Chapter 11. The Campaign

Crack, crack!

Robb's boots crunched over the dry, withered grass, making faint brittle sounds.

He was leading Theon's squad through a forest filled with towering trees. The thick, leafy branches blocked out most of the sunlight, only allowing occasional rays to pierce through the canopy, providing some light to the surroundings.

Not far from Robb and his group, behind a tree entwined with vines, a rusted iron arrowhead slowly emerged from the foliage, like a venomous snake, aiming intently at Robb's party.

Hidden within the vines was a wildling archer, fully camouflaged in green leaves.

The wildling archer looked at the group of Southerners clad in various armors, trying to determine who among them was the leader.

At this distance, if he loosed an arrow, he would have to flee immediately, or there was a high chance they would catch up to him.

"Hoo...!"

Just as the wildling archer was about to draw his bowstring tightly, he suddenly heard a low, menacing growl from a beast nearby.

Startled stiff, he slowly turned his head towards the source of the growl, only to see a gray shadow pounce at him.

"Ah! Ah!!"

Hearing the screams, Robb's lips curled into a slight smile. The fish had finally bitten the hook.

"Bloodwind, leave him alive!"

Robb shouted in the direction of the screams while exchanging a glance with Theon.

Theon nodded and, along with a soldier, dragged back a wildling who had lost a hand within a few minutes.

Howl!

Bloodwind, with its face smeared in blood, followed them, proudly holding a bloody hand in its mouth. As soon as it saw Robb, it dashed over to him, as if eager to present its spoils.

"Hmm, Bloodwind, thank you, but I won't eat that. You can enjoy the snack by yourself over there!"

Robb casually patted Bloodwind's blood-covered head, dismissing it to the side. Then, turning to the wildling who was still screaming, he said,

"Stop screaming. Either you tell us where your camp is, or my direwolf will digest you bit by bit."

As it turned out, not every wildling had the same resolve as their king, who would rather burn to death than surrender.

After obtaining the location of the wildling camp, Robb immediately led Theon's squad to rendezvous with the escort team that was following close behind.

***

"Haven't they returned yet?"

Osha, with a homemade spear resting across her knees, impatiently shook her right leg in frustration.

"Hmm, neither Ironjaw nor Bonebreaker has returned. Based on the usual timing, at least one of them should have come back to report by now."

The wildling next to Osha shook his head and said.

"The situation doesn't feel right… Everyone! Grab your things, we're moving deeper into the forest now."

Hearing this, Osha immediately stood up and shouted at the Wildlings, who were lying around in disarray.

"Just because two lookouts haven't come back, we're giving up here? If those Southerners dare to come in, I'll..."

Swoosh!

The bearded wildling warrior, who had been holding an axe and speaking loudly to Osha, was cut off when a gleaming arrow pierced his right eye, silencing him forever.

"The Southerners are here! Grab your weapons and defend!"

"Smash these damned Southerners' heads!"

"Kill them!"

The Wildlings in the camp were stunned at first, but soon erupted in fury, grabbing their weapons and charging toward the direction of the attack.

At the first sign of the attack, Osha hid behind a tent, observing the assailants.

When she saw that it was a group of armored Southerners, she immediately began retreating quietly.

"Everyone! Form a spear formation by squads! The captain will lead as the spearhead. Charge!!!"

Seeing the disorganized yet furious Wildlings charging at them, Robb immediately gave a loud command.

In no time, Robb and the thirty-two guards formed a spear formation, heading directly toward the Wildlings for a frontal clash.

The distance between the two sides wasn't far to begin with, and in an instant, they collided.

Rip!

Clang!

Robb's team, with Theon's squad at the front, was naturally the first to encounter the leading Wildlings.

With a single slash, Robb severed the wildling's neck, making it gush like a broken faucet, while the wildling's axe struck heavily against his chainmail.

Thanks to the high-quality Winterfell chainmail, the wildling's crude axe didn't injure Robb, though the force of the blow still left him feeling shaken.

At that moment, a red mist rose from the fallen wildling's body and seeped into Robb.

