Chapter 494: Retreat

"Lord Stevron!"

Within the grand tent, a middle-aged man with a touch of gray in his hair and a face marked with grief spoke up.

"My son was slain by those Dornish savages! You saw it! Everyone saw it!"

This was Lord Roland Crakehall of Cornfield. His second son, Lyle, had just fallen to Oberyn Martell in a brief skirmish.

Lord Roland's declaration brought a heavy silence to the tent. Nobles and knights exchanged uneasy glances, then bowed their heads, remaining silent. After all, the man had just lost his son, and any words at this moment might be taken as offense.

"Lord Roland..."

The portly commander, Stevron Lannister, looked uncomfortable, hesitating before he finally spoke. Although he had led troops into battle numerous times, showcasing a certain level of tactical acumen, his main adversaries were often just petty bandits or ironborn raiders.

Stevron had a clear flaw: he was indecisive.

In truth, had Tywin not been lacking trustworthy and available candidates, he might not have called upon Stevron. And every time Kevan and Genna thought of this, they knew how deep Tywin's disdain ran for Viserys.

Stevron's sister was Tywin's wife, Joanna. Stevron and Joanna shared a cousin in Tywin, and it was this tangled, blood-bound relationship that made Tywin value Stevron so highly.

"Lord Stevron..."

However, just as Stevron Lannister was about to speak, Lord Roland interrupted him. The gray-haired lord rose, his expression earnest and pleading as he looked around at all present.

"The Dornish brought merely twenty thousand men. We are no fewer in number," he said confidently, "And I know this terrain better than anyone."

"I have a strategy in mind, we can..."

The Targaryen and Lannister forces were at a standoff.

However, by the next dawn, a scout hurriedly reported.

"General..."

Oberyn was in the midst of freshening up. Shirtless, his deep brown skin and toned muscles were on display, while he wore sandy-colored trousers. He rinsed his mouth over a golden basin, then spat the water out.

"Prince..."

A scantily clad handmaiden approached with a towel, wiping the water droplets from his face. Her fingers lingered briefly on Oberyn's chest, and her eyes sparkled with a playful smile.

"Tonight..."

However, the handmaiden's words were cut short as she noticed the approaching soldier. She smiled again, gracefully picking up the basin and walking away.

In the Targaryen army, only Oberyn could keep female companions, whether they were lovers, handmaidens, or even fair-faced guards. This privilege had been earned through years of dedication.

Though Oberyn often indulged in physical pleasures, seeing them as divine gifts to humankind, he was clever enough not to let these distractions interfere with serious matters.

Knowing Oberyn's temperament, the handmaiden promptly left upon seeing the soldier. Oberyn appreciated her sensibility.

With a playful slap to the handmaiden's pert bottom, he watched her leave, then turned his attention to the soldier.

"Yes?"

The soldier hesitated. "My lord, the Lannister forces have retreated."

Oberyn's jovial expression faded. He wasn't particularly surprised; he had considered the possibility of the Lannisters avoiding a direct confrontation. He nodded, "Anything else?"

"No, my lord."

"Dismissed."

As the soldier exited, Oberyn's cheerful demeanor vanished entirely, replaced by a stern countenance. He knew he wasn't facing Lord Tywin Lannister directly.

Despite Oberyn's speed, he was sure that no matter how quickly Tywin moved, he couldn't outpace Oberyn's forces. Especially not in the mountainous terrain.

However, the Westerlands, while not the largest or most populous region, was undoubtedly the richest, with vast deposits of gold and silver. Rumor even had it that Tywin's excrement was golden.

With such wealth, the Westerlands could afford vast armies and superior weaponry. Oberyn, with just over twenty thousand men, felt strained in his campaign against the West.

But he had anticipated the current predicament. He knew the campaign wouldn't be easy.

Still, Oberyn was an optimist, never showing despair and always exuding confidence, which inspired his soldiers.

He had hoped the Lannister forces would meet him in open battle, giving him a chance to deal a significant blow.

His biggest fear was that Tywin would order all his forces to fortify within their castles, adopting a purely defensive strategy.

Lord Tywin, a seasoned commander, would surely recognize Oberyn's weakness. He wouldn't need to outwit Oberyn; merely remain unassailable and wait for Oberyn to expose his vulnerabilities.

"Damn it!"

Oberyn cursed, donning a sandy-colored cloak and exiting the tent.

"Summon the men!"

"We pursue!"