Chapter 266 252: King in the North vs. Targaryen

Before the scent of blood in the command tent had even dissipated, Robb had already turned around, his wolf-skin cloak billowing as he strode out.

The northern lords followed in silence, none of them looking at the pool of dark red congealing on the ground.

A few steps away, at another large tent, the guards pulled back the curtain.

In the center of the tent sat a massive sand table.

The mountains and valleys of The Riverlands, the branches of its rivers, the vital crossings, the castles great and small, and the villages were all meticulously marked with different colored wooden blocks, fine sand, and silk threads.

This was the result of days of labor by the army's craftsmen.

Robb stood on the northern side of the sand table, representing the position of the northern army. The others gathered around, firelight dancing over the shadows of the sand table's contours, reflecting off their tense faces.

Robb's finger pointed to a large area in the southern part of the sand table marked in black.

That was the territory under Targaryen control.

"According to current intelligence," Robb began, his voice steady and clear as the calm of a commander replaced his previous murderous aura, "under Aegon Targaryen's command, the main force consists of over three thousand heavy cavalry and approximately twenty thousand infantry."

"The heavy cavalry's combat power is formidable, but their armor is heavy, their mobility is weak, and they find it difficult to conduct long-distance raids, let alone sustain a long battle. There are many ways to counter them."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.

"The truly difficult problem is the dragon."

The air in the tent grew heavy.

"Your Grace," Wylis Manderly said worriedly, "rumor has it that the demonic dragon is as large as a mountain, and it breathes not dragonfire, but thunder. Even the walls of King's Landing were easily melted by it."

"Though we don't know if it's true, I fear these rumors aren't baseless."

Robb nodded.

"A dragon is indeed difficult to face head-on. I've reviewed historical records these past few days; when the Targaryens had dragons, they controlled the skies. Ground armies could only take a passive beating."

"Dorne once shot down a dragon, but that was a stroke of luck. Furthermore, we," he looked at the sand table, "have no Scorpions, and no time to build them."

"Knowing this, are we still going to..." a lord questioned in a low voice, his sentence trailing off.

"But there is only one dragon," Robb said, his tone shifting sharply.

His finger gestured toward several key locations on the sand table.

"Aegon Targaryen can only reinforce one place at a time while riding his dragon. He cannot guard his supply lines, watch all the crossings, and protect his entire rear simultaneously."

"A dragon also tires; it cannot circle the sky forever."

He looked up, his gaze as sharp as a blade.

"This is our opportunity."

The lords' expressions stiffened, and they unconsciously leaned forward.

They were all too familiar with the certainty and edge Robb displayed when discussing military matters.

This was The Young Wolf, the one who had led them to create miracles.

"Therefore, my response is..." Robb pressed both hands on the edge of the sand table, leaning forward as he uttered two words: "Split forces."

A soft collective intake of breath echoed in the tent.

"Split forces?"

Someone said urgently, "Our numbers are already equal to the enemy's. If we divide them further, won't we be defeated piece-meal?"

"Besides, the dragon flies in the sky at a speed we cannot match," another added. "He could easily provide rapid support to any location and crush us one by one."

"That is precisely the point," Robb's voice was resolute.

"Splitting our forces is the only solution, but the details must be flawless. After dividing, our numbers will not be superior, so we must never engage in a frontal battle."

His finger moved quickly across the sand table, tracing the blue ribbons representing rivers.

"The Riverlands is a dense network of waterways, crisscrossed by the tributaries of The Trident. Travel depends on crossings, bridges, and boats."

"What we must do is raid their supply lines, cut off their provisions, harass their heartland, and sow chaos in their ranks. Night raids to exhaust the enemy, strike and fade—never linger for a pitched battle."

"Utilize the rivers; as soon as we cross, burn the bridges and destroy the boats to delay pursuers."

He looked around at everyone, a calm fire burning in his eyes.