Howl! ... Crack!

As another wildling attempted to ambush Robb, who was momentarily stunned from the axe's impact, Bloodwind, ever alert at his side, suddenly leapt up, its sharp fangs sinking into the wildling's neck, crushing his spine with precision.

"Kill!"

After the red mist merged into his body, Robb felt the strange sensation in his body vanish instantly, replaced by a continuous surge of strength.

With Bloodwind by his side assisting him, Robb's emotions became exhilarated, almost as if he were possessed by the spirit of a war god, focusing solely on slashing forward.

Despite his excitement, he still kept his reason.

The blood-soaked longsword in Robb's hand only executed slashing techniques; he refrained from thrusting.

One had to understand that in this kind of charge, if you used all your strength to thrust a longsword into the enemy's body, you would need to use the same force to pull it out.

Setting aside the stamina it would consume, the time spent doing so would be enough for the enemy's comrades to kill him while he was weaponless.

Thus, no wildling warrior standing before Robb had the chance to execute a second move.

Those whom he could kill in an instant were already lying on the ground.

Those he couldn't kill in one strike were taken care of by Bloodwind or his companions, Theon and the other squad members behind him.

The performance of Robb's spearhead unit was witnessed by the other five squad leaders.

Their recognition of Robb deepened further, and they fought even more fiercely for him.

Heroic individualism thrived on the battlefields of Westeros. A commander who was recognized by his subordinates and led bravely from the front meant much more than just a boost in morale.

As long as such a leader hadn't fallen or surrendered, his warriors would fight to the death, and the troops wouldn't crumble from battle losses alone.

In the original Battle of the Bastards, Jon's forces were already trapped and surrounded, yet as long as he was alive, no one surrendered.

And the combined forces of House Lannister and House Tarly, led by Jaime, dared to face off against dragons and the Dothraki cavalry head-on. Only after Jaime disappeared into the river and the army suffered massive casualties did they finally surrender.

But back to the present!

***

At this moment in the Wolfswood, the two sides were engaged in a fierce battle. One side had superior weapons and armor, with a well-organized and tight formation. The other side had no protective gear, wielded inferior weapons, and relied solely on brute force, without any semblance of formation.

Therefore, viewed from directly above the Wolfswood, Robb's force appeared like five sharp blades piercing straight into a block of butter.

When the sharp blades turned from piercing to chopping, they instantly cut the cake into pieces.

Thud!

Covered in thick blood and his face entirely unrecognizable, Robb beheaded his opponent with a single slash.

Just as he was about to face the next enemy, he realized he was standing in the empty wildling camp, with Bloodwind still closely at his side. Bloodwind was also drenched in blood, truly living up to its name.

Robb turned his head to look back, seeing the ground behind him littered with wildling corpses, their blood staining the entire green field red.

On the battlefield, a few Wildlings were still struggling against the guards, but in the next moment, they were cut down by the guards who had freed up their hands.

The conspicuous figure of Smalljon Umber, covered in blood, was holding a wildling head in each hand, letting out a triumphant roar to the sky.

Huff!

Robb took a deep breath of the metallic-sweet air, trying to calm his frenzied emotions.

The numerous Blood Pact Points he had gained, combined with the red mist merging into his body, made Robb once again feel that sense of power in his grasp, as if all living beings were ants before him.

"Robb, we've killed forty-eight enemies, with six brothers lightly injured and no casualties."

Theon, whose face was so caked in blood it was hard to recognize him, had fully adapted to his role. As soon as the battle ended, he immediately began reporting the casualties.

"Theon, thank you for your hard work."

Suppressing his inner restlessness, Robb forced a smile and nodded at Theon.

Howl!!!

Swish, swish!

Bloodwind, beside Robb, suddenly growled at the bushes behind them, simultaneously sending him a warning signal in his mind.

The bushes were slashed apart by a sword, and Jory, who had followed Robb's orders to lead Winterfell soldiers to preemptively surround the camp to prevent anyone from escaping, emerged, escorting a female wildling.