CHAPTER 119
At the northern entrance of Ox Horn Mountain, lights blazed inside the military tent. The atmosphere was as heavy as the dead calm before a blizzard. The tent flap was violently thrown open, and two guards, supporting a nearly collapsed Shanks, covered in blood and dust, stumbled in. He was breathing rapidly, his face pale, and extreme terror still lingered in his eyes.
"My lord... the Ironborn... ambush..."
Shanks' voice was hoarse, almost incoherent, as he struggled to report the details of the skirmish and the grim news of his squad's near-total annihilation. The hearts of all the officers in the tent sank, and the air was filled with the smell of blood and icy anger.
Garon quickly walked over to Shanks and said in a deep voice, "You did well. They will not have died in vain. You may leave now and get some good rest!"
His voice was steady and strong, carrying a power that could soothe people's hearts. Only after Shanks was helped out of the military tent did Garon slowly turn around. His gaze, like a cold blade, swept over every officer in the tent.
"Did you all hear that?" Garon's voice echoed through the silent military tent. "Euron is more cunning and proactive than we imagined. He even plans to launch a night raid on our camp while we are unprepared!"
He walked to the long table in the military tent, staring at the unfolded map, and heavily tapped his finger on West Horn Mountain.
"The key to this battle is not the Kingsroad, but here!"
The others gathered around, staring at the location beneath Garon's finger, their expressions varied. Jon immediately understood the reason.
"My lord, are you worried that when we engage the main Ironborn force, Euron will lead men to attack our flank from West Horn Mountain?"
Garon nodded, looking around at everyone.
"Euron is cunning and insidious, and at the same time, extremely brutal. If the night raid fails, he will certainly not give up. When the war begins, Victarion will surely lead the main force in a frontal assault to attract our attention. As for Euron..." Garon's eyes gleamed with insight. "He will definitely choose this place. Using the cover of the forest, he will circle around to our flank and launch a fatal strike against us."
The portrayal of Euron Crow's Eye in his memories flashed through Garon's mind. He was almost certain that Euron would not follow Victarion into a straightforward battle.
"Gentlemen, think about what happened to Torrhen's Square and Cerwyn. Now, even if those two places wish to return to their former state, it will take many years, not to mention the countless dead. So, we must win this battle, and West Horn Mountain has become the top priority!"
Garon silently observed everyone's expressions, focusing on Ramsay Snow's changing face. Seeing his expression twitch slightly, Garon smiled inwardly.
"He's taken the bait."
"Next, I'll make him willingly serve as cannon fodder."
A strange smile appeared at the corner of his mouth as he said in a deep voice, "We need to leave a portion of our men to block Euron. This battle is very dangerous. Who among you is willing to take it?"
As soon as his words fell, men from House Umber and House Karstark immediately stood up.
"My lord, we are willing!"
Garon shook his head.
"Your houses are composed mainly of spearmen. I need you to remain on the front lines to resist Victarion's fierce assault."
His gaze swept across everyone before finally landing on Ramsay Snow.
"Lord Ramsay?"
Ramsay's heart skipped a beat.
"This is bad."
He raised his head, his face habitually plastered with that uncomfortable false smile.
"Lord Garon, my men also have spearmen..."
Garon interrupted him.
"Besides spearmen, House Bolton also has a large number of infantry, which would be suitable for our right flank."
But Ramsay thought of the tragic state of Torrhen's Square and Cerwyn. From the bottom of his heart, he did not want to engage in battle with the mad Euron Crow's Eye.
He still tried to refuse.
"These men probably can't resist Crow's Eye's charge. Why don't I lead men to block Victarion instead?"
To his surprise, Garon readily agreed.
"In that case, I will give you an opportunity to earn unparalleled honor for House Bolton. Tomorrow, when the battle begins, you will lead a thousand Bolton men to meet Victarion's first wave of attack!"
The tent instantly fell silent.
Everyone understood that this was almost the most dangerous assignment.
Ramsay's smile completely vanished, and his face turned ashen.
