Outside the northern forest beyond Winterfell, the Bolton family's allied cavalry was assembling. Nearly two thousand riders had gathered there, with another three thousand infantrymen forming ranks behind them.
At the front of the formation, Black Eel·York sat astride his horse, gazing proudly at the restless soldiers before him. Excitement and pride surged in his chest — this was his first time commanding such a large army. In his eyes, this well-equipped cavalry could crush any enemy in their path.
Their mission was to strike the enemy's rear lines, disrupt their formation, and open the way for the infantry phalanx to encircle and annihilate them.
"Soldiers! The Duke is waiting for our horn of attack! The enemy's formation is in chaos — now is our chance! The Golden Dragon and the land await us! Kill—!"
"Hu-ha! Woo-oo!"
With the roar of voices and the blare of horns, the hidden Bolton cavalry burst from the forest, charging straight toward Brynden's forces at the base of the city.
Almost at the same moment, the bell tower within Winterfell began to toll. Reinforcements from the city surged out from every corner, counterattacking the Imperial troops.
"Wooo— Winter—!"
On the Valyrian Empire's side, horns and war drums also thundered in unison. Over a thousand Imperial cavalry, led by Godric and the other four, formed a wedge-shaped formation and charged toward the Bolton cavalry.
Some time ago, Mako had promoted Caspar·Ed and the others into Holy Knights. Now, the holy radiance from their bodies blazed like sunlight — dazzling and awe-inspiring.
Although Black Eel·York spotted the enemy's cavalry, there was no time to hesitate. He ordered the trumpeter to keep blowing and led his men in a full-force charge toward the Imperial army beneath the city walls.
"Liiiii—! Roaaar—!"
With the cries of dragons and eagles, Little Green Dragon and Little Crystal Dragon swooped down, unleashing torrents of dragon breath that tore through the cavalry ranks like plows through soil, shattering their charge formation.
From above, the griffons dove, dropping boulder-sized stones that crashed into the charging Bolton riders. Horses and men were thrown into chaos — death and screams filled the air.
Black Eel·York relied on his superb horsemanship to dodge the deadly barrage, but when he finally glimpsed the Imperial troops beneath the walls, his heart sank. In front of them were rows of war wagons, antler barricades, and heaps of stones — all arranged to block the Bolton cavalry's charge.
Bang!
Even with the obstacles, the Bolton riders, driven by sheer numbers and brute force, still managed to throw Brynden's reserve lines into disarray.
Seeing the enemy infantry drawing closer, Brynden dispatched his giant warriors. The moment they joined the fray, the battlefield turned upside down. These towering, fully-armored giants wielded spiked maces that smashed both horse and rider into the dirt with every swing.
When the horn of the Boltons sounded again, their cavalry began withdrawing from the Imperial formation — not to retreat, but to make way for their advancing infantry phalanx.
But as soon as they fell back, they ran headlong into the Imperial cavalry that had been lying in wait. The first clash shattered the Bolton cavalry's spirit — in an instant, they broke ranks and fled in terror.
The five Holy Knights fought like divine warriors; the Bolton riders barely had time to lower their lances before being knocked off their mounts.
The fleeing cavalry were then ruthlessly hunted down on the open plain before Winterfell. They would not be the last to die there — in some future battle, they would again shed blood for their liege… until they were defeated by the "cavalry from the Vale descending from the skies."
"Haa—!"
Now, over three thousand infantry advanced under the flayed-man banner of House Bolton. The soldiers at the front carried massive oak tower shields, while those behind them leveled long, three-meter-spears — intent on pinning the Imperial troops against the city gates.
In the center of their formation, two teams of soldiers pushed heavy crossbows — each weapon operated by three men and capable of firing three huge bolts at once, each over a meter long. Behind them marched soldiers wielding waist-crossbows.
The Imperial crossbowmen atop the battlements quickly came under concentrated fire, their volleys suppressed. Meanwhile, the wildling warriors held in reserve under Brynden and Langya's command formed a defensive line, bracing for the clash with the Bolton infantry.
But the difference was clear almost immediately. Though the wildlings were fierce and spirited, they lacked the discipline and coordination of trained soldiers. They were pushed back step by step.
As the situation grew critical, Brynden played his final card. Against a normal lord's army, the Bolton alliance would likely have already broken morale — but fate had pitted them against Mako, a man who commanded system-born soldiers.
"Winter—!"
A rapid drumbeat echoed across the battlefield. From the end of the King's Road, four colossal figures emerged from the forest.
Leading them was a massive creature resembling a Brachiosaurus, but with six huge heads — the Abyssal Hydra, a level-5 unit of the Dungeon faction.
Following it came three more titans: the Flame Lord (a level-6 Fortress unit, now lacking teleportation and ranged attacks but with greater armor), the Rakshasa King (Academy level-6), and the Ancient Treant (Forest level-6).
Mako had recruited these four creatures at the Griffon Fortress tavern's refugee post, spending nearly fifty thousand gold. Enhanced by the Vigor Spring and their racial traits, each of them possessed power equivalent to a level-7 unit — Brynden's ultimate trump card.
