The icy river water was so bone-chilling.
Even through his coarse linen clothes, Lucien felt the cold seeping into his very bones.
He gritted his teeth, trembling uncontrollably from the cold, and forcefully plunged a sharpened wooden stake into the riverbed's mud.
Beside him, two hundred soldiers emulated him, working strenuously in neck-deep water.
To avoid being swept away, they were tied to each other with ropes, the ends of which were secured to large trees by the river.
"My Lord! In this river! The stakes won't stand!" a soldier choked on a few mouthfuls of water, his voice tearful.
Before he finished speaking, the stake he had just driven in was swept away by the swift current.
He tried to retrieve it, but was pulled back by a nearby soldier.
Chasing it in such a current would only result in him being swept away with the stake.
Lucien didn't turn around, only grunted, pressing his shoulder hard against the stake in front of him.
With his other hand, he pressed down on the top of the stake again and again.
"Keep going!" His voice was hoarse, carrying an undeniable command.
The soldiers exchanged glances, fatigue and despair clearly etched on their faces.
They had been toiling for a day and a night without rest.
Lucien paused, the icy river water reaching his shoulders.
He slowly turned around, his bloodshot eyes sweeping over each weary and despairing soldier.
He was also very tired.
His lips moved a few times, as if he wanted to say something.
But in the end, he said nothing.
He simply picked up another large sack filled with stones.
Step by step, he moved laboriously to the designated position in the river, and set it down.
Then he continued to repeat the process.
Silent labor, solitary and stubborn.
The soldiers watched Lucien's resolute toil, watching his skin turn white from being soaked in the river water.
They were no longer silent; they just gritted their teeth.
Emulating Lucien, they continued to block this damned river!
—
"Bronn! Where are we going?" a slightly stiff voice asked from behind him.
Bronn's body stiffened, and he slowly turned his head.
He looked at the five Arthur soldiers riding ponies.
They were assigned to follow Bronn and obey his orders, hence calling him My Lord.
Although they had all been severely beaten by Bronn, they were now all subdued by him.
After all, not everyone could kill a wildling chieftain and emerge unscathed.
But this man had done it.
"We have another mission," Bronn chuckled dryly, trying to bluff his way through in Arthur's name.
"We must support Arthur!" one of the riders said in a deep voice, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Bronn's face darkened; these people were like idiots. He tried to reason with them.
"Our mission is complete! Understand?! Understand?!" he roared in a low voice, spittle almost spraying onto the faces of the five riders behind him.
He paused, then lowered his voice and said, "Our mission was to lure the wildlings to the designated location! The rest is Arthur's business! We've completed it!"
Another rider shook his head and replied unblinkingly, "Arthur only has a little over a hundred men! How can he hold out! We must go there!"
"I'm giving you a chance to live!" Bronn, somewhat exasperated, finally blurted out the truth, "What's the difference between going back there now and going to your death?!"
"If he wins, we go back!"
"If he dies, we go home!"
The riders fell silent.
They knew Bronn was not wrong.
The mission was complete.
No one would blame them afterward.
And they had already earned a lot of money.
"No!" Toman reined in his horse and roared loudly, "We cannot abandon Arthur!"
Bronn's face completely darkened, and he stared coldly at the young soldier, his hand on his sword hilt.
Toman saw Bronn's movement, but showed no fear: "You don't need to scare me, Bronn!"
"Everyone here can leave, but you can't!"
"Arthur has already given your name and likeness to the Riverlands refugees who are leaving!"
"And he's made it clear! If you escape, bounties for you will immediately be posted all over the Seven Kingdoms!"
"A thousand Silver Stag bounty!"
Bronn:....
Bronn's face froze, and his hand dropped from the sword hilt.
Toman saw the action, and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he had gambled correctly.
There was no such thing; he was bluffing Bronn.
Then he looked at the other four rider brothers: "You! Can you escape?!"
"Once Arthur falls in battle and Deep Valley City is lost!"
"Either die in battle, or change your name and disappear from the world forever!"
"Never to see your families again!"
"Otherwise, you and your families will all be hanged!"
Everyone fell silent!
Bronn took a deep breath, as if to squeeze all the air from his lungs.
By what virtue, I'm actually worth a thousand Silver Stags!
Finally, he slowly, slowly, exhaled.
"Damn it!" Bronn cursed at Toman.
He yanked hard on the reins, and the pony beneath him neighed, turning its direction.
The other five followed in silence.
—
To be honest, Arthur hadn't quite expected it.
Bronn hadn't run away; instead, he had brought men back.
He had thought Bronn would at best just wander around with the five riders, waiting for the battle to end before deciding what to do.
But now he had no time to ask about the situation.
Arthur stood on a wooden stockade built on a high slope in the river valley, gazing into the distance.
He could already hear the war cries of the High Mountain Clan wildlings in the distance, growing closer to the encampment.
"Arthur! They're here!" a soldier ran up the hill, panting, his face showing alarm and a hint of fear.
They only had a little over a hundred men, while the wildlings numbered four or five hundred.
This was different from previous battles.
This time, the wildlings had overwhelming numbers.
Gold, at this moment, had lost its meaning.
They had no confidence they would survive.
Arthur drew the Myrish longsword from his waist and looked back at his soldiers.
The atmosphere in the encampment was somewhat despairing.
They might not be going home this time.
Any words had lost their meaning.
So, Arthur said nothing.
He walked toward his warhorse, the white steed that had followed him for many days.
The soldiers watched him in silence.
How could a noble put himself in a position of certain death?
They all thought Arthur would probably mount his warhorse and abandon them, fleeing.
Arthur looked at the white warhorse, a gift from Lord Raymon Dayne.
The white horse was trembling from fright and exhaustion.
Arthur gently stroked the warhorse's neck, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.
This warhorse had been with him for a long time.
It was a gentle, good horse.
The white horse, feeling its master's touch, turned its head toward him.
Arthur gripped the white horse's mane tightly and sighed deeply.
Then he stepped back two paces.
He raised his longsword high and brought it down with one swift cut.
Pfft!
Warm horse blood gushed out, staining Arthur's armor.
The white warhorse let out a mournful cry, collapsing heavily to the ground, no longer moving.
A demonstration of certain death! This is the only way!
Arthur plunged the bloody longsword into the ground.
He wiped the horse blood from his face, and surveyed the shocked soldiers.
"I will live and die with you all!" His voice was calm yet carried a chilling power.
Hakon silently drew his longsword and walked towards his own warhorse.
Everyone fell silent.
They looked at the young noble, at the horse blood splattered all over him.
A strange emotion surged in their chests.
Bronn watched, dumbfounded.
He thought Arthur was truly insane.
Killing the horse meant Arthur was prepared to share life and death with his soldiers.
Without a warhorse, there was no possibility of escape.
"Damn it, what a lunatic!" Bronn cursed under his breath.