Chapter 269 255: Beacon Fires Everywhere

Medden Town, a small town built along the banks of the Red Fork, had fortunately escaped the Lannister ravages during the continuous warfare in The Riverlands.

When the Targaryen army arrived with the might of dragons, it wisely chose to surrender the city in exchange for a rare peace.

However, this brief tranquility turned into a pipe dream when the northern army under Roose Bolton arrived at the gates.

There was almost no symbolic resistance. The hundred or so Targaryen Auxiliaries stationed here were less of a guard and more of a symbol for maintaining order.

Facing nearly ten thousand wolf-like, homesick, and rage-filled northern Soldiers under Bolton, their resistance melted away like snow in boiling water.

The gates were easily breached, and sporadic fighting in a few streets was quickly quelled.

But the residents of Medden Town did not receive the return to the rule of the King in the North they had imagined.

What greeted them was a nightmare even deeper than the period of Lannister ravaging.

Roose Bolton tacitly approved, or even encouraged, his Soldiers to conduct a cruel plunder of this town that had already surrendered.

Long-suppressed resentment, the anxiety of being unable to return home, contempt for the weakness of The Riverlands, and the tyranny spawned by long-term war found an outlet at this moment.

Cries, pleas, wild laughter, sounds of smashing, and the crackle of burning wood mixed together, replacing the town's former life.

The northern Soldiers, like beasts off their chains, rushed into every intact house, seizing everything of value... food, property, and even the better clothes from the terrified residents.

Those who resisted were killed without mercy, and the shrill screams of women echoed through the alleys.

Roose Bolton sat on his horse, his pale long face expressionless, his eyes coldly scanning the town plunged into chaos and pain.

A minor northern lord under his command rode closer, his face showing satisfaction after the looting along with a trace of subtle worry.

He lowered his voice and asked, "Lord Bolton, shall we pause here for rest as planned, and then continue advancing in the designated direction?"

"According to scout reports, progress on the side of Lord Greatjon Umber and Lord Wylis Manderly is quite smooth. Especially Lord Umber, who has captured Lakeport and Woodswatch in succession, making quite a stir. If we have no action on our side, I fear..."

Roose Bolton's gaze slowly moved to the speaker's face; that look was like ice water, making the latter shut his mouth involuntarily.

"Action?"

Roose Bolton's voice was cold and dark. "Plundering Medden Town, obtaining supplies, and boosting the morale of my army—is that not action?"

He paused, his lips curling into a mocking arc. "Or do you all truly wish to waste your own military strength on recovering lost territory for these Riverlands lords? For their useless castles and farmlands?"

The several northern lords nearby looked at each other and fell into silence upon hearing this.

They had come south for Stark, for King Robb, but deep down, who was truly willing to bleed dry for The Riverlands?

Roose Bolton's words were like a cold needle, piercing the thin veil called honor and alliance, revealing the more realistic and self-serving considerations beneath.

Seeing no one object, Roose Bolton's voice grew even quieter. "Greatjon? Heh, nothing but a brute with brute force."

"Taking a few castles guarded only by Auxiliaries—besides alerting the enemy and exhausting himself, what use is there? A true hunter knows how to wait, and also knows how to... preserve strength."

...

The northeastern Riverlands.

The hilly area near Acorn Vale.

The atmosphere here was completely different from the oppressive brutality of Medden Town, filled with a crude excitement.

Greatjon Umber, like his family sigil, the roaring giant, sat on an exceptionally large warhorse, issuing orders with a voice like a great bell.

He had just received news that the outposts he sent out had taken another small Targaryen stronghold.

His son, Smalljon Umber, rode up to him, his young face full of excitement and eagerness.

"Father! The scouts report that the Targaryen garrison in this area is extremely thin. Except for a few key points, most castles and outposts only have some Auxiliaries and the old and weak. They are vulnerable!"

"Why don't we split our forces into several routes and attack more targets simultaneously? Let's throw this land into complete chaos so that Aegon Targaryen cannot attend to both ends!"

Greatjon wiped the dust from his beard, his bell-like eyes staring at his son. Instead of rebuking him, he burst into a booming laugh. "Good! That's my boy! Let's do it! Split the troops! Let the Umber family's rage burn through these woods!"

He slapped his son's shoulder hard, nearly knocking Smalljon off his horse.

"You go! Take a thousand men and strike east! Tear down any Targaryen banner you see! I'll go west! Let's see who takes more territory!"

"Yes, Father!" Smalljon excitedly took the order and left.

A confidant nearby reminded him, "My lord, Ser Wylis Manderly's side is playing it safe, gradually clearing the west bank of the Gods Eye. Perhaps we can coordinate with them."

"It's just... on Earl Roose Bolton's side, there seems to have been no movement since they occupied Medden Town."

Greatjon Umber snorted heavily, the sound like muffled thunder, his face full of undisguised contempt. "Roose Bolton? That fellow whose face is whiter than a dead man's?"

"His courage was sucked dry long ago by his precious leeches, along with his blood! A fence-sitter who wavers—depend on him? I'd sooner expect my battle-axe to fly out and chop off that Targaryen's head on its own!"

He spat, raised the giant axe in his hand, and roared, "The men of House Umber speak with the axes in their hands! Continue the march! Let those southern pampered lords and the dragon-breeding bastards taste the cold wind of the North!"

...

Harrenhal, Hall of a Hundred Hearths.

Inside the cold hall, the atmosphere was somewhat different from usual.

Aegon stood before the massive sand table, listening to the reports from his generals, his expression calm.

He had just received two pieces of news, one from a Bloodsworn messenger and the other from emergency military reports flying in from various places like snowflakes.

