Chapter 8. The Wolfpack Ritual

At the break of dawn, Robb had already finished his hearty breakfast and was dressed neatly as he made his way from the main keep to the training yard.

As soon as he stepped through the stone gate of the training yard, he saw a group of soldiers clad in standard-issue leather armor, standing silently and watching him. The yard, filled with arrow slits and weapon racks, created an imposing atmosphere.

His father, Eddard, and the fully armored Ser Rodrik were waiting for him on the wooden platform at the front of the yard.

Seeing this formation, Robb quickened his pace and, with just a few strides, stood below the platform.

"These bannermen are the sons of many of the Northern knights. From today onwards, you will live, train, and fight with them," Eddard spoke solemnly to Robb the moment he took his place, his tone stern.

Robb, upon hearing that, quickly scanned the ranks and found that most of them indeed had youthful faces.

Eddard pointed at Robb with his right hand and continued speaking to the bannermen.

"Robb Stark, the next Warden of the North and the Lord of Winterfell. You were born in the North, and one day, you will be buried in the North.

From today onwards, he will entrust his life to you, and in return, he will bring you honor and glory.

You all will be brothers, worthy of opening your hearts to one another, and comrades-in-arms, worthy of entrusting your backs in battle.

The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives!

You are his wolfpack!"

"To the death, we pledge loyalty to House Stark!"

Before Eddard had finished speaking, a shout suddenly came from the soldiers, and soon, the warriors in the training yard began to echo.

"To the death, we pledge loyalty to Lord Robb!"

"To the death!"

"To the death!"

Hearing the gradually synchronized shouts, Robb felt his blood surge with excitement, his emotions soaring to a fever pitch.

Westeros followed the tradition of right of succession belonging to the firstborn child, but Eddard could still choose Bran, Rickon, or other children to inherit the lordship.

What Eddard did today was called the "Wolfpack Ritual," which effectively designated Robb as the heir to the North.

Even if Robb were to become incompetent, indulgent, or reckless in the future, as long as he didn't commit unforgivable crimes like patricide or regicide, no one could challenge his right to inherit.

"A king should have his own wolfpack!"

The "Wolfpack Ritual" was an unwritten tradition of House Stark.

They were the personal guards formed by the current lord for the next lord.

Of course, because the Mad King had burned Eddard's father and brother without warning when Eddard was only eighteen, living at the Eyrie at the time, he naturally gained the right to inherit but never went through this traditional ritual.

However, Eddard, a man who adhered to tradition, had long begun searching for suitable bannermen's sons, preparing for Robb's ritual, though certain other reasons had pushed the plan forward.

"I leave the rest to you, Ser Rodrik."

Eddard, seeing the soldiers in the yard brimming with emotion, nodded to Ser Rodrik and then turned and left.

***

As the yard gradually calmed down, Ser Rodrik began his duties as the master-at-arms.

At his signal, the thirty soldiers in the yard paired up and began sparring.

This was simulated combat training, so they were all wearing leather armor and wielding blunt swords.

Although the blunt swords couldn't cut through leather armor, being struck by a powerful blow was certainly painful.

As Robb was alone, his opponent naturally became the battle-hardened Ser Rodrik.

After a bout of sword fighting, Ser Rodrik was very satisfied and praised Robb, saying he had done very well.

However, Robb didn't care at all about this and was, instead, not very pleased with himself.

In terms of combat, the original Robb had been quite versatile, excelling in tactics, swordsmanship, archery, horsemanship, and close-quarters combat, having a natural talent for these skills.

But precisely because he pursued too much versatility and spread his focus too wide, he couldn't reach the pinnacle in any single area.

Take, for example, Jaime Lannister, the "Kingslayer." He was average in other aspects, but when it came to wielding a sword with both hands, he was among the top swordsmen on the continent of Westeros.

Or take Jory Cassel, Eddard's captain of the guards.

Previously, when Robb was chasing the Bolton family's deserters, he was focused on fighting and had no time to pay attention to others.

But according to Theon in a casual conversation, at that time, Jory had charged on horseback into the deserters' defensive formation and slaughtered several soldiers as if he were cutting down melons.

Yet, such a knight was easily killed by Jaime Lannister with a single move a few months later in King's Landing, after killing a few Lannister soldiers.

Although Jaime had the advantage of being well-rested, the main reason he could kill Jory with one blow was because he was just that strong.

After Ser Rodrik finished instructing the other bannermen, Robb conducted his daily routine of swordsmanship training alone.

After completing his routine, he felt that his swordsmanship had reached a bottleneck.

Ordinary training could only consolidate the basics and was unlikely to lead to any breakthrough progress.

On the other hand, the real fight against the captain of the deserters had turned his swordsmanship from immature to mature, with significant growth.

However, there were too few suitable opponents like that.

Since the sword training yielded little result, Robb simply rested on the spot and began observing these personal guards, whom he would entrust with his back.

Although they were all loyal warriors selected by Eddard, Robb wouldn't trust his back to them so easily.

In the world of Game of Thrones, betrayal and backstabbing were everyday occurrences, and Robb would only feel at ease with those he personally trusted.

Looking around, the most striking figure was a female warrior, at least six feet tall.

She was a female warrior, but her style was completely different from that of the stronger and burlier Brienne of Tarth.

She had a tall and slender build, and at this moment, during her sword fight with her opponent, her steps were quick and graceful, as if she were performing a sword dance.

Her fighting style didn't resemble Westerosi swordsmanship at all; it was more like the Water Dance of Braavos.

Another standout was a burly man with a full beard, standing about seven and a half feet tall.

He embodied the spirit of a Westerosi warrior. The standard-issue blunt sword in his hands looked somewhat small, and under his fierce, two-handed strikes, his opponent could only parry and defend.

However, it was evident that the sons of the Northern knights were all quite capable fighters. Although this warrior was in a bit of a mess, parrying left and right, he fully withstood the giant's fierce onslaught.

As he adjusted, he even managed to sneak in a few counterattacks, gradually disrupting the giant's rhythm.

Robb understood that as long as this continued, the final victor would be the smaller fighter.

The outcome didn't surprise him.

After failing to break through for a long time, the giant's rhythm was completely thrown off, and he was struck on the left waist by his opponent's sword. The pain twisted his face, but he clenched his teeth and refrained from crying out.

Unlike their usual basic training, this session lasted a long time.

It wasn't until almost noon, when Ser Rodrik loudly announced a break, that the soldiers who had been training all morning heaved a sigh of relief.

***

They all gathered around Robb, either pledging their loyalty or trying to get closer to him.

Robb didn't disappoint them, responding to each of them with a broad smile, chatting, and greeting them.

From this, he learned that the female warrior was called Dacey Mormont, a daughter of House Mormont of Bear Island.

The giant was Jon Umber, a son of House Umber. His opponent was Owen Norray, a son of the Norray mountain clan.

Robb only recognized Jon Umber; he had never heard of the others.

Footnotes: 

Water Dance of Braavos :

a style of sword fighting that originated in Braavos, one of the Free. It is characterized by its elegance, speed, and precision, often compared to a graceful dance. Practitioners of the Water Dance use a slender, lightweight sword called a "Braavosi blade" and rely on agility and fluid movements rather than brute strength.