These beings had survived within spatial rifts for eons; their strength and intelligence were unmatched, and they fully understood Brynden's commands.
The Bolton soldiers froze in fear at the sight of the four titans. Panic rippled through the ranks, though their officers' shouts steadied them again. The crossbow teams in the center quickly swiveled their weapons toward the monsters.
"Roaaar—!"
Arrows peppered the Abyssal Hydra and Ancient Treant, drawing pained bellows — but instead of retreating, the wounds only enraged them further. The Hydra charged first, tearing open a massive gap in the phalanx, followed closely by the Treant from the opposite flank.
The two beasts attacked in tandem, tearing the formation apart. The Ancient Treant rooted itself in place, enduring blows as it lashed out with vines that coiled around hapless soldiers.
The Hydra's six heads snapped and devoured wildly; its powerful Regeneration ability forced arrows from its flesh, rendering the soldiers' attacks nearly useless.
Then the Flame Lord and Rakshasa King crashed into the fray. Fire Wave and Charge abilities exploded through the ranks, completely shattering the Bolton infantry's formation. Seeing the moment, Brynden ordered his wildling reserve to press forward.
Roose Bolton's carefully planned assault had been utterly undone. Outside the walls, the battle neared its end — the once-mighty infantry phalanx was broken, leaving only brutal close-quarters combat.
Facing these four mighty system creatures, the Bolton soldiers finally understood how insignificant human strength could be.
Especially against the Abyssal Hydra, a creature that knew no fear and fought on even as its body was riddled with holes — slaughtering without pause, relying on sheer vitality to keep moving.
The others were no less terrifying — vines strangled men, flames consumed them, and a lion-like monster darted through the ranks faster than the eye could follow.
When the four titans' bodies grew heavy with wounds, Brynden decisively ordered them to retreat.
By then, the Bolton army was in full collapse. Soldiers knelt in surrender or dropped weapons to flee. Though the wildlings were weaker in battle, their sheer numbers and knack for catching prey turned the rout into a slaughter.
When the four creatures halted, Godric and the Holy Knights rushed forward to cast Holy Healing. While Holy Knights lacked the raw might of Champion Knights, their rare healing magic was invaluable. In times of scarce resources, every saved elite was a priceless asset — and Mako knew it.
Inside Winterfell, the fighting had reached a stalemate. Behind the inner walls, Bolton soldiers formed unyielding shield phalanxes, pressing the wildlings back, denying them any chance to close the distance.
The griffon squadron and two young dragons, exhausted from prolonged flight, could no longer support the battle. Outside, the system beasts and giants too were spent. For a moment, the balance of war seemed to hang once more.
But Brynden had foreseen this. He waved for the trumpeter beside him.
The horn of assembly sounded again. As the wildlings regrouped and withdrew, Brynden sent in his final force — five hundred Blood Raven Guards.
Personally trained by him, these elite soldiers were a step above the former Crow-Tooth Guard. Archers and horsemen alike, they were the finest warriors among the wildlings.
Under Brynden's command, the Blood Raven Guards pushed war wagons toward the city gates. Each wagon was fitted with racks of spears and blades, specially slotted for combat against shield walls. To prevent burning, the tops were covered in damp frozen soil and soaked cloth.
After reaching the battering ram, they dismantled it, mounting the spear and blade racks instead. The guards rallied the wildlings, and together they shoved the armored wagons forward into the inner city.
This point-piercing tactic proved devastatingly effective. The Bolton phalanx crumbled before the mobile wall of spears and steel. Once the formation broke, the wildlings roared and charged, clashing with the Bolton soldiers in a brutal melee.
On the training field, Roose Bolton, mounted and watching his forces fall apart, wore an expression colder than death. He turned to the commander of his Bloodhand Troop, Bug-Tooth·Mansen, and asked quietly:
"Have the arrangements been made?"
Mansen swallowed nervously, his voice trembling."My lord… are you truly sure about this? The castle — after this, we'll…"
Roose said nothing. He turned, his expression calm and terrifying. Only now did Mansen truly understand what they meant when they said, 'A calm Roose Bolton is the most terrifying Roose Bolton.'
"I… I've followed your orders, my lord," Mansen stammered. "All the flammables and the remaining barrels of fire-oil are placed. Those Myrish candles — they'll ignite when we depart. W-we can retreat now, my lord!"
He bowed his head, trembling as though some great beast were watching him.
Roose's cold gaze lingered a moment, then he nodded. After a brief silence, he said evenly,
"Sound the retreat. Set the fires. I have a bad feeling — we must buy time for our withdrawal. Go."
"Yes, my lord!"
The Bolton retainers had already evacuated when Roose first received the news. Now, he could only plan his next move. With more than half the North still under his control, he wasn't ready to give up. Not yet. He would try once more.
Meanwhile, Brynden's shapeshifters slipped into the city under the chaos of the siege. The reports they brought soon reached his ears.
"Speed up the assault!" Brynden ordered. "Prepare to put out the fires!"
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