Naturally, what happened in Harrion's camp couldn't escape Roose Bolton's notice.
"They're fighting? Why?"
"It seems like the Wildling soldiers of the bastard stole the meat rations from the Karstark soldiers' supplies," Polliver replied.
"Stole meat?" Roose Bolton leaned back in his chair, pondering. "That does sound like something those Wildlings would do."
"Lord Bolton, will this incident cause a rift between the bastard and House Karstark?"
Roose Bolton glanced at him, then shook his head. "Unlikely. Jon is to Harrion what Eddard is to Rickard. It's just a few pieces of meat; it won't come to that."
"Go and check again. Report any new developments immediately. Oh, and where is the bastard now?"
"He went hunting with his wolf last night and seems to have just returned."
Roose Bolton nodded, looking somewhat more relaxed. Jon hadn't had any contact with other lords these past few days, so this conflict was likely an accident.
After Polliver left, Roose Bolton went to the window and looked down. Unfortunately, due to the angle and height, he couldn't see everything clearly or hear anything distinctly.
He looked towards the Tower of Dread, wondering what Jon was up to.
Soon, Polliver returned, his face excited. "Lord Bolton, Lord Bolton! Those Wildlings went back and called for more people! The bastard is here too, saying he hopes you'll mediate!"
"He wants me to mediate? What's the situation now?"
"There are many people gathered there, and it seems quite a few nobles have also gone over, like Meiqi Saiwen and Wendel Manderly. They're all there, and so are the Brave Companions."
"How did so many people go there all at once?"
Roose Bolton felt suspicious, sensing something was amiss. "Have Jon's men left his camp?"
"No, Lord Bolton. If they had, our men would have reported it," Polliver answered definitively.
Roose Bolton frowned in thought, convinced that this was an accident. In that case, he had no choice but to intervene.
After all, Jon was leaving Harrenhal and the Eastern Army soon. This incident was a good opportunity for him to establish his authority.
When he learned that Vargo Hoat, the leader of the Brave Companions, had also sent people over, he knew he had to act.
Otherwise, even if Jon left, if he couldn't even handle such a small matter, he wouldn't have enough prestige to command the entire army.
Roose Bolton thought for a moment and said, "Go and take men to control the situation. If possible, only bring the bastard and Harrion here."
"Yes, my Lord," Polliver replied, quickly departing.
At Harrion's camp, both sides were still cursing non-stop: "If it weren't for our Lord Jon, you'd be dead by now. What's the big deal about eating two pieces of your meat?"
"Ah! You scoundrel, you admit it now? Withholding food from other armies, do you know what crime that is?" Harrion, lying on a stretcher, roared in anger. The other nobles, after some inquiry, basically understood what had happened.
Recently, their own soldiers had also complained about less meat and rations being withheld, but it seemed to have erupted here with Harrion first.
At this moment, Dondarrion, who had already been secretly swapped and was lying on a stretcher, knew Jon's entire plan. They had just, while no one was paying attention, replaced all the truly wounded soldiers with healthy soldiers wearing inner armor, their faces merely smeared with deer and animal blood.
On the other side, Martin had already assembled the heavy cavalry camp, ready to rush to the Tower of the Wailing at any moment to contain the Bolton army.
As soon as they entered the Hundred Hearth Hall, they would make their move against Roose Bolton. They had to control Roose Bolton as quickly as possible, even if it meant killing him.
Soon, Dondarrion heard a dense sound of footsteps approaching from afar, and the voices of Bolton soldiers rang in his ears: "Stop! Everyone stop! Lord Jon, Lord Harrion, please come with us!"
Dondarrion subtly opened one eye and saw that it was Polliver, Roose Bolton's confidant.
Then Jon's voice rang out: "Men, carry up our wounded! Let Lord Bolton see who violated military regulations first!"
"You're not the only ones with wounded! We have them too! Men! Carry them all and let's go!" Harrion's voice also chimed in opportunely.
But there were nearly thirty to forty wounded here. If two men carried one stretcher, that would be over a hundred people in total. How could Polliver allow so many outsiders to go to the Tower of Dread?
"No! The wounded stay here."
"Why not! They must be brought! The injuries of these men are all evidence!"
