The wildling coalition began to rout under the dense rain of arrows from the Crabb longbows, breaking before they even reached the phalanx of Crabb spearmen.
The mountain wind was cold, biting the skin.
The air was thick with the stench of blood, and the wails of the fallen echoed endlessly across the ground.
The slaughter had to continue.
A Crabb clansman caught up to a fleeing mountain wildling.
Gripping his longsword tightly, he drove it viciously into the wildling’s armpit with a sickening squelch.
The blade pierced through the wildling’s ribs and into his heart.
When the clansman yanked the sword out, warm blood spurted forth.
Ser Mason charged valiantly at the vanguard.
Facing a spear thrust from an oncoming mountain wildling, he easily sidestepped the blow, seized the spear shaft with one hand, and swung his longsword in a swift, fierce arc, taking off the wildling’s head in a single strike.
The Crabb longbowmen split into small groups of twenty or thirty, coordinating their cull.
The pursuit of the wildlings was a one-sided slaughter.
After the battle, a heavy rain suddenly began to fall.
Inside Grim’s tent.
Enjoying a rare moment of leisure, Grim conversed with his commanders, the atmosphere inside harmonious.
Ser Pell, drenched to the bone by the downpour, hurried inside.
Usually composed, the knight now wore a trace of anxiety on his face.
Pell stopped before Grim and bowed.
“Good day, my lord!” Grim’s eyes shifted, his brows furrowing slightly.
“My loyal Ser Pell, you have had a hard ride.
Is there urgent military news?” Grim’s steady voice soothed Pell’s anxiety.
“Yes, my lord!
The Dyre Den has suddenly made a move.
They have contacted their allied wildling tribes, gathering a host of at least ten thousand men.
This is their declaration of war!” Grim took the letter Pell handed him with keen interest.
He glanced over it, his tone mocking.
“Heh, House Brune of the Dyre Den?
Claiming House Crabb has broken the peace of Crackclaw Point?” Crackclaw Point, though part of the crownlands, was truly a lawless place.
When conflicts of interest arose between nobles, they fought as they pleased; no one ever spared a thought for the Red Keep.
By the laws of the realm, nobles of the crownlands were forbidden from waging war upon one another without orders from the Red Keep.
Grim rose and walked to the table where a large map was spread out.
The others gathered around him, the atmosphere instantly growing tense.
They did not have to wait long.
Staring at the map, Grim pointed a finger at a specific spot.
“Here, Crescent Valley.
We will crush them here!” Crescent Valley was located about twenty miles northeast of Grim’s current encampment.
The valley’s entrance and exit were roughly a hundred yards wide, while the interior was relatively spacious, flanked by steep, treacherous cliffs.
The entire valley was shaped like a crescent moon, earning its name from the highly cultured people of Crackclaw Point.
Grim then pointed to a flat expanse of terrain some distance from the entrance of Crescent Valley.
“Pell, send word back to House Brune.
House Crabb accepts their challenge.
We will settle this here.” Based on the intelligence Pell provided, the battleground Grim chose was relatively fair in terms of distance for both sides.
Grim was not worried they would refuse.
There were other locations nearby with terrain similar to Crescent Valley, but Grim simply chose the one the Dyre Den would most easily accept.
If the Dyre Den insisted on rejecting every location Grim offered, he would simply abandon the idea of a field battle, fortify his current camp, and fight a defensive war from behind his earthworks.
The enemy had ten thousand men, while the Crabbs had fewer than a thousand.
Even if word got out, it would not tarnish the house’s honor.
Besides, House Crabb had taken the initiative to propose a field battle, and the chosen location fully respected the traditions of Crackclaw Point.
As Grim expected, once the Dyre Den and the wildling coalition confirmed the location, they readily agreed.
The battleground was reasonable and aligned with the traditions of Crackclaw Point.
No one suspected any foul play.
Though they outwardly mocked Grim’s youthful arrogance and overestimation of his own strength, inwardly they admired his courage to fight.
It was very Crackclaw Point.
At the appointed time three days later, Grim and Empara led the clansmen, along with auxiliaries and surrendered captives disguised as Crabb soldiers, to the agreed-upon battlefield.
Amidst the dense, dark formations of wildlings, the banners bearing the sigil of House Brune of the Dyre Den stood out prominently.
Grim observed that beneath the Brune banners stood a neat phalanx of about two hundred soldiers, a stark contrast to the surrounding wildlings.
House Brune’s soldiers boasted roughly fifty suits of iron armor and twenty warhorses—far wealthier than House Crabb.
On the Crabb side, only Grim, Empara, and a few of Grim’s guards were mounted on warhorses.
The impoverished Lord Grim gazed at the Brune phalanx and lamented inwardly.
*That’s just about enough iron armor and warhorses for the trip to King’s Landing.
No need for extra expenses; that’ll save quite a few gold dragons.* *Sure enough, We Do Not Sow.* Grim suddenly understood; the ironborn had likely comprehended their house words under circumstances much like his own.
Empara finished her own observations and said, “Lord Grim, they have about fifty horses in total.
It is a pity Lyra does not know horse archery.
If we had one more person, shooting them down would be much easier.” Grim seemed to be in high spirits, a smile spreading across his face.
“I will assign two mounted guards to follow you.
Remember to keep a safe distance.
Our primary targets are any cavalry that charge us.” No one knew Grim’s inner thoughts.
They could rack their brains and never guess that his sudden good mood was due to House Brune’s equipment.
At most, they assumed their warlike lord was simply thrilled by the impending battle.
Empara said solemnly, “Understood, my lord.
Rest assured!” Grim reached out and gently patted Empara’s arm.
“Good.
I have always believed in you.
It is time you had a suit of plate armor as well.” Empara, usually a straightforward thinker, rarely caught on so quickly, but she immediately understood the meaning behind Grim’s words.
Together with Grim, she fixed her gaze upon the Brune phalanx.
The Vale, Gulltown.