"March on! March on! March on!"
Loud military songs echoed across the devastated lands of the Riverlands, dispelling some of the despair hanging over the ravaged earth.
Wild beasts out foraging scattered far away; only a flock of crows trailed behind, drawn by the scent of carrion.
The Mountain's corpse had been cured with lime, his internal organs removed and his blood drained.
With the weather turning cooler, this would preserve the body for quite some time.
Martyn had ordered a horse-drawn cross built, and The Mountain's massive body was nailed to it.
This cruel demon was the most significant trophy of the battle. From afar, some commoners watched.
Soldiers didn't even need to introduce it; The Mountain's colossal frame was recognizable to anyone.
Jon's army marched and sang, soon returning to the Northern camp. The singing naturally reached Roose Bolton's ears from a distance.
His face, already bloodless and pale, turned frosty with gloom.
As the commander-in-chief, he not only had to accept that Jon's prestige far exceeded his own but also had to personally congratulate Jon and his army. It felt like eating shit while forcing a smile.
Meanwhile, a group of nobles from the army had already gone ahead to welcome Jon.
The most excited were, of course, Medger Cerwyn and Harrion Karstark. They galloped through the camp so fast their squires could barely keep up.
When Harrion saw the abnormally large body nailed to the cross, he immediately recognized the man who had left a terrifying impression on him.
The terrifying impact of The Mountain and his heavy armored troops at the Battle of the Green Fork still haunted his dreams.
Though The Mountain now looked shriveled due to being gutted and cured, the hollowed flesh draped over his massive skeleton still looked imposing.
"It really is The Mountain," Harrion muttered, suddenly noticing a distinct fatal wound on the corpse's neck.
He looked around, spotted a soldier who looked like a Northerner, and asked, "Oi~ You! Who killed The Mountain?"
"My Lord, Lord Jon killed The Mountain with his own hands."
"Jon?!" Harrion nodded, finding it incredible. But on second thought, it made perfect sense. If not Jon, no one else in the North could have killed him.
Medger Cerwyn arrived as well, exclaiming repeatedly as he looked at The Mountain's corpse.
Suddenly, he saw two banners fluttering in the middle of the procession: Jon's black banner with a white wolf, and House Darry's plowman banner.
However, the two banners weren't side by side; the plowman banner was clearly one position behind the white wolf banner.
"It seems House Darry has handed their soldiers over to Jon," Medger Cerwyn remarked to Harrion.
When Jon first set out, both Medger Cerwyn and Harrion had offered to assist him, but Jon refused, citing that he didn't want to arouse Roose Bolton's suspicion.
Back then, neither thought House Darry would face much danger retaking their castle. Who knew they would actually run into The Mountain?
"If you encounter danger on the battlefield, the gods might not save you, but Jon will." A voice reached the ears of both Harrion and Medger Cerwyn simultaneously.
Both turned around in agreement and saw a bald noble in blue armor who looked somewhat familiar.
Right, it was Wendel Manderly, the younger brother of the fallen Wylis Manderly.
Both brothers were large and skilled with bows, but unlike the always cheerful Wylis, Wendel was more reticent.
"Look! It's the heavy armored unit!" Wendel had excellent eyesight and raised a hand to alert the two.
They suddenly saw a group of heavy infantry and heavy cavalry beneath the two banners. There were four or five hundred of these heavy armored soldiers!
The soldiers' armor had been painted white, looking like gleaming blades. It was this group of heavy soldiers that had smashed through Harrion's defensive line like a war hammer that day.
Jon actually annihilated such a powerful enemy?!
Harrion couldn't help but marvel inwardly. Beside him, Medger Cerwyn pointed excitedly at the soldiers and shouted, "Heavy armored troops! It's heavy armored troops! My gods!"
Everyone understood that in this battle, Jon had not only eliminated the greatest threat to them but also leaped to become the person with the most say in the army.
Whether in prestige or strength, he was no longer inferior to Roose Bolton. In fact, combining both, he far surpassed him.
"Lord Bolton is coming."
"Lord of the Dreadfort, Lord Roose Bolton has arrived—"
Medger Cerwyn, Harrion, and the other nobles turned to see Roose Bolton walking toward them, surrounded by a group of knights.
As he got closer, none of them showed any intention of making way.
"The Lord Commander is here. Don't you know to make way?" Bolin, who had been sent to Darry to assist Martyn in retaking the territory, scolded.
However, he was quickly met with Wendel's sarcasm: "Lord Commander? The Lord Commander who abandoned us and fled when things looked bad?"
"What did you say?!"
"Nothing. We just aren't willing to expose our backs to someone who might abandon us at any moment."
As everyone chimed in with sarcastic remarks, Bolin was about to draw his sword.
The others didn't back down, looking ready for a fight right there. But Roose Bolton raised a hand to stop the friction.
He knew that if such a thing happened, it would only make him look even less qualified and capable of leading.
He turned slightly and said to Bolin, "Go to Jon's camp later. Tell him I need to see him."
"My Lord, should we..." Bolin made a subtle gesture implying assassination, but all he got was a disdainful look from Bolton.
In Bolton's view, the best way was to borrow a knife to kill. If he killed Jon here himself, would Robb let him off? What he wanted to discuss was actually the attack on Harrenhal.
This was also an order that had come from Riverrun not long ago.
At this moment, Jon finally returned to his camp amidst the cheers of nobles and soldiers. Harrion and Medger Cerwyn finally got the chance to congratulate him in person.
"That old bastard Tywin must be dying of anger right now!" Harrion shouted loudly.
"Exactly! Jon's victory is like a hunter cutting off a lion's claws. He can't be mighty anymore! Hahaha!"
Wendel, hailing from White Harbor, was a cultured man and praised Jon's bravery and kind heart from a more nuanced perspective.
"Jon, House Manderly still has two thousand soldiers left. I hope to entrust them to your command. Only you can ensure more of them return alive!" Wendel once again proposed handing over command to Jon.
"Yes, Jon. If Robb—I mean His Grace—had let you lead us from the start, we probably would have nailed Tywin to a cross like The Mountain by now," Medger Cerwyn agreed.
Jon smiled without speaking. If Robb had really let him lead the army back then, these earls would have had to accept him first.
"My lords, I was just lucky. Besides, Lord Bolton's command didn't have any major errors. His choices proved he is a qualified commander!"
"But what we need is an excellent commander!"
"Correct!"
Around Jon, the nobles chimed in one after another, just like those who had pushed Robb onto the throne at Riverrun.
"Gentlemen, listen to me!"
Suddenly, Harrion stepped forward and said:
"Roose Bolton? Pah!"
Harrion spat fiercely on the ground. This simple action drew cheers from the others.
"In my heart, there is only one man whose orders I would willingly follow, and that is Jon Snow! Lord Eddard's son!"
"That's right!" Medger Cerwyn also stood up. "Facts have proven that only Stark blood can lead us to victory!"
"Yes—"
As for Jon, looking at the scene before him, he felt like he was back in Riverrun, dreaming a familiar dream.