The events in Harrion's camp naturally couldn't escape Roose Bolton's eyes and ears.
"A fight broke out? Why?"
"It seems the bastard's wildling soldiers stole the meat rations allocated to the Karstark soldiers," Bolin replied.
"Stole meat?" Roose Bolton leaned back in his chair, pondering. "That does sound like something those wildlings would do."
"My Lord, will this cause a rift between the bastard and Karstark?"
Roose Bolton glanced at him, then shook his head. "Unlikely. Jon is to Harrion what Eddard was to Rickard. A few pieces of meat won't be enough."
"Keep watching. Let me know immediately if there are any new developments. By the way, where is that bastard now?"
"He went out hunting with his wolf last night. Seems he just got back."
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 Bolin 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 the hell Jon was up to.
Soon, Bolin returned, excitement on his face. "My Lord, my Lord! Those wildlings went back to call for more people, and the bastard came too. He says he wants you to judge the matter!"
"Let me judge? What's the situation now?"
"There's a big crowd gathered there now. And it seems quite a few nobles ran over too, like Medger Cerwyn and Wendel Manderly. They're all there, along with people from the Brave Companions."
"Why did so many people go there all of a sudden?"
Suspicion arose in Roose Bolton's heart. Something felt off. "Did Jon's men ever leave his camp?"
"No, my Lord. If they had, our men would have reported it," Bolin answered with certainty.
Roose Bolton frowned in thought, confirming this matter was an accident. In that case, he had to intervene.
After all, Jon would be leaving Harrenhal and the Eastern Army soon. He could use this incident to establish his authority.
When he learned that Vargo Hoat, commander of the Brave Companions, had also sent men over, he knew he had to act.
Otherwise, even if Jon left, failing to handle such a trivial matter would leave him without enough prestige to command the entire army.
Roose Bolton thought for a moment and said, "Go take some men to control the scene first. If possible, only bring the bastard and Harrion here."
"Yes, my Lord." Bolin received the order and left quickly.
At this moment, both sides in Harrion's camp were still cursing endlessly. "If not for our Lord Jon, you'd have lost your life long ago! We ate two pieces of your meat, what's there to be unwilling about?"
"Ah! You bastards, you admit it now? withholding food from other troops, do you know what crime that is?" Harrion roared from his stretcher. Other nobles, after inquiring, basically understood what had happened.
Actually, their soldiers had also complained about reduced meat rations recently, but it seemed to have erupted here with Harrion first.
By now, Beric Dondarrion, who had secretly swapped places to lie on a stretcher, knew Jon's entire plan. While no one was paying attention, they had replaced all the real wounded soldiers with able-bodied soldiers wearing mail shirts underneath, their faces smeared with deer and animal blood.
On the other side, Martyn had also gathered the Heavy Armored Battalion, ready to rush to the Kingpyre Tower to pin down the Dreadfort troops at any moment.
As soon as they entered the Hall of the Hundred Hearths, they would move against Roose Bolton. They had to control Roose Bolton as quickly as possible, even if it meant killing him.
Soon, Beric heard dense footsteps approaching, and the voice of a Dreadfort soldier rang in his ears: "Stop! Everyone stop! Lord Jon, Lord Harrion, please come with us!"
Beric opened one eye slightly and saw it was Roose Bolton's confidant, Bolin.
Then Jon's voice rang out: "Men, carry our wounded. Let Lord Bolton see who violated military regulations first!"
"You think only you have wounded? We do too! Men! Carry them and let's go together!" Harrion's voice also sounded at the right moment.
But there were about thirty or forty "wounded" here. With two people carrying one stretcher, that added up to over a hundred people. How could Bolin allow so many outsiders to go to the Kingpyre Tower?
"No! The wounded stay here."
"Why?! We must bring them! Their injuries are evidence!"
"Bring them then! You started it!"
"Seven Hells! You're full of shit!"
"Quiet! Everyone be quiet!" The noise outside erupted again. Bolin shouted loudly, but the scene was beyond his control.
Jon spoke again: "How about this, Bolin? If Lord Bolton thinks there are too many people, let the Dreadfort soldiers carry them to the Kingpyre Tower."
Hearing this, Bolin thought it was a good compromise.
Although many people would be going over, they were all injured and couldn't have any combat capability. So he ordered the Dreadfort soldiers to carry these disguised wounded to the Kingpyre Tower.
Feeling someone approach, Beric immediately put on a pained expression. With his face covered in animal blood, he looked utterly miserable.
Soon, under Bolin's command, a group of Dreadfort soldiers clumsily carried these men towards the Kingpyre Tower.
Before long, Beric heard arguing again.
"You saved my life, I can just repay you! A Karstark will not suffer such insults!"
"Hmph! So Karstarks resort to sophistry too? Explain to me what you mean by insult!"
