After killing three wolf cavalrymen who had violated military orders in a manner bordering on a miracle, the remaining wolf cavalry fell completely into shock and confusion.
Some of them couldn't understand what kind of power Young Master Robb had just displayed.But soon after, shock turned into fanaticism, and they began to worship Robb.
Since ancient times, humanity has always harbored both reverence and fear toward mysterious and powerful existences. In the distant past, the Children of the Forest and the First Men of the Westeros continent had begun believing in the Old Gods precisely because of fear.
Especially after witnessing Robb summon a long blade made entirely of red lightning out of thin air, their reverence for him nearly reached the level of worshiping a god.
Some people had already become convinced in their hearts that Robb must be an incarnation of a god walking the mortal world—otherwise, there was no way to explain all of this. They were the first to dismount, kneeling toward Robb's direction, softly chanting the prayers they used most often.
"God, please grant me guidance."
Robb stood among the crowd, calmly accepting their worship, not feeling that it was anything special. Back when he had taken control of the Golden Order and become the Elden King, he had already seen scenes like this. Compared to those days, this was nothing more than a small spectacle.
Robb gathered together the bodies that had been split in half.
"Bury them and set up a grave marker. Even though they violated military orders, they were still members of the wolf cavalry."
That very night, all the lords of Moat Cailin learned about the miracle Robb had displayed in the forest. This was not the first time Robb had shown divine power—when he saved that wounded soldier earlier, every lord had seen it with their own eyes.
Their awe toward Robb deepened even further. Ever since Winterfell, Robb had continuously shocked them. To them now, Robb was nothing but a thick fog of mystery.
The behavior of these lords grew more and more respectful and restrained.
Over the next few days, Robb continued leading his wolf cavalry to train in the forest. This time, aside from discipline training, Robb also devised a set of small-flag signals to coordinate battlefield tactics.
Three different colors of flags—each color, when waved in different directions, represented different military orders, including retreat, advance, encirclement, and more.
On the battlefield, voices were drowned in chaos, and various uncontrollable factors could stretch battle lines extremely long. Relying on sound alone to command an army was simply impossible—unless your voice was louder than thunder itself.
Robb did have a high-volume spell like [Mountain Troll Roar], but it could only convey a single sound and couldn't transmit diverse battlefield information. After careful thought, he concluded that battle flag signals—tested and proven through countless wars—were still the most reliable.
During training, Robb also didn't forget his own "money power." As long as a soldier performed well, they would be rewarded with coin.
Under the combined pressure of strict discipline, high rewards, and the honor of fighting for their lord, the hearts of these wolf cavalrymen were gradually won over by Robb.
Meanwhile, the lords still in the castle, studying maps and preparing for upcoming battles, never imagined that in just a few days, the cavalry they had sent out would be completely under Robb's control.
After Robb's rigorous training, the wolf cavalry were no longer on the same level as they had been four days earlier. Their individual combat strength hadn't increased by much, but as a unit, they could now carry out orders with absolute precision. Their eyes were filled with desire and killing intent.
Without exaggeration, if time itself could be reversed and this current force were to fight the wolf cavalry from a few days ago, total annihilation might not be possible—but they would absolutely crush their former selves with overwhelming force.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the fading glow of sunset marked the passing of the day.
Robb looked at the newly transformed wolf cavalry and said with satisfaction,
"Very good. You've completed the initial training I set for you. I'm glad so many soldiers are still willing to stand by my side. Tomorrow, we march to the battlefield—let the enemy tremble beneath our hooves."
The wolf cavalry shouted in unison:
"Certain victory!"
After the shout, silence fell. No one whispered, no one spoke nonsense. Every pair of eyes stared firmly at their commander.
"Good. Return to the castle."
Awooo—
Along with a long, echoing wolf howl in the forest, all the wolf cavalry followed behind Robb, moving steadily toward Moat Cailin's castle.
Just as the formation emerged from the forest, Robb suddenly reined in his horse. The rest of the wolf cavalry instantly followed suit, pulling on their reins and waiting quietly behind him.
Robb suddenly drew his bow and shot an arrow at the ice direwolf leading the way—Grey Wind.
The direwolf was the sigil of House Stark of the North.
Long ago, Old Ned had once encountered a dying she-wolf in the wild. In her arms were six pups that had yet to grow—corresponding exactly to the six Stark children. Thus, he entrusted those six direwolves to the children to raise.
Each direwolf held special significance to House Stark. They had long surpassed the status of mere pets, carrying symbolic meaning similar to the Targaryen dragons. Grey Wind was Robb's symbol—where Grey Wind appeared, Robb was never far away.
Robb's signal arrow flew straight toward Grey Wind. Under days of training, every wolf cavalryman instinctively raised their bow and fired—but some still hesitated, their arrows not leaving the string immediately.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Two hundred and seventy-six arrows struck Grey Wind precisely. Yet Grey Wind made no sound. The arrows passed straight through his body and embedded themselves in the ground. Grey Wind's figure rippled like a reflection in water, wavering briefly before returning to normal.
[Luring Phantom][Creates an illusory figure to confuse the enemy.]
This Grey Wind was nothing more than an illusion Robb had created out of thin air.
The eleven wolf cavalrymen who had not fired their arrows behaved completely differently from the previous three. They voluntarily removed their armor, jumped down from their horses, and walked toward Robb with swords in hand.
There was no regret on their faces—only calm resolve in the face of death.
After days of training, they had fully accepted the wolf cavalry code Robb had established. Enjoying generous pay and honor naturally meant being prepared to die.
They knelt on one knee before Robb, raising their swords above their heads, asking their commander to execute them.
"Write your wills. I will deliver every copper of the reward you deserve to the person you consider most important."
Robb softened slightly. After all, humans are not made of wood—how could one be without feeling?
These eleven wolf cavalrymen—over the days they spent together, Robb had already memorized their names, learned about their families, and understood their preferences.
They were living, breathing people—not cold numbers on a battlefield.
But military law could not allow mercy. Once mercy was shown, more people would die because of it.
Robb accepted the blades they offered.
Two hundred and seventy-six wolf cavalrymen escorted eleven intact corpses as the formation returned to the castle gates under a solemn atmosphere.
That test had been Robb's final trial for them. Now, Robb believed this wolf cavalry's combat power would far exceed anyone's imagination.
When the sun's last trace of light remained, Robb's force finally caught sight of the gates of Moat Cailin.
At the castle entrance, Greatjon and Old Flayer were mounted on horseback, preparing to leave the castle and head toward the forest of Moat Cailin, clearly carrying important intelligence to report to Robb.
"This is a perfect opportunity for the wolf cavalry's first appearance."
Robb looked at the two figures, smiled faintly, ordered the wolf cavalry to stand by, and stepped forward to greet them.
As he approached Old Flayer, Roose Bolton, Robb didn't hesitate at all. He nocked an arrow and shot it straight at the old man's face.
And thus, Roose Bolton witnessed the most unforgettable scene of his life.
A full two hundred and seventy-six arrows flew toward him.
(End of Chapter)