A dozen or so miles east of Darry, a unit with brightly polished armor patrolled and lingered.
The young man leading them listened to his subordinates' reports with icy silence.
His face was expressionless, but his gaze was intense, as if he were repeatedly calculating something.
This man was Jon.
Based on his advance scouting of Darry, he had identified several main roads and paths that could be used for attack or retreat.
Although Jon didn't know The Mountain's exact troop strength, he knew The Mountain would come.
And if The Mountain came, there was a high probability the Westerlands' heavy armored troops would appear.
If he wanted to surround and annihilate this heavy armored force, he had to be cautious and plan meticulously.
For this battle, Jon had prepared a large quantity of oil, caltrops, sandbags, and earthworks.
"My Lord, this is just a small path. Scattering some caltrops and digging some hoof-traps should be enough to block the enemy here. But the main road to the southwest is the real danger. If the heavy armored troops from the Green Fork really come, we might not be able to stop them with just our forces," Old York advised earnestly.
After all, the regular Northern army hadn't stopped them that day. Relying on the troops currently under Jon's command seemed even less possible.
However, the tribal warriors clearly disagreed. Now wearing such fine armor, even if Jon told them to single-handedly fight a dragon, they'd probably think they could give it a try.
"Find a way to get some jars of oil and bury them."
"Fire attack? That's a good idea. But my Lord, how will we ignite them when the time comes?" Old York raised a practical question.
"I know!" Sora said excitedly. "Jon plans to use flaming arrows to ignite the oil jars, right?"
Jon nodded while contemplating the feasibility of the fire attack.
"But figuring out how to lure the enemy here will take some effort," Jon added. In fact, there was one point he didn't say aloud: to lure the enemy, sacrifices would likely be unavoidable.
Jon didn't trust the tribal warriors yet.
After all, he had seen the impact of The Mountain's heavy armored charge with his own eyes. It would be disastrous if these men routed before even engaging the enemy.
The only reliable ones were the veterans from the mountain clans.
These men had long since made peace with death.
Although it pained him, this was a decision Jon had to make as a commander.
Rescuing House Darry was actually secondary; the key was to kill The Mountain.
The Mountain was Tywin's sharpest claw.
Removing him would make Jon's future plans smoother.
Moreover, many people would survive because of it, escaping the fate of dying at the hands of this murderer.
Ultimately, Jon chose the main road to the southwest as the final battlefield.
He also arranged for two hundred veterans and one hundred tribal warriors to act as bait.
"The Mountain..."
Jon muttered the name under his breath.
Turning him into a "Zombie Mountain" would be the most profitable outcome.
Unfortunately, Jon didn't have Qyburn's skills.
So he had to settle for the second-best option: kill him, then send his head, along with Amory Lorch's, to Sunspear in Dorne.
Trade them for some gold from House Martell.
Both men were murderers of Martell blood.
Doran and the Red Viper dreamed of killing them.
To be the ones who avenged their kin, they would surely be willing to pay extra.
After all, Jon had tens of thousands of people to feed in the future.
---
At dusk, cold moonlight spilled onto the battlements of Darry.
A noble boy walked along the wall, accompanied by his squire.
Martyn, acting as castellan, had already gone to rest.
But because of his nightmares, Lyman hadn't been sleeping well lately.
Young as he was, he felt a constant sense of foreboding.
"My Lord."
"My Lord."
The soldiers on guard greeted him, and Lyman responded to each one.
Hearing that House Darry had returned, the commoners on their lands had begun to come back to their homes.
At least the distant windmill seemed to be working again.
Seeing these familiar sights brought a measure of peace to Lyman's heart.
"My Lord, let's go back inside. It's cold out."
His squire reminded him. Lyman nodded, preparing to return.
But just then, as if sensing something, he turned abruptly to look into the distance.
He saw an army with armor glinting coldly, rapidly approaching his castle!
Like a flood, surging toward the crumbling dam that was Darry.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack! Someone is attacking the castle! Someone is attacking the castle!"
Lyman's legs went weak as he screamed. The soldiers on the wall scrambled to ring the alarm bell.
The rapid, mournful tolling woke the entire castle.
Martyn was roused from his sleep and hurriedly ordered his men to help him armor up.
"What happened?! Which army is attacking?"
"Unclear, my Lord. Their equipment is excellent; they seem to be wearing heavy armor. And the commander leading them is incredibly massive, practically a small giant!"
Massive! Small giant!
Martyn immediately realized who the invader was—The Mountain.
Back then, Lyman's father, his uncle Raymun Darry, had been ordered by Eddard Stark to intercept The Mountain.
But somehow, news had leaked.
Instead, they were caught off guard by The Mountain.
Earl Raymun engaged The Mountain, only to have his arm and sword severed together by a single blow.
The Mountain was the nemesis of House Darry!
Martyn certainly wanted to avenge Earl Raymun, but he knew he lacked the ability.
All he could do was hold this castle!
By now, Munda was also fully armored, and the two brothers arrived on the battlements together.
The Mountain's heavy armored troops were already forming up below the walls, preparing to attack.
Just one look at this terrifying army made hearts pound.
Darry's walls were only six or seven meters high, and not particularly thick.
And it seemed there was more. In front of the heavy armored troops was a group of disheveled commoners.
The enemy's intention was self-evident.
Do you want those commoners to suffer a second time?!
Jon's rebuke suddenly echoed in Martyn's ears, making him feel guilty.
But he struggled to pull himself together, preparing to strengthen the defenses.
Suddenly, he noticed something wrong.
"Why..." Martyn realized The Mountain's chosen direction of attack was unusual. Southwest? Wait!
A thought struck him like lightning, and cold sweat poured down his back.
"Munda, that damaged section of the wall you told me about..."
Munda realized what Martyn was worried about, and he too felt struck by lightning.
Yesterday, the masons had reported that they had barely plugged the breach with rammed earth.
Against such a terrifying army, such a defense was no better than paper.
Despair spread through Martyn's heart.
He suddenly regretted not listening to Jon.
Of course, he regretted bringing Lyman back to Darry even more.
He dared not think how he would face Earl Raymun, who had treated him like a son, in the afterlife.
"We must hold! If we hold, we might wait for reinforcements!"
"Fight to the death!"
Munda also realized the severity of the situation and drew his sword to rally the surrounding soldiers.
"Fight to the death!"
The defenders on the wall echoed, but their voices lacked conviction.