The Northern army, gathered near Winterfell, was like dispersing dark clouds.
Coincidentally, there was a thin layer of snow on the ground, and the marching troops left a long, black trail behind them.
With Roose Bolton's submission, no one dared to challenge Robb anymore.
The arrangements for the march were orderly.
Greatjon also didn't lose two fingers for threatening Robb to withdraw from the army.
Instead, he would frequently seek out Jon, hoping to discover where he had learned his martial arts.
On the city wall, Hodor carried Bran, watching the army depart.
"May the Gods protect Robb, may Jon return safely, may Theon return safely, and may everyone come back alive," Bran prayed softly, watching the distant banners.
"Hodor."
Luwin, standing beside him, smiled.
In war, how can there be no deaths?
In fact, even before they set off, Jon had already killed a man.
Sansa, Arya, Robb... In truth, seeing the children he had delivered one by one heading south, Luwin felt a deep reluctance.
But there was no other way; this was Robb's responsibility as a Northerner, as a Stark.
Leading the vanguard of the army were two Direwolves.
Jon's Ghost and Robb's Grey Wind.
The difference was that Jon had disguised Ghost somewhat.
After all, that pure white fur was simply too conspicuous; while it was the best camouflage at the Wall, where snow covered everything, it would become a prominent target when heading south.
Before departing, Jon had dyed Ghost's fur brown, so much so that when Grey Wind saw him again, he kept looking back and forth.
Ghost even became a little impatient with his brother.
From Winterfell all the way south, it would take at least half a month to reach Luanhe City.
Although the journey was long, it also allowed the soldiers to warm up in advance.
In the afternoon, the army began to make fires and cook, but a small contingent did not stop to rest; instead, rhythmic sounds of training and fighting could be heard.
"Thrust!"
"Ha!"
"Thrust!"
"Ha!"
..."Turn left!"
"Turn right!"
"To the rear..."
Accompanied by Jon's commands, hundreds of soldiers practiced with long spears.
There were also some seemingly useless and comical formation drills.
Anyone who has undergone military training knows that this kind of thing is prone to jokes when training first begins.
Soldiers from other camps liked to bring their dinners and watch the spectacle.
Jon's actions naturally attracted the attention of some nobles.
"The bastard just messes around. We're about to go to war, what's the point of training?" a knight grumbled to his friend.
"I really don't know what use this training is. Look, look, he's actually training soldiers to walk. I truly don't know what he's thinking."
"If I were those soldiers, the first person I'd kill on the battlefield would be him!"
Everyone was discussing, and the great lords naturally heard about it.
Even before the army set off, Jon had become a prominent figure.
Now, making such strange moves, it was hard not to be noticed.
"Let him be," Roose Bolton was not interested in this matter.
He knew he wouldn't gain much from this journey south.
So his mindset became more detached; he only needed to complete the necessary tasks and avoid appearing to be passively resisting.
As for the other counts and lords, they only glanced from afar; only Greatjon personally came to Jon's territory.
"Hey! Edd's bastard!" he called out, waving his large hand at Jon, "What are you doing?"
"I'm training them, my Lord," Jon replied respectfully.
He held no ill will towards Greatjon; besides being a bit of a masochist, the man was actually quite good.
"Training? Does walking need training?"
Jon wasn't sure if this medieval noble could understand concepts like conditioned reflexes and muscle memory.
So he simply made up an excuse.
"It's like this, my Lord. Most of them are farmers, and many have accents. I'm actually getting them to familiarize themselves with my commands and voice in advance, to ensure they don't run around chaotically on the battlefield."
"Oh, I see. Very good! Very insightful!"
Saying that, Greatjon clapped Jon on the shoulder with his large, fan-like hand.
"I heard you ran away from the Wall yourself, is that right?"
"Yes," Jon said bluntly, "I plan to return after rescuing my father."
"But you left the Nights Watch without permission. Even if you rescue Edd, he'll probably have your head."
At the mention of Edd, Greatjon's body trembled slightly.
Edd's military discipline must have been very strict, and this fellow probably got punished quite a bit.
"He gave me life, so if he wishes to take it, it is only right."
Hearing Jon say this, Greatjon looked him over from head to toe with some surprise.
"Good lad, but I've already asked Robb, and you haven't officially joined the Nights Watch. When Edd is rescued, I'll put in a good word for you.
A fine young man like you would be wasted at the Wall."
Having witnessed Jon's martial prowess, he was incredibly fond of him.
Jon neither agreed nor refused, simply stating that they should discuss it after the war.
Currently, Jon was probably the only, or one of three, people in the entire world who knew Edd's impending fate.
After the Northern army's first victory heading south, news of Edd's execution would arrive.
At that time, war would fully erupt, Westeros would be awash in blood, and heads would roll.
Jon could only try his best to preserve the North, or... use his own methods to pull the coming age of chaos back on track!
But back to Jon's own soldiers' drill practice.
This almost ludicrous training method naturally caused some dissatisfaction among the soldiers.
However, when dinner time arrived and they saw the chunks of meat or pastries in their bowls, they had no more complaints.
Other nobles, especially the soldiers from Dreadfort, thought Jon, as quartermaster, was showing favoritism to his own soldiers and complained to Robb.
But when Jon explained that he bought these things with the money the soldiers had wagered, they couldn't say another word.
Speaking of Bran, when he moved that large chest of copper stars and silver stags in front of Jon before leaving, Jon was truly surprised.
He hadn't expected the odds to be so high; he wished he had placed some money himself.
The army continued its march.
The Northern army arrived at Luanhe City three days later than expected.
An army of over twenty thousand needed to be integrated.
Even the simple act of marching caused frequent problems.
Especially with some lords from the southern regions joining along the way.
Jon, meanwhile, used this time to initially integrate his own army into a cohesive unit.
Even Old York, who hadn't thought much of him, noticed a change.
He observed that this army, mostly composed of farmers, exuded a subtle, grim aura during their march.
They were not allowed to speak while marching, and their steps had to be uniform.
Whether it was useful or not was beside the point; at least it looked good.
Especially compared to other armies, they truly stood out.
This made him harbor some expectations for Jon.
Perhaps this lad really had some skill?
As he pondered and evaluated, he noticed The Twins appearing in the distance
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