded in agreement and passed the time by sharing what he knew.
"Heh. Since your family staked so much, you will surely get a share once this place is rebuilt.
"Still, I do wonder how Lord Tywin did it. Aside from the men seized to work on the River Gate, how did the other tens of thousands in Flea Bottom leave so willingly?"
"How could they leave willingly? Lord Tywin must have used certain methods. But that has nothing to do with us. We only need to tear this place down and rebuild...
"Eh? A great many Westerlands soldiers are coming through the Dragon Gate. Is King's Landing going to war again?"
The well-informed overseer was chatting when he suddenly saw a large force bearing Westerlands noble banners pouring through the Dragon Gate, which connected King's Landing to the kingsroad.
"Ah, I hope they are going to fight somewhere else. When Stannis Baratheon attacked King's Landing last time, prices soared and order collapsed."
"Exactly. Kings are fighting everywhere in Westeros now. It was better under King Robert."
While the overseers of Flea Bottom chatted, Kevan Lannister, his left shoulder wrapped in layers of bandages, rode through King's Landing with more than twenty thousand Westerlands soldiers and camped outside the Lion Gate, which connected the city to the Goldroad.
After arranging the Westerlands army, Kevan rode to the Tower of the Hand in the Red Keep to meet his brother.
"Lord Tywin, apart from the Mountain's three thousand men left at Harrenhal, the other twenty-three thousand soldiers have arrived on time. Please give your orders."
After entering the meeting hall, Kevan bowed respectfully to Tywin, who was writing quickly.
"Those matters are not urgent, Kevan. How is your left shoulder?"
After listening to Kevan's report, Tywin first asked about the wound Kevan had suffered saving him.
"I can no longer put strength through my left arm. On the road, I had several maesters examine it. They all believe the ice spear caused permanent frost injury."
Kevan glanced sadly at his left shoulder and answered.
"Kevan, I promise you that what you have lost, I will help you take back twice over."
Seeing the gloom on his brother's face, Tywin gave the promise in a firm tone, then pointed to the war map on the long table.
"Kevan, I will explain the current situation briefly.
"When you had just left Harrenhal, House Tyrell sent fifty thousand cavalry and infantry by land to attack Crakehall, while the Redwyne fleet, fifteen thousand strong, sailed to attack Lannisport.
"But their land army has stopped at Old Oak on the Ocean Road, and the Redwyne fleet has stopped at Oakenshield.
"The Tyrells' meaning is clear. They are waiting for us to attack Deep Den first."
"Hmph. That puffed-up lord has eaten the bones you threw him and is only making a show for us now.
"Who knows whether they will attack Crakehall according to the agreement after we attack Deep Den?"
Kevan sneered at House Tyrell after hearing Tywin's explanation.
"They will. The Queen of Thorns understands the situation. If we fall, they will face House Stark's attack. House Tyrell alone cannot stop the Starks.
"The Reach is rich in resources and manpower, but she has been strengthening its defenses because she lacks confidence in her own army's fighting strength."
Tywin spoke with certainty.
"If House Tyrell acts according to the original plan, then we may truly recover the Westerlands. After all, the northern army's numbers alone cannot withstand the alliance of our two houses.
"But Robb Stark worries me most. He is the unpredictable factor.
"With his ability and that of his terrifying giant wolf, he may try to cut off our command."
Kevan stroked his ruined left shoulder with his right hand and spoke with worry.
"Do not worry. During this time in King's Landing, I have been searching widely for people with strange gifts. I have already found a red priest named Moqorro who can command flame.
"According to Hallyne of the Alchemists' Guild, Moqorro has recently helped him with research that has increased wildfire's power once more.
"But the plan I gave you before was only a cover. Now I will tell you the true plan in detail..."
Seeing Kevan's worry, Tywin rose from his seat, walked to him, placed a hand on his right shoulder, and told him the real plan in a low voice.
Before dawn the next day, Tywin led Moqorro and the others out through the Lion Gate with a Westerlands army swollen to nearly forty thousand men, marching toward Deep Den.
Perhaps because the force had swollen too quickly, the nearly forty-thousand-strong army moved in a ragged formation along the Goldroad.
Although Tywin had set out before daybreak, he could not escape the eyes of the various powers' spies. Intelligence that Tywin was leading an army to attack Deep Den spread through many channels.
From King's Landing to Deep Den, the flat and broad Goldroad normally allowed an army to arrive in six days.
Tywin's nearly forty thousand men took a full ten days to reach the foot of Deep Den.
On the walls of Deep Den, Robb stood quietly with Lord Rickard and Lord Kevan Lydden, waiting for the Westerlands army to attack.
Deep Den lay among the mountains of the Westerlands, perfectly placed at the throat where the Goldroad entered the region. Compared to the towering walls of the Golden Tooth, however, Deep Den's walls were low.
At present, nearly twenty thousand northern elites were stationed inside. Robb had chosen them specially as the main force.