"Reporting to Your Highness," the Bloodsworn messenger knelt on one knee, his voice loud. "Lord Henry reports that the northern diversionary force marching on the River Road has been completely wiped out. The enemy general and over two thousand five hundred of his troops were slain. Our army suffered no losses."

This was good news, clean and decisive.

The faces of several generals in the hall showed relief; that buzzing fly had finally been swatted.

However, the news presented next by the officer responsible for summarizing intelligence from various places caused that relief to vanish instantly.

"Your Highness, urgent reports from various places: Medden Town has been captured by the northern army, the garrison is lost, and the town plundered... Acorn Vale, Lakeport, Woodswatch, and multiple outposts, grain convoys, and small camps on the west bank of the Gods Eye have been attacked. The enemy moves swiftly, with forces ranging from hundreds to thousands, suspected to be the northern main force splitting up."

"Currently, more than seven strongholds have lost contact, and three supply lines have been harassed..."

Bad news.

And it was bad news blooming in multiple spots.

Aegon's brow furrowed slightly, his slender fingers unconsciously tapping the edge of the sand table.

His violet eyes were deep, reflecting the attacked locations on the sand table.

These places seemed scattered and unorganized, but they accurately stabbed at the weak points of his controlled area—places where troop strength was relatively empty, long supply lines, and newly annexed, unstable towns.

Below the platform, Commander Luke, the Commander-in-Chief of the Ash Company, stepped forward.

He said solemnly, "Your Highness, the Northmen are cunning, avoiding our strengths and attacking our weaknesses. Please allow me to lead the main force of the Ash Company to strike out, sweep them one by one, and extinguish the beacon fires everywhere!"

Aegon did not answer immediately. He stared at the sand table, his mind rapidly calculating.

Robb Stark's move of setting fires everywhere was indeed well-played, and it was truly the most effective tactic currently aimed at the weaknesses of limited troop strength and unstable controlled areas.

Splitting forces to harass, making him exhausted from running around.

If it were an ordinary general, they would either split their forces to put out fires, leading to dispersed strength, or concentrate their forces but watch helplessly as the rear fell into ruin.

But... a cold arc curled at the corner of Aegon's mouth.

There was trouble, but it wasn't major.

"No need," Aegon finally spoke, his voice clear and firm, echoing in the vast hall, interrupting Commander Luke's request and suppressing the quiet discussions of the other generals.

"The original plan remains unchanged. Laswell will continue the assault on Riverrun at all costs, taking it as quickly as possible."

Aegon's finger drew a straight line on the sand table from Harrenhal to the location of Riverrun, his movement decisive.

"Since the little wolf pup wants to play at avoiding battle and causing trouble everywhere, we will force him into a decisive battle. We'll strike where it hurts him most and see if he comes out."

He turned his gaze to the messenger standing by. "Order Henry that the Bloodsworn need not return to Harrenhal for rest. They are to expand their patrol range on the spot, centered on the northern Riverlands, clearing small groups of roaming enemies, and maintain control over the River Road and its surrounding areas, staying alert for the northern cavalry's main force."

"Yes!" The messenger took the order and left.

Next, Aegon looked at Commander Luke: "Commander Luke, you prepare as well. When the news of Riverrun being besieged and under heavy assault spreads, I imagine that King in the North will be unable to sit still."

"He has only two choices: return to reinforce his uncle and the last Riverlands stronghold, or continue causing trouble in my heartland."

Aegon's finger landed on a wide blue ribbon on the sand table—the The Trident.

"If he chooses to return, the The Trident is one of the mandatory paths. You will lead the main force of the Ash Company to the south bank of the The Trident, hold the key passages, and establish a strong camp."

"Henry will be in the direction of the River Road, and you will be in the direction of the The Trident, supporting each other. If the northern army returns, the The Trident will be their burial ground. If they still avoid battle..."

Aegon's voice turned cold. "Then you will coordinate with the Golden Company, advancing steadily from west to east and south to north, combing through The Riverlands like a fine-toothed comb, and thoroughly crushing these fire-starting rats one by one."

Commander Luke listened carefully, his eyes flashing, but he then showed a trace of concern. "Your Highness, with such deployment, the Bloodsworn are roaming outside, the Golden Company is attacking Riverrun, and I am leading the Ash Company forward..."

"Will the troop strength at Harrenhal be too empty? In case..."

"There is no 'in case'."

Aegon interrupted him, his tone flat but carrying an unquestionable absolute confidence. "Harrenhal is not for you to worry about."

Commander Luke was stunned, then saw Aegon's calm, rippleless face and those indifferent violet eyes.

He suddenly remembered the ultimate power this Highness before him possessed—enough to overturn all common sense.

That pale gold Three-headed Dragon soaring in the sky, breathing thunder.

Right, with the Highness and the dragon present, Harrenhal itself was the strongest fortress. Why would they need to worry about empty defenses?

Commander Luke even felt that with the near-godlike power displayed by that dragon, if the Highness wished, he might be able to sweep the Seven Kingdoms single-handedly.

Staying in the rear now, deploying troops and generals, seemed more like giving them, these mortal generals, an opportunity to establish merit and hone their military strategies.

Having thought this through, the last trace of doubt in Commander Luke's heart vanished, replaced by a raging fighting spirit and admiration for the Highness's foresight.

He struck his chest with his right hand and replied resoundingly, "As you command, Your Highness! The Ash Company will not let any northern army cross the The Trident!"

Aegon nodded slightly, his gaze falling back onto the sand table.

Splitting forces to harass? Avoiding strengths and attacking weaknesses?

In the face of absolute power and a strategy that strikes at the root, how long can these little tricks last?

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