"Lord Garon, you are sending my men to their deaths! I only have a thousand men..."
"Precisely because the task is arduous, the honor will be extraordinary!" Garon interrupted him, his voice suddenly rising and carrying an undeniable pressure. "Listen, Ramsay Snow!"
He deliberately emphasized the bastard surname.
"I know what you want. Not just survival, but recognition, the true inheritance of the Bolton name. Isn't that right?"
Ramsay's pupils constricted as he stared intently at Garon.
Garon met his gaze and said in a low voice, "Hold off Victarion's first assault. You do not need to defeat him. You only need to hold your ground, blunt his momentum, and draw his main force into here."
He pointed to a narrow position on the map, his voice full of temptation.
"If you can do that, I, the supreme commander of the Northern army, promise you in the name of House Stark that after this battle, I will strongly urge Winterfell to acknowledge your legitimate identity. You will be Ramsay Bolton, the rightful and sole heir of the Dreadfort."
He paused before his tone instantly turned bone-chillingly cold.
"But if you refuse, or retreat in battle and cause a complete rout, then not only you, but the entire House Bolton, will be considered traitors to the North. I will not allow an uncertain factor to remain in the army. I will relieve you of your command in the name of House Stark. Now, tell me your choice!"
Coercion and temptation were laid bare before the Bastard of Bolton. The eyes of all the officers in the tent were focused on him, and the air seemed almost frozen.
Ramsay's face contorted as his heart struggled fiercely. Finally, the desire for power and a surname outweighed the fear of death.
He took a deep breath and almost gritted his teeth as he replied, "Fine! I'll do it! But your promise must be fulfilled!"
Garon smiled and nodded.
"Naturally. I swear by the gods."
He turned his gaze back to the map and issued orders again.
"Jon, you will dismount with five hundred cavalry and secretly circle into the depths of the dense forest on the northern slopes of West Horn Mountain to hide. Once you spot them, immediately intercept them on West Horn Mountain!"
Jon stood up and answered solemnly.
"Yes, Lord Garon!"
Garon then looked at his trusted subordinates, pointing his finger to one side of the map.
"Mihawk, you will lead five hundred archers and set up an ambush here. Once Victarion engages Bolton, you must immediately join the battle and relieve their pressure!"
Mihawk nodded, indicating that he understood.
"Ser Lambert Tallhart!"
Garon then looked at Lambert, who had been rescued earlier at Winterfell.
"I'm giving you two hundred cavalry. Immediately bypass West Horn Mountain and ride day and night to retake Torrhen's Square. Recruit loyal vassals on the spot and close the door on the Ironborn's escape to the Stony Shore for me!"
Lambert's expression trembled. He knelt on one knee, tears in his eyes.
"My lord, House Tallhart swears to complete the mission, even if it costs me my life!"
Seeing this, Garon quickly helped Lambert up and comforted him.
"I will surely avenge the great wrong done to Torrhen's Square for you. Please be patient a little longer."
Lambert nodded heavily.
"Gentlemen of House Dustin!"
Garon finally looked at the officers representing Barrowton.
"The Saltspear on the Fever River is a shortcut for routed soldiers who might try to flee back to the Iron Islands. Please immediately send someone to inform Lady Barbrey Dustin to patrol the riverbanks day and night. Any Ironborn attempting to cross the river shall be killed without mercy!"
The men of House Dustin nodded and agreed.
"All the rest of you, join me in confronting the main Ironborn army. In this battle, I will annihilate the Ironborn in the North in one fell swoop. I want to tell Balon Greyjoy that the North is our territory, and squids on land find only death!"
Boom!
The morale in the military tent soared, and everyone was eager to fight the Ironborn immediately. The officers successively received their orders and departed, leaving only Garon alone in the tent.
He walked out of the tent and looked toward the deep night in the south. The snowflakes carried by the wind and the faint clamor in the distance foreshadowed the approaching storm.
"Soon. After winning this battle, it will be time to plan for the South."
Garon withdrew his gaze and began to inspect the military camp.
Tomorrow would be a battle that determined his fate.