"In this way, we may not be able to defeat Aegon's army in a head-on clash, but we can make it impossible for him to gain a foothold in The Riverlands."

"Unless he wants to be dragged to death and starved in this marshy land."

Several lords' eyes lit up, but doubts remained.

"And what about the dragon?" someone pressed. "We have two legs; can we outrun something flying in the sky?"

Robb said calmly, "Let several battlefields erupt simultaneously."

"Simultaneously?" The crowd was confused.

"Divide into four routes. At different locations, at the same hour, we strike together." Robb's finger pointed out four positions on the sand table, far apart from each other. "Even if Aegon Targaryen has a dragon, he can only save one place at a time."

"The other three routes will proceed as planned: raiding camps, burning grain, and attacking vital targets. Then, we send small groups of elite cavalry to roam about, creating chaos so they cannot judge the true strength of our forces."

He paused for a moment, his tone deepening slightly.

"However, this plan requires a prerequisite: there must be one battle that firmly draws the attention of the main Targaryen force, especially Aegon Targaryen himself."

He looked at the black tower model representing Harrenhal on the sand table.

"In other words, we need a... decoy force."

The tent fell silent.

"They don't need many men, but they must fly the banners of all the lords, raise many flags, kick up dust to create a spectacle, and display all the Scorpions we've gathered, masquerading as our main force."

"With great fanfare, they will march straight for Harrenhal, posing for a decisive battle. This will draw the attention of Aegon and his main army, winning time and space for the other three routes."

Robb's voice was very calm, but everyone understood the meaning behind his words.

"This mission is destined to be a near-certain death. Even if they don't engage the enemy, once they are targeted by the main force and faced with pursuit, the chances of survival are slim."

His gaze slowly swept across the faces of several lords who had frequently offended him and had just refused to take risks.

If it were his former self, even if he had thought of this plan, he would never have proposed it. The honor his father taught him would not allow him to send men to a certain death.

But having experienced the blood of Rickard Karstark, the humiliation at The Twins, and the blatant defiance in the royal tent, he understood.

Some things are more important than personal honor.

Some sacrifices are things a man sitting on a throne must calculate coldly.

Father, forgive me.

He whispered in his heart.

To be a fit king, sometimes one must turn away from some of your teachings.

He spoke, his gaze landing on those few men: "You..."

Their faces changed instantly, and before Robb could finish, they spoke up hurriedly.

"Your Grace! Most of the Soldiers in my army are conscripted farmers; I fear they cannot handle the heavy responsibility of baiting the enemy..."

"My unit was recently defeated, and morale has not recovered; I fear I might ruin the great plan..."

"Provisions are insufficient, equipment is incomplete..."

Excuses came pouring in one after another.

Robb's brow furrowed. His mind raced, and he switched tactics to a strategic retreat to advance, his voice suddenly rising:

"In that case, then I, as the King in the North, shall personally lead the decoy force and face the enemy head-on!"

"No!"

"Your Grace, please reconsider!"

Cries of alarm broke out. If Robb, the backbone of the army, were to fall with the decoy force, the northern army would collapse instantly.

Amidst the protests and anxiety, a figure stepped forward.

It was Wendell Manderly, the second son of Wyman, Lord of White Harbor.

He was tall and had a kind face, not as overtly shrewd as his brother Wylis, but his eyes were steady.

"Your Grace," Wendel's voice was not loud, yet it cut through the noise, "House House Manderly once received great kindness from the Starks. I am willing to lead the infantry in a frontal formation, set up the Scorpions, and tie down the enemy's main force to clear the way for the northern army."

The tent went silent in an instant.

Everyone looked at Wendel, then at his father, Wyman Manderly.

The muscles on Lord Wyman's fat face twitched, and his lips trembled as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he simply closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled.

The House Manderly family of White Harbor had only survived because the Starks took them in and granted them lands years ago.

The House Manderlys had always remembered this debt.

