The Vale, Gulltown.
Night was about to fall.
The largest square near the port of Gulltown had lit its bonfires earlier than usual.
A multitude of singers gathered here, singing a song with an unfamiliar melody.
The scale of the chorus was unprecedented; the echoing voices encompassed almost the entire port area, drawing an ever-growing crowd.
Some began to ask for the name of the unfamiliar song.
It turned out to be “Listening to the Whispers of the Crypt,” said to come from Crackclaw Point across the strait to the south.
As the night deepened, the crowd finally began to disperse, though left wanting more, the song seemingly still drifting in their ears.
Suddenly, bursts of exclamation erupted from the crowd.
Somewhere to the west of Gulltown, a raging fire shot into the sky, painting half the heavens red.
The next day, everyone in Gulltown knew that the manse of the merchant Ushur Meka had caught fire, and not a single soul in the entire estate had survived.
Crackclaw Point, the battlefield of the old Crabb lands.
“Hoo~!
Hoo~!
Hoo~!” “Hoo~!
Hoo~!
Hoo~!” “Hoo~!
Hoo~!
Hoo~!” Chanting in unison, the wildlings began a slow march toward Grim’s phalanx under the command of House Brune of the Dyre Den.
At a distance of three hundred yards, Grim raised his bow and nocked an arrow.
With a *thwip*, a knight tumbled from horseback.
Empara spurred her horse back and forth before the formation, shouting, “Hold!
Hold!
Await my command!” Grim loosed a second arrow, and another knight smashed into the ground, swallowed by the advancing formation.
After Grim shot down five knights in succession, the enemy knights dismounted entirely, leading their horses as they blended into the ranks.
The two sides were now just over two hundred yards apart.
After Grim shot down the standard-bearer holding the banner of House Brune, he gave Empara a slight nod.
“Fall back!” “Fall back!” “Fall back!” Empara executed the order.
Led by the Crabb clansmen, the “soldiers” turned on their heels.
Their path of retreat naturally led toward the entrance of Crescent Valley.
This shift in Grim’s lines immediately caught the enemy’s attention, and they quickened their pace.
Everything was proceeding exactly according to Grim’s plan.
Just as Grim prepared to spur his horse and join the “fleeing” ranks, a minor complication arose.
A rotund figure, round as a meatball, suddenly charged onto the battlefield.
Shield raised and warhammer held high, he sprinted headlong into the army of House Brune and the wildlings.
Seeing Grim’s forces fleeing, the enemy had already broken formation in their eagerness to give chase.
The charging meatball soon collided with the fastest of the enemy vanguard.
The meatball’s massive bulk plowed through, his shield sending two men flying, while his raised warhammer came down to smash a nearby wildling’s head to a pulp.
Without pausing, the meatball swung his hammer again, viciously cracking open another wildling’s skull.
In stark contrast to his obese frame, the meatball was incredibly agile.
His shield blocked every incoming attack, and his warhammer effortlessly shattered head after head.
The meatball seemed to possess a beast’s intuition.
After killing several men in quick succession, he sensed something was wrong and stole a glance toward Grim’s position during a lull in the fighting.
*Where did everyone go?* *Why is there only one knight left?* *I could have sworn there was a whole host of them.
Did I remember wrong?* The meatball finally started to panic.
No matter how fierce he was, he couldn’t kill them all…
He began to consciously back away.
Grim tentatively judged this strange brute who had suddenly crashed the battlefield to be a friend, not a foe.
Grim spurred his horse forward, loosing arrows in rapid succession as he moved.
The wildlings surrounding the strange brute fell one by one.
Grim locked eyes on a knight accelerating toward the brute, shot him from his saddle with a single arrow, and shouted, “Mount up!” Hearing Grim’s voice, the brute rammed his shield into an enemy, sending the man flying, and rushed to the masterless warhorse.
His massive body vaulted nimbly into the saddle.
Grim continued to loose arrows, providing covering fire.
The brute urged his warhorse closer to Grim and said in a thick, simple voice, “Lord Grim, your renown spreads far and wide.
I came in admiration of…
uh…
uh…
I forgot my words!” “I heard…
heard of the call to arms for the old Crabb lands.
I hoped to serve you, but I’m a bastard, so I didn’t dare seek an audience with you directly.” “I asked around and found the battlefield here.
I wanted to put on a good show first, to earn your favor!” *Is this a free-agent warrior volunteering his services?* Grim backed his horse away while shouting, “Stranger, tell me your name!” “Oh, oh, sorry, my apologies.
My name is Monton Waters…” As the warhorse galloped, Monton Waters’s belly, round as a massive watermelon, jiggled up and down, rippling like water.
The corners of Grim’s lips curled up slightly.
“Welcome, my warrior!” Hearing Grim’s affirmation, Monton Waters’s simple voice actually carried a hint of a sob.
“You are too kind.
I truly thank you.
I swear to fight for you forever…
uh…
uh…
I forgot my words again.
I…
I…
I’ll try to eat less?!” “My warrior, you will have your fill.
Eat as much as you want!” Monton Waters turned his head to look at Grim’s profile, stunned.
Recovering his wits, Monton Waters tilted his head up slightly, a goofy smile spreading beneath his resolute gaze…
*The weather is truly beautiful today!* [Lord Grim’s first adorable general, Monton Waters, makes his debut] Finding more and more weapons and armor discarded on the ground by the Crabb soldiers, House Brune and the wildlings clamored and cursed as they poured into Crescent Valley.
Once the enemy had fully entered Crescent Valley, they were met with fierce fires suddenly erupting from both the front and the rear.
Surrounded by merciless flames, their screams and wails seemed to tear out of Crescent Valley.
Although Grim had prepared as best he could, time had been insufficient, and the heavy rains of the past few days had dampened the blaze.
Still, over three thousand men were left in Crescent Valley forever.
The remaining enemies barely managed to charge out of the valley, but they had exhausted all their strength.
Most became Grim’s prisoners.
Five days later, near the Dyre Den.
*Holy shit!* Atop his warhorse, Grim gazed at the Dyre Den, which seemed to tower into the clouds, speechless for a long time.