The military camp, where a small-scale conflict had just erupted, was now exceptionally quiet.
The north wind rustled the Dreadfort's 'Flayed Man' banners, making the place feel even more desolate and deadly.
Among these banners, Winterfell's Direwolf banner seemed somewhat isolated and unsupported.
Despite this, the crowd around them continued to grow.
Lords from other regions, upon hearing what had transpired, had sent their people to witness the spectacle.
As more and more people gathered, Robb couldn't help but feel a little nervous.
In his fifteen years of life, he had never seen how Eddard displayed his authority in such a public setting in a military camp.
But during the period when the lords had suddenly become 'well-behaved', Jon had already communicated with Robb through contingency plans.
He just needed to scold everyone in the end.
Yes, scold everyone.
This was also an experience Jon gained from being a boss in his previous life.
As a superior, one should not lose his temper or act condescendingly towards a single individual.
Scolding everyone at once would make others fear him, yet without anyone holding a grudge against him.
Robb first understood the full story of the incident, then spoke:
"Although Chasen insulted Jon first in this matter, Jon's excessive killing, which violates the law, means that he also bears responsibility.
Jon, do you still maintain your innocence and demand a trial by combat?"
Despite still maintaining a serious expression, Jon could see the worry in his eyes.
This was a straightforward, head-on confrontation.
Chasen was the name of that arrogant noble youth.
"Yes, Lord Stark, I believe I am innocent, so I shall let the Gods prove my purity!"
Seeing Jon speak like this, the smile in Roose Bolton's eyes deepened, but he still said:
"Jon, you also left the Night's Watch to avenge Lord Eddard, I can understand your feelings. As long as you apologize to Chasen's family, the matter of your punishment can wait until after the war."
Roose Bolton's magnanimity earned him the admiration of those around him.
Especially Rickard, whose impression of him actually improved a bit.
And Roose Bolton, who understood how to advance by retreating, also put Jon on alert.
It seemed this old fox not only had good judgment but also top-tier political maneuvering skills.
However, he definitely wanted Jon to proceed with the trial by combat now.
This way, he would completely occupy the moral and public opinion high ground.
Robb would probably have no choice but to hand over military command to him.
But he could never have imagined what kind of opponent he was about to face.
Jon said expressionlessly: "Thank you for your kindness, Lord Bolton, but if the Gods deem me guilty, then I am willing to atone with my life."
Roose Bolton's concession seemed generous to others.
But Jon's persistence appeared somewhat foolish, making him less likable.
Seeing him so stubborn, Roose Bolton secretly chuckled, then looked at Robb:
"Very well, since he insists, then, my Lord, let the Gods judge. Please, my Lord, choose the time for the trial by combat."
Robb looked at Jon, who then spoke:
"The army is about to march, and it should not be delayed by my affairs. Now!"
Jon's attitude made others look sideways.
Ramsay looked at Jon, who seemed to be acting impulsively, and couldn't help but sneer inwardly.
Jon insisted, and Roose Bolton naturally went along with him.
Robb also nodded in agreement.
Soon, the soldiers began to set up the arena.
During this interval, Theon asked worriedly:
"Jon, are you confident?"
After all, Dreadfort had brought an army of four thousand men, and there must be many strong fighters among them.
Although Theon had confirmed Jon's excellent martial skills these past few days, he was still unsure.
Jon looked at Robb, who was talking to a group of nobles.
But it wasn't important; he spoke:
"Theon, no matter what I say later, you just need to get Robb to agree. We need to completely crush Roose Bolton's ambition to command the entire army in one go. The army must be in our hands."
"Alright, I understand."
Soon, the arena was set up, and Roose Bolton also selected a proxy knight from Dreadfort.
The moment he appeared, everyone believed Jon was certainly doomed.
This was a burly, heavily armored swordsman.
Nearly six feet three inches tall, with shoes and helmet on, his height approached six feet seven inches.
Especially that two-handed broadsword, gleaming coldly, as if it could cleave mountains.
Warriors of this type were actually present in every family.
In battles between two armies, the role of heavy swordsmen was to break formations.
Wielding their terrifying two-handed swords, they were effective in piercing armor and beheading, often clearing a large space in the blink of an eye.
Such swordsmen were very rare.
Often, not even one such warrior could be found among a hundred men.
And he was also quite cunning, wearing 'chainmail'.
Compared to plate armor, chainmail was more flexible and could effectively prevent sharp weapons from cutting.
When Robb saw that Roose Bolton had actually sent such a warrior, he couldn't help but feel worried.
Soon, the surrounding soldiers also began the common military gambling activities.
The difference, however, was that no one bet on Jon winning; they bet on how many rounds Jon could last against that swordsman.
"I'll say a number! Three rounds! That bastard will be dead within three rounds!"
"I don't think we should underestimate him that much. After all, he's beaten up so many people recently. I'll bet ten rounds."
Silver stags and copper stars clinked as they were thrown onto the ground.
Among them were a few shiny golden dragons!
Suddenly, the soldier placing his bet felt someone pushing him, so he turned around unhappily.
He saw a 'giant' standing behind him, even taller than the swordsman.
"Hodor!"
Everyone quickly moved away, and a small boy's head peeked out from behind the giant's head:
"I bet Jon will win!"
Saying this, Bran threw out a few golden dragons.
"Who is this?"
Others whispered, but the Winterfell soldiers responsible for protecting Bran told everyone his identity.
However, no one said anything, all looking at the shiny golden dragons, thinking about how they would split them later.
Soon, the soldiers had set up the arena, and both parties entered.
Soldiers delivered weapons to them respectively.
The heavily armored swordsman walked to the center of the designated arena, like a gorilla entering a human gladiatorial ring.
As soon as he appeared, he drew cheers from the Dreadfort soldiers.
"Tear him apart!"
"Kill him!"
Ramsay had already promised him that if he won, he would ask Roose Bolton to grant him more land.
And with so many people watching today, he had to make a good showing.
When Theon was about to hand Jon his sword, Jon shook his head and pointed to his long staff, saying.
"Lord Robb, I saw that Chasen was instigated by Ramsay. I will only use my long staff. If I win, then he is guilty! I will kill him!"
"Jon!" Robb quickly interjected to stop him.
Only one thought ran through everyone else's minds—this idiot was crazy.
Roose Bolton snorted disdainfully.
Rickard also curled his lip.
He wondered where Eddard had found the woman who gave birth to such a reckless child.
At this moment, a big man beside Robb suddenly spoke:
"Hahaha, I haven't seen such an interesting young man in a long time."
The speaker was none other than Greatjon, who had just arrived with his army yesterday.
His fiefdom was 'Last Hearth', the furthest away, so he arrived the latest.
Theon, standing beside Robb, hesitated for a moment then whispered something in his ear.
Robb knew Jon was not a reckless person, so he turned to look at Roose Bolton.
Although Roose Bolton didn't know what they were saying, the current situation was in his favor no matter what, so he thought for a moment and said:
"Insulting another's mother is indeed a disgraceful act. If he truly can win, then it means the Gods wish to punish Ramsay, and I have nothing more to say."
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