"Bring them if you must! You were the ones who started it!"
"Seven Hells! You're lying!"
"Quiet! Everyone be quiet!" The commotion outside started again, and Polliver quickly shouted, but the current scene was beyond his control.
Jon spoke again: "How about this, Polliver? If Lord Bolton thinks there are too many people, then let the Bolton soldiers carry them to the Tower of the Wailing."
Polliver heard this and thought it was a good idea that served both purposes.
Although quite a few people would go, these people were all injured and couldn't possibly have any fighting strength. So he signaled the Bolton soldiers to carry these disguised wounded to the Tower of the Wailing.
Feeling someone approach him, Dondarrion immediately put on a pained expression, and with his face covered in animal blood, he looked utterly miserable.
Soon, under Polliver's command, a group of Bolton soldiers awkwardly carried these men towards the Tower of the Wailing.
Soon, Dondarrion heard the sound of arguing again.
"You saved my life; I'll simply repay you. The men of House Karstark will never endure such an insult!"
"Hmph! So House Karstark also twists facts! Explain to me what you mean by 'insult'!"
Jon and Harrion walked at the very front. While pretending to argue with Harrion, he quietly told him his plan.
"Lord Dondarrion is mixed in with my soldiers. His stretcher holds the Mountain's weapons. Later, I'll be responsible for blocking the doors of the Hundred Hearth Hall, and you'll be responsible for capturing Roose Bolton! Don't worry, I'll take sole responsibility afterward."
"Jon, though I don't know what you're doing, I know everything you do is for the North. You cannot bear this burden alone."
"Your words are enough," Jon said softly, then raised his voice again, "Stop your damn nonsense! If you think you're right, then let's have a trial by combat!"
"Trial by combat it is! Who's afraid of you!"
The two argued incessantly, while Polliver watched with a cold eye. "Let them argue, let them fight. It's good for us; the Northern army will then be under our Lord's control."
He walked behind the two, stealing a glance at the soldiers on the stretchers. They all had their eyes tightly closed and their bodies stiff, which made Polliver feel something was off.
Just as they were ascending the steps, two Bolton soldiers lost their grip, and a stretcher suddenly tipped over.
And along with the stretcher, a short axe tumbled out.
The short axe clattered on the ground, bringing an abrupt halt to Jon and Harrion's 'argument'.
Looking at the short axe on the ground, everyone exchanged glances, and the feigning injured soldier lying on the ground also looked at a loss.
'Are we exposed?' Dondarrion slightly raised his upper body, eyes wide, staring at the short axe on the ground, and couldn't help but break out in a cold sweat.
Just as Polliver was about to pick up the axe, Jon snatched it away in a flash.
He pointed the short axe at Harrion and angrily said, "Your men are carrying weapons?"
"That's impossible! We Karstarks would never turn our blades on our own!"
"The evidence is in my hand now. Whatever you have to say, say it in the Hundred Hearth Hall!" Jon said coldly, then berated the Bolton soldier who had accidentally tipped the stretcher.
Polliver's doubts quickly dissipated, and he ordered them to continue forward.
Soon, everyone arrived at the Hundred Hearth Hall. The heavy oak doors were open, and inside, Bolton soldiers stood, roughly fifty of them.
First, the door. He hadn't noticed it before, but now he realized how tall it was. He couldn't say how heavy it was, but if it fell, it could easily kill a horse!
They had brought just over thirty men. At least seven or eight would be needed just to block the door.
Then there were the Bolton soldiers, almost all fully armed. Plus the soldiers carrying the stretchers, their numbers were almost three times theirs!
Dondarrion felt very uncertain. Finally, there was Roose Bolton, seated on the throne, his face stern and expressionless, watching their procession.
The conspicuous stretchers filed into the Hundred Hearth Hall, intensifying Roose Bolton's suspicions. He truly didn't believe Jon and Harrion would fall out over such a matter.
But sitting on the throne, he looked at the blood-covered soldiers lying on the stretchers and still couldn't understand what was truly going on.
He looked at the fifty-plus fully armed Bolton soldiers standing in the hall. The soldiers on the stretchers were not only injured but also unarmed. Even if Jon had some scheme, he had nothing to worry about.
