"Vulnerable" was the only word to describe Darry at this moment.
When they set out, they had over six hundred men. But after losses from the siege and the withdrawal of the Dreadfort troops, Darry's "combat-ready forces" numbered less than three hundred.
Three hundred men would have been barely manageable, but they also lacked sufficient arrows and weapons. Worse still, the city walls had not been fully repaired.
And worst of all, The Mountain knew about that breach. He launched a fierce attack directly at the weakest point right from the start.
The Mountain stood there, casually deflecting an arrow shot at him. Against the sturdy armor of his heavy troops, the sparse arrows from the battlements felt as harmless as mosquito bites.
Moreover, The Mountain's immediate assault brought another layer of pressure—
He didn't follow procedure to demand surrender; he attacked directly. This meant he was confident of taking Darry, and once he did, there would be an inhumane massacre.
The brothers Martyn and Munda roared as they tried to halt The Mountain's advance.
But the fragile defensive line patched with rammed earth was breached almost instantly. Soldiers like men of iron stormed into Darry in record time.
Watching the army surge in from all directions, Martyn felt his grip on his sword loosen.
"Martyn! What do we do now?!" Munda had taken three arrows to the chest, saved only by his thick armor.
He could still fight, but the situation was dire.
"Find a way... find a way to get Lyman out! He can't die here!" Martyn said, his face tense.
"There's no way out! The entire castle is surrounded!" Munda's voice cracked with tears.
After all, he was only seventeen or eighteen. Facing such a situation was terrifying. Still standing on the battlements, the brothers watched helplessly as The Mountain broke in.
The Mountain's nearly two-and-a-half-meter frame was like a rampaging beast. The terrifyingly large greatsword in his hand reaped lives like the Reaper's scythe.
Even knights dared not face him head-on.
Martyn was now completely enveloped by despair and regret.
He hated himself for not listening to Jon. He hated that he had caused the extinction of his house. The thousand-year legacy of House Darry was being buried by his own hands.
Perhaps the only thing that could make him feel better now was to die in battle. He wiped the blood from his longsword, preparing to meet the enemy head-on.
Just then, a Darry soldier suddenly pointed into the distance and shouted: "My Lord! The White Wolf on Black! It's the White Wolf banner! Lord Jon... Lord Jon is here to save us!"
Martyn, already prepared to die, whipped his head around and saw the familiar banner.
The black background merged with the darkness of the night, but the white wolf's head shone as dazzlingly as lightning.
Lord Jon?!
"It's really Jon, Martyn! It's really Jon!"
Beside him, Munda was overjoyed to the point of tears.
Awooo——————
Following a long howl, The Mountain, who had been lost in his killing frenzy, snapped back to reality.
"My Lord, bad news! Northern reinforcements have arrived!"
"Reinforcements?!"
The Mountain was confused. He had sent scouts before arriving, and they reported no armies within a dozen miles.
He also knew the Dreadfort archers had left just a few days ago.
Even if that were not the case, none of the soldiers he had scattered around for vigilance had sent any warning.
I'll kill that scout when we get back! The Mountain thought.
"Banner," he demanded curtly.
"Black field, white wolf. It's Jon Snow, the bastard's banner!" replied his pimply squire.
"Jon Snow!"
The Mountain narrowed his eyes, squeezing the name through gritted teeth.
Blood rushed to his head again. He felt his temples throbbing violently, a headache setting in. He knew only blood could relieve it.
The Westerlands army had its own intelligence network. He knew Jon had only about a thousand men, and their quality was mediocre.
He had been frustrated about not finding a chance to face Jon directly. He didn't expect the boy to deliver himself to his door.
The Mountain immediately ordered the soldiers already inside Darry to establish defensive lines and pin down the garrison. He would take the remaining men to engage Jon.
Soon, The Mountain mounted his warhorse. Leading a mixed force of about four hundred heavy infantry and cavalry, he left Darry and charged toward that banner.
But soon, The Mountain realized something was wrong. He had received a noble's education and knew how to estimate army size by sight.
It was night, but he could still guess roughly based on sound and the number of torches.
The strange howling sounds around him and the dense cluster of torches told him this ambushing army numbered no fewer than five thousand!
Although he had confidence in his heavy troops...
A troop disparity of more than ten to one still made this butcher, who delighted in slaughter, feel a trace of apprehension.
Did news leak?
After all, The Mountain himself had used superior intelligence to ambush Eddard's men before, so naturally, his thoughts went in that direction.
Almost without hesitation, The Mountain chose to abandon the soldiers still sieging the castle and prepared to break out directly via the main road to the southwest.
The terrain there was flat, favorable for a heavy troop charge.
And judging by the direction, Jon's banner seemed planted right in the middle of that southwest road.
He remembered sending scouts there not long ago. Jon couldn't have built effective fortifications there in such a short time.
When The Mountain ordered the retreat, the defenders of Darry were the first to feel relief.
Especially Martyn. The feelings of regret and despair faded quickly. He secretly resolved that if he survived this, he would listen to Jon from now on.
"Munda! Munda, go count how many men we have left who can fight. Be ready to support Lord Jon at any moment!"
"Right!" Munda nodded vigorously and turned to leave.
Then, Martyn ordered a squire to check on Lyman while he took out a spyglass to look into the distance.
When he realized Jon had positioned his formation in the middle of the main road, his chest tightened again.
He thought Jon might not know that The Mountain led the most elite heavy troops of the Westerlands army. Jon would definitely suffer a huge loss!
No! I can't just watch from here!
Looking at the "army" covering the hills and plains around them, Martyn knew he wouldn't die today.
But if Jon met with mishap because he didn't know the strength of The Mountain's forces, Martyn would never forgive himself.
Soon, Munda reported the number of combat-ready soldiers. "We have two or three hundred men who can move, but The Mountain left some troops to pin us down. We can't break out!"
"We have to break out even if we can't!"
Martyn glared, his brown eyes looking ready to spew fire.
Meanwhile, The Mountain's troops soon arrived before Jon's formation.
Jon stood at the very front of his army, waiting for him.
The officers and tribal warriors beside Jon gasped in awe upon seeing The Mountain, whose physique was like a dam.
His massive body almost blocked out the moonlight behind him, casting a long shadow that shrouded the space between the two armies.
"Who is Jon Snow!" The Mountain lifted his visor and asked in a gloomy voice.