Looking at the confident expression on Lynn's face, the unease in Torren's heart was gradually replaced by an inexplicable trust.
He didn't know what Lord Lynn's specific plan was.
But he knew that as long as he followed Lord Lynn, they would definitely win!
Trusting and obeying one's commander was the foremost duty of every soldier!
"At once, my Lord!"
Torren nodded heavily, turning quickly to convey the orders.
Lynn cast his gaze back toward the valley.
Night was descending bit by bit.
The campfires in the valley grew brighter.
The noise of the wildlings gradually subsided.
A hunt was about to begin.
This time, Lynn and his men were the hunters.
Those seemingly powerful wildlings were the lambs awaiting slaughter.
Lynn lay prone in the snow.
In his mind, a bold and crazy plan slowly took shape.
Night was as deep as ink.
In the Haunted Forest, only the wind whimpered through the treetops.
In the valley, the clamor of the wildling clan had completely died down.
Most of the campfires had been extinguished, leaving only a few scattered ones still burning, casting dim, flickering light.
The vast majority of the wildlings had retreated into their hovels of skin and bone, sinking into dreams.
Only a few wildlings responsible for the night watch, clutching crude stone spears and wrapped in heavy furs, dozed against the sides of tents.
All was silent.
This was exactly the moment Lynn had been waiting for.
On the ridge, Lynn and his hundred Northern elites were fully assembled.
Everyone wore leather armor suitable for mobility, blending into the night.
Every soldier's breathing was deliberately kept extremely shallow.
"Is everyone ready?"
Lynn asked in a whisper.
"Ready, my Lord!"
Torren responded in a lowered voice.
Behind him, the twenty archers already had arrows nocked on their strings.
The black arrowheads, coated in potent poison, glinted with a ghostly cold light under the faint starlight.
"And the traps?"
Lynn asked again.
"All set up," another squad leader answered.
"The valley exit is now a death trap."
"Guaranteed no return for anyone who enters."
Lynn nodded with satisfaction.
His gaze swept over the young, determined faces before him.
"Listen."
Lynn's voice wasn't loud, but it was filled with unquestionable authority.
"Our goal is not to fight them head-on."
"Our mission is to create chaos, to spread fear."
Lynn pulled several small packets wrapped in oilcloth from his tunic.
He handed one to Torren.
"What is this?"
Torren took it, feeling a powdery substance inside.
"A little gift from Maester Aemon."
The corner of Lynn's mouth hooked up in an icy arc.
"Throw them into the burning campfires..."
Lynn didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning was self-evident.
It was a herbal powder mixed by Maester Aemon.
It produced a large amount of thick smoke and carried a mild paralyzing effect.
"I understand, my Lord."
Torren's eyes lit up.
"Archers, split into four groups."
Lynn continued his deployment.
"From four different directions, dip your arrows in oil, light them, and fire in volleys."
"Remember, do not aim at specific people."
"Your main targets are the tents, the stockpiled supplies, anything that can catch fire and cause panic."
"After three volleys, retreat immediately. Do not linger."
"The rest of you, split into two teams."
Lynn turned to Torren and another captain named Harvey.
"You lead two teams and launch a raid from both sides of the valley simultaneously."
"Remember, do not go deep."
"Charge in, cut down a few tents, kill a few unlucky wildlings, then retreat immediately."
"Your mission is to turn them into headless flies, crashing around blindly."
Lynn etched every detail of the plan clearly into everyone's minds.
"And I..."
Lynn's gaze pierced the darkness, landing on the massive bear-skin tent in the center of the valley.
"I will go meet their leader."
"My Lord, that's too dangerous!"
Torren objected immediately.
"You going alone? No! I'll take a squad to protect you!"
"No need."
Lynn shook his head.
"More people will only make exposure easier."
"You just need to follow my plan and turn the whole camp upside down."
"When they are in total chaos, that will be the best time for me to strike."
Lynn patted Torren's shoulder.
The strength transmitted from Lynn's hand inexplicably lessened the worry in Torren's heart.
"Trust me."
Torren looked at Lynn's eyes, which shone startlingly bright even in the dark night, and nodded heavily.
"Yes, my Lord!"
"Move out!"
With Lynn's order.
A hundred Northern soldiers slid silently down from the ridge.
They split into several streams, quietly enveloping the sleeping valley.
Lynn was alone; his movements were the fastest and lightest.
He was like a shadow stalking through the snow, rapidly approaching the center of the valley.
The Light Sword skill brought not only an improvement in swordsmanship but also comprehensive control over body coordination and agility.
Soon, Lynn lurked in a shadow less than fifty paces from the bear-skin tent.
He could smell the odor wafting from the tent.
A mix of furs, sweat, and cheap ale.
He could even hear the rhythmic, heavy snoring coming from inside.
Lynn looked up at the ridges on both sides of the valley.
The time was almost here.
Suddenly.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Dozens of burning arrows descended from the sky with a mournful whistle.
They weren't aimed at the wildling sentries but landed precisely on the piles of dry grass and furs, and the flammable tents.
Arrowheads soaked in oil instantly ignited everything around them.
Fire shot up into the sky!
Immediately after, the teams led by Torren and Harvey stabbed into the wildling camp from both sides of the valley like two sharp knives.
"Kill!"
Thunderous battle cries tore through the quiet night sky.
The sleeping wildling clan was instantly jolted awake.
Shrill screams, cries of pain, and curses rang out together.
Countless naked wildlings rushed out of their tents, faces written with terror and confusion.
They didn't know where the enemy came from, nor how many there were.
They only saw fire everywhere in the camp, and arrows whistling past everywhere.
The thick smoke ignited by the herbal powder spread rapidly through the camp.
The pungent smell made many wildlings cough violently.
Tears streamed down their faces, and their heads began to feel heavy and dizzy.
The entire clan was in complete chaos.