Spies had long since sent the troop numbers of House Lannister and House Tyrell.
Facing the hundred-thousand-strong allied army of the Lannisters and Tyrells, the North could, in theory, defend Lannisport, Crakehall, and Deep Den at the same time.
But sitting behind walls and waiting for the enemy to collapse on its own was not realistic. This was the south, not the North.
Even setting aside the warm, comfortable climate, the problem of supply alone was enough.
House Tyrell could draw endless supplies from Highgarden, while House Lannister had King's Landing at its back. Neither would lack provisions.
And a defense held too long always breaks. If any one of the three castles fell, the whole Westerlands defensive line would collapse.
So after leaving six thousand northern soldiers at Crakehall, Robb concentrated nearly all the North's strength at Deep Den. This time, he intended to defeat the Westerlands army here and kill Tywin Lannister.
Even if Crakehall fell, Robb could lead the northern army along the Goldroad and drive straight into King's Landing.
Once he destroyed House Lannister completely, even if House Tyrell occupied the entire Westerlands, it would stand alone and eventually be dealt with by Robb.
After the Westerlands army reached the foot of Deep Den, it did not hurry to attack. Instead, after making camp, it sent many men to cut down the surrounding trees and build various defenses below the mountain.
This puzzled Robb.
Tywin was the attacker. Instead of building siege engines, he was building defenses first.
'Did he learn from last time and decide to prepare a path of retreat before the battle even begins?'
On the third day after arriving at Deep Den, Tywin finally ordered the Westerlands army to attack.
A large group of Westerlands assault soldiers left the camp below the mountain and came up the Goldroad toward Deep Den.
The northern army, already eager for battle and hungry to win merit, surged with fighting spirit. They stared like hungry wolves watching rabbits, their eyes almost shining.
"Charge!"
At least six thousand siege soldiers in Lannister armor advanced without shields and without orderly formation.
Like a mob, they surged toward Deep Den with no ranks to speak of.
From the walls of Deep Den, packed with northern archers, a volley of at least a thousand arrows fell into the crowd of Westerlands attackers.
The defenseless soldiers were struck by the volley, and a visible swath of the dense crowd fell. That first volley caused at least six or seven hundred casualties.
The more than five thousand survivors heard their companions' screams and froze where they stood, not knowing whether to continue forward or retreat.
Then the second volley from Deep Den fell like rain.
These Westerlands attackers, worse even than northern recruits, suffered heavy casualties again.
The second arrow storm broke the remaining four thousand completely. They shouted in disorder and turned to flee downhill.
'No. Something was wrong.'
From the moment the Westerlands attackers began their charge, Robb had been frowning in thought on Deep Den's wall.
When he saw them rout after only two volleys, his vigilance surged.
Most of the Westerlands army Tywin had preserved were troops directly sworn to House Lannister. As fighting men, they should have been close to the northern army.
Based on these men's performance, they were not Lannister household troops. They could barely even be called soldiers.
"Lord Rickard, the defense of Deep Den is yours and Lord Kevan's. I will take the cavalry out and capture some prisoners. I want to see what trick Tywin is playing."
After making his decision, Robb handed over the defense of Deep Den and immediately led the five thousand northern light cavalry waiting inside through the opened gates.
The five thousand light cavalry charged downhill and caught the Westerlands rout from behind before it had run halfway back.
The northern cavalry easily tore into them. Lances and longswords cut them down.
"We surrender! We surrender!"
"Mercy, my lord!"
"Pity us!"
Nearly four thousand routed men lost a third of their number in the first clash. The rest simply stopped running, dropped to their knees, and cried for mercy.
"Who are you?"
Looking at the mass of kneeling routed men, Robb casually questioned one of them.
"My lord, we are smallfolk from Flea Bottom in King's Landing. The Gold Cloaks first forced us to work on the River Gate. Then they shoved us into this army, and we followed them to attack the castle without understanding anything.
"I beg your mercy. Please do not kill us."
The man quickly declared his identity, hoping to gain Robb's mercy.
"Flea Bottom..."
Robb pondered briefly, then continued, "After you joined this army, did anything strange happen?"
"Strange? Yes. They gave each of us a strange jar.
"My lord, look. This jar."
As he spoke, the routed man took a small wildfire jar from his clothes.
Just as Robb's eyes widened at the sight of the miniature wildfire jar, an orange-red flame shot from the woods on one side of the Goldroad toward the man in front of him.
'Bloodwind!'
The moment Robb caught sight of the orange flame, he reacted and sent the thought to Bloodwind.
Thought moved faster than any order spoken aloud. Bloodwind opened his huge jaws at once and breathed a tornado of icy mist toward the flame.
The vast swirl of icy mist swept across the empty ground in front of the orange-red fire. Ice crystals appeared from nothing, and the flame was frozen inside them like an insect trapped in amber.
Then a faint hissing sound came from the ice.
The orange-red fire was still burning inside the crystals. The ice formed by Bloodwind's tornado of mist had begun to melt.
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