Jon and Harrion walked at the very front. While pretending to argue with Harrion, Jon told him his plan.
"Lord Beric is hidden among my soldiers. His stretcher contains The Mountain's weapon. Later, I will be responsible for blocking the door to the Hall of the Hundred Hearths, and you will capture Roose Bolton! Don't worry, I will take sole responsibility afterward."
"Jon, although I don't know exactly what you're doing, I know everything you do is for the North. I can't let you bear this alone."
"That's enough for me," Jon said softly, then raised his volume again. "Cut the crap! If you think you're innocent, then let's have a trial by combat!"
"Trial by combat it is! Who's afraid of you!"
The two argued continuously, while Bolin watched coldly from the side. Argue away. The bigger the fuss, the better. That way, the Northern army will fall under our Lord's control.
Walking behind them, he took a moment to glance at the soldiers on the stretchers. Their eyes were tightly closed, and their bodies were stiff, which felt a bit odd to Bolin.
Just as they were going up the steps, two Bolton soldiers stumbled, and a stretcher tipped over.
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 looked at each other in dismay. The soldier feigning injury on the ground was also at a loss.
Are we exposed? Beric raised his upper body slightly, staring wide-eyed at the axe, sweating nervously.
Just as Bolin was about to pick up the axe, Jon snatched it away with a quick step.
He pointed the axe at Harrion and roared, "Your men brought weapons?"
"Impossible! We Karstarks would never turn blades against our own!"
"The evidence is in my hand! Save your words for the Hall of the Hundred Hearths!" Jon said coldly, scolding the Dreadfort soldiers who had accidentally tipped the stretcher.
Bolin's suspicion dissipated quickly, and he ordered them to continue.
Soon, they arrived at the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. The heavy oak doors were wide open, and inside stood fully armed Dreadfort soldiers—a rough count showed about fifty of them.
First, the door. He hadn't noticed when he came before, but now he realized how high it was. It was hard to say how heavy, but if it fell, it could crush a horse!
They had only brought a little over thirty men. Just blocking the door would require diverting seven or eight of them.
Then there were the Dreadfort soldiers, almost all fully armed. Plus the soldiers carrying the stretchers, their numbers were nearly triple Jon's group!
Beric felt very unsure. Finally, there was Roose Bolton sitting on the throne, watching them with a grim, expressionless face.
As the conspicuous stretchers filed into the Hall of the Hundred Hearths, Roose Bolton's suspicion grew. He really didn't think Jon and Harrion would fall out over something like this.
But sitting on the throne, looking at the bloodied soldiers on the stretchers, he couldn't figure out what was going on.
He looked at the fifty-plus fully armed Dreadfort soldiers standing guard in the hall. The soldiers on the stretchers were not only injured but unarmed. Even if Jon had some scheme, he didn't need to worry.
When the thirty-plus stretchers were lined up in front of him, Roose Bolton looked at Jon and Harrion standing side by side a full five or six steps away and said, "Jon, Ser Harrion. Although I've heard about your matter, I still want to hear your thoughts."
Roose Bolton's gaze didn't leave the two for a moment, as if trying to spot a clue. Sure enough, Harrion subconsciously looked at Jon. That expression definitely didn't look like a conflict had occurred; the two were definitely plotting something.
Are they deliberately trying to cause trouble for me? Roose Bolton thought.
"It's like this," Harrion spoke up, breaking the silence first. "Our Karhold soldiers' meat rations were withheld by those wildlings..."
"Who are you calling wildlings?" Before Harrion could finish, Hakon lying on the stretcher spoke angrily, his voice full of vigor, not sounding injured at all.
"I said you lot who came down from the mountains are wildlings! Don't you understand?" Harrion glared at Hakon, and the two started arguing again.
Throughout this process, Roose Bolton's eyes never left Jon's face.
As Harrion and Hakon argued, Jon suddenly turned to the Dreadfort soldiers who had carried the stretchers up and said, "What are you still standing here for? Is watching us argue fun? Is it a good show? Hmm?!"
"Jon Snow, you're a bastard about to be stripped of command! What right do you have to order our Dreadfort soldiers?!" Bolin standing next to Roose Bolton couldn't stand it. Seeing Jon make eye contact with him, Roose Bolton quickly scolded Bolin: "Shut up!"
As he spoke, Roose Bolton looked at the Dreadfort soldiers who had carried the stretchers and said, "You all go out first."
Soon, more than sixty Dreadfort soldiers shuffled out of the hall.
Having carried Jon's "wounded" all this way, they were already sweating and their arms were sore. Since Roose Bolton dismissed them, they were happy to leave.
Roose Bolton figured he was just letting Jon have his last moment of authority. His soldiers would soon be Bolton's anyway.
Even if there were an accident, there were still two or three hundred elite Dreadfort troops inside the Kingpyre Tower. He could still