Lord Eddard died in King's Landing, and they had been unable to do anything. Now...

Robb looked at Wendel, his brow furrowing deeper: "Wendel, this is no game. You..."

"Your Grace!" The lords who had just been making excuses immediately cut in, their voices full of praise and admiration, "Ser Wendel is peerless in loyalty and bravery, a true paragon of the North!"

"House House Manderly's loyalty to the Starks is as clear as the sun and moon!"

"With such a brave and loyal man taking on this heavy responsibility, our army will surely succeed!"

Even Lord Roose Bolton, who was always pale and expressionless, slowly nodded, his voice flat and emotionless: "Ser Wendel's courage is commendable; he is indeed a suitable candidate."

They quickly pushed Robb and Wendel into the arrangement.

Robb's gaze coldly swept over their faces, committing their current expressions to memory.

He looked back at Wendel; the man's eyes were firm, showing no sign of retreat.

Robb remained silent for a moment, took a deep breath, and suppressed the emotions churning in his chest.

War allows no hesitation.

"Fine." He turned to face the sand table, his voice returning to the cold hardness of a commander.

"The orders are as follows..."

"The first route: Lord Roose Bolton, leading eight thousand men, will march on Medden Town. Along the way, you may attempt to reclaim small forts occupied by the Targaryens, such as Xiaoshou City (Xiao Shou Castle), raising the Northern banners to feign reclaiming lost territory."

"But remember, the castles are not the target—only to deceive the enemy. Retreat upon encountering the enemy; do not get bogged down in combat."

Roose Bolton bowed slightly: "As you command."

"The second route: Lord Greatjon Umber, leading six thousand men, will push rapidly through the Acorn Vale, using the dense forests and hills to hide your movements. Avoid enemy scouts and penetrate deep into the heart of The Riverlands."

"Engage in mobile warfare, harassing everywhere to sow chaos in their ranks and scatter their subordinates."

Greatjon thumped his chest: "Leave it to me!"

"The third route: Lord Wyman Manderly, leading eight thousand men, will enter enemy territory from Whitebranch Tower, bypass the Gods Eye, and strike deep into their rear. Specifically, you are to burn grain, cut off supplies, and destroy their granaries."

Wyman Manderly glanced at his son and replied heavily: "Yes."

"The fourth route," Robb looked at the crowd, "will be commanded by me. I will gather all the cavalry, a total of over three thousand three hundred riders. Our mission is to keep an eye on Aegon Targaryen's blood-red heavy cavalry. If they move, we move."

"If they reinforce elsewhere, we will harass their flanks and pin them down."

Finally, he looked at Wendell Manderly.

"The decoy route will be led by Wendell Manderly. I will give you two thousand men from House Frey and assign five hundred Stark elite infantry."

"You will begin preparations tomorrow. At dawn the day after, advance toward Harrenhal with great fanfare."

"Raise many banners and spread your decoys wide; ensure the momentum is massive to draw the attention of the enemy's main force."

Robb walked over to Wendel and clapped him firmly on his shoulder plate.

"Once the Targaryen main force is drawn to you," he said, staring into Wendel's eyes, emphasizing each word, "do not linger for battle; retreat immediately. The Stark elites will protect you."

He paused, lowering his voice so only Wendel could hear:

"Come back alive."

Wendel straightened his back and thumped his chest hard with his right hand: "I will not fail Your Grace's trust!"

Robb said no more, turning back to the sand table. His gaze swept over the complex terrain and finally landed on that heavy black area to the south.

"All units prepare according to orders. At dawn the day after tomorrow, all four routes will set out together."

"Yes, Your Grace!"

The lords took their leave, exiting the tent with various expressions. Some were invigorated, some were worried, and some had flickering gazes.

Dear Reader,

A special 60% discount offer available Don't miss this opportunity to enjoy your favorite stories at a greatly reduced price.

The offer is available for a limited time only — grab it before it ends!

Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn luffy1898