When more than thirty stretchers were laid out before him, Roose Bolton looked at Jon and Harrion, who stood side-by-side, five or six steps away, and said, "Jon, Ser Harrion, I've heard about your dispute, but I still want to hear your thoughts."
Roose Bolton's gaze never left the two of them, as if trying to discern some clue. Sure enough, Harrion instinctively looked at Jon, and his expression definitely didn't suggest any friction or conflict. The two must be up to something.
'Are they deliberately trying to cause me trouble?' Roose Bolton wondered.
"It's like this," Harrion began, breaking the silence first. "Our Karhold soldiers' meat rations were withheld by those Wildlings..."
"Who are you calling Wildlings?" Harrion hadn't even finished speaking when Harken, lying on a stretcher, angrily spoke up, his voice full of vigor, not sounding injured at all.
"I'm talking about you Wildlings who came down from the mountains, don't you understand?" Harrion glared at Harken, and the two started arguing again.
Throughout this, Roose Bolton's eyes never left Jon's face.
As Harrion and Harken argued, Jon suddenly turned to the Bolton soldiers carrying the stretchers and said, "What are you still standing here for? Is watching us argue so entertaining? Is it good to watch, hmm?!"
"Jon Snow, a bastard who is about to be stripped of his command, by what right do you order our Bolton soldiers?!" Polliver, standing beside Roose Bolton, couldn't stand it. As Jon's gaze met his, Roose Bolton quickly rebuked Polliver: "Shut your mouth!"
Roose Bolton said, then looked at the Bolton soldiers who had carried the stretchers and said, "You may leave."
Soon, over sixty Bolton soldiers left the hall with sparse footsteps.
They had carried Jon's 'wounded' a long way, already sweating profusely and their arms aching. Since Roose Bolton told them to leave, they simply left.
Roose Bolton, meanwhile, thought that this was merely Jon's last attempt to show off, as his soldiers would soon be his own.
Even if there were some unforeseen circumstances, there were still two to three hundred Bolton elites in this Tower of the Wailing, and he would still be able to "control the overall situation."
Soon, with the departure of over sixty Bolton soldiers, there were now only about a hundred people in the Hundred Hearth Hall. Thirty-odd were brought by Jon and Harrion, and over fifty were fully armed Bolton soldiers.
Jon secretly used the sound of footsteps to confirm that the sixty-plus Bolton soldiers had left the floor where the Tower of the Wailing was located and were still moving further away.
At this moment, Roose Bolton was still patiently listening to Harrion rambling about how today's conflict came to be. Then Jon suddenly moved, and Polliver, standing beside him, immediately tensed up.
After all, this man before them was a formidable individual who had defeated a heavily armored swordsman with a wooden stick and had slain the Mountain. Every move he made warranted caution.
"Jon?" Roose Bolton was naturally very nervous. He had long regarded Jon as a dangerous force, like a Flood. He tentatively called out, and Jon, expressionless, walked to the window with his raven and released it.
'What exactly is he doing?'
Roose Bolton grew even more bewildered, and everyone else's gaze also converged on Jon.
Harrion stood there, Harken and Dondarrion lay on the stretchers.
After Jon released the raven, he walked directly to the main door, and what happened next made their eyes practically pop out.
Jon pushed the oak door, which was not much smaller than a typical castle gate, slowly closing it.
The height of the oak door was at least twice Jon's height, which created a strong sense of incongruity. Only the creaking sound the oak door made as it closed spoke of its weight.
Not only Roose Bolton, Polliver, Harrion, but also Dondarrion, lying on the stretcher, secretly swallowed their saliva.
Is this even a human being?
Jon ignored the stunned Bolton soldiers at the hall entrance, shouldered the door, and propped it shut. The light in the hall instantly dimmed.
The surrounding Bolton soldiers all gripped their weapons tightly. No one had given them an order; this was a purely instinctive action.
"Jon, what are you doing?!" Roose Bolton could no longer sit still on the throne. He, too, covertly moved his hand towards his sword.
Roose Bolton couldn't see Jon's face. Jon, standing by the door, seemed to have hidden himself in the shadows.
"Lord Bolton, I want to ask you, if I were to march my army to attack King's Landing right now, would you be willing?"