Chapter 5. Cavalry Charge

"Form up and prepare a defensive line!!!"

Although the soldiers from Dreadfort weren't very alert, their basic qualities as Northern soldiers were quite high.

Upon hearing Dickon's roar, they immediately sprang into action. In just a minute or two, they drew their swords and raised their shields to form a defensive stance.

With a hoarse voice, Dickon, with the help of his trusted men, managed to put on his armor.

He was the only one among them wearing chainmail.

As the cavalry launched a sudden attack, Dickon and his men formed a defensive line not because they lacked horses, but because the charging cavalry had already accelerated within this distance. At this point, even if Dickon and his men tried to confront them, it would only lead to certain defeat.

"Archers, fire at will! The rest of you hold your positions! We must not break formation!"

As the distance closed, Dickon saw that the number of cavalry was only slightly greater than theirs.

From his extensive combat experience, he believed that as long as they could withstand the first wave of cavalry charges, they would have a chance of victory.

Upon hearing Dickon's orders, their two archers began shooting at the enemies.

However, the charging cavalry wore iron helmets and chainmail. Unless the arrows struck their necks, eyes, or other vulnerable spots, they were generally ignored.

One cavalryman was particularly unfortunate; he got hit in the head by an arrow, and both he and his horse fell to the ground, uncertain of their fate.

Clop! Clop! Clop!

Gulp!

A yellow-toothed soldier in the defensive line watched as the cavalry drew near, the thunderous sound of hooves making him swallow nervously.

"Pierce the horse's belly!"

Hearing Captain Dickon's shout, the yellow-toothed soldier held his shield in his left hand and thrust his sword with his right at the approaching horse's abdomen.

Rip!

The sharp sword instantly penetrated the horse's soft belly, and due to inertia, the wound tore open at least three or four inches, gushing forth bright red blood.

Neigh!

The horse let out a pained cry and collapsed to the ground.

While the yellow-toothed soldier achieved his goal, he was heavily struck by the horse's momentum against his shield, making his head spin and blood seep from the corner of his mouth.

This uncomfortable sensation lasted only a brief moment because a longsword pierced through the back of his head, bursting out through his eye socket, still smeared with blood.

Earlier, the yellow-toothed soldier had been blocked from seeing by the massive horse.

It seemed that the cavalryman had predicted his actions. Just before the soldier's sword entered the horse's belly, the cavalryman adeptly crouched on the saddle, using the pressure from his feet on the stirrups to leap forward.

He bypassed the yellow-toothed soldier's defensive line, rolled twice upon landing to absorb the impact, then quickly rose and stabbed his sword into the back of the yellow-toothed soldier's head.

Of course, not every cavalryman had such advanced skills.

Most cavalrymen, upon contact with the defensive soldiers, used their horses' momentum to deliver powerful downward strikes. Unless they encountered skilled veterans, cavalry held a significant inherent advantage over infantry.

In the moment of contact, three or four cavalrymen broke through the defensive line.

The cavalryman who killed the yellow-toothed soldier was closest to Dickon and immediately drew his attention.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Dickon and the cavalryman exchanged blows, striking each other three times in rapid succession.

Two longswords clashed violently, sparking slightly, but neither was stained with the other's blood.

Swordsmanship couldn't be deceived!

After exchanging three strikes, both men realized that the other was no ordinary soldier.

They stopped using broad, reckless swings and instead began to fight more cautiously, probing each other for weaknesses, seeking to outmaneuver one another.

Rip!

During one defensive maneuver, the cavalryman seized the opportunity while Dickon struggled to block, slashing his sword down and cutting a gash in Dickon's calf, where the chainmail offered no protection.

This wouldn't do!

Dickon noticed that the cavalryman's swordsmanship was rapidly improving in the heat of battle.

His extensive combat experience warned him that if this stalemate continued, he would certainly die at the hands of his opponent.

With a sudden shift in mindset, Dickon stepped forward, gripping his longsword tightly and striking down on the cavalryman with the force of a mountain.

He aimed to unleash all his strength in a single powerful blow to crush his opponent.

Clang! Clang!...

The sharp sound of metal striking metal rang out continuously as the cavalryman began to falter under Dickon's relentless assault, retreating in a somewhat awkward manner.

Although the cavalryman was in a precarious position, he managed to withstand Dickon's fierce onslaught.

As he gradually adapted to the rhythm, the cavalryman executed a reverse thrust with his sword, knocking Dickon's longsword aside, leaving his chest wide open.

Seizing the opportunity, the bloodstained longsword of the cavalryman struck like a viper, piercing Dickon's throat and ending the fight.

Crack...

As Dickon coughed up blood, he realized in his final moments that he had been so focused on his duel with the cavalryman that he hadn't noticed the other battles had already concluded.

A dozen enemy cavalry surrounded them; even if he killed his opponent, he would be doomed regardless.

Seeing this troublesome opponent slowly losing his life, the cavalryman withdrew his sword and flicked it towards the ground, shaking off the blood, which formed a crescent-shaped stain.

Dickon's body fell to the ground with a thud, lifeless.

***

Removing his helmet, Robb caught the scent of sweetness mixed with iron in the air.

This sweetness was the result of copious amounts of blood or the iron ions in the blood of the viscera.

But the presence of such blood often signified death, and thus it could also be called the scent of mortality.

The Stark family had always trained their sons to embrace their wolf-like nature, and within Robb's memories, he had long been accustomed to corpses and blood, having ended many lives himself. He was already familiar with this smell.

However, the current Robb struggled to adapt to it. But he knew that this scent would accompany him from now on.

Robb looked down at his hands, feeling the power surging within him. Recalling the longsword that had just ended a life, he couldn't help but feel a sense of control over life and death.

Was this what it felt like to wield power in this world?

Shaking his head to suppress the chaotic thoughts, Robb scanned the battlefield littered with corpses.

Addressing the Winterfell cavalry who were watching him intently, he announced loudly, "The murderers have paid for their sins in hells! Return to Winterfell, and each of you will receive 50 silver stags! The families of the fallen will receive three times that amount."

"Forever loyal to House Stark!"

"Long live Lord Robb!!"

Robb's reward sparked enthusiasm among the Winterfell soldiers, who cheered in unison.

His reward was substantial. A feast consisting of lamb, fowl, buttered peas, oat bread, and four cups of ale could be had for just one silver stag, with change left over.

In the original story, King Joffrey offered only 100 silver stags as a reward, which led people to recklessly attack the tall and fierce Hound.

"Robb, we killed a total of sixteen enemies. We lost two men in battle, and one was wounded so severely that I've already sent him on his way."

Theon approached Robb and quietly reported on the battle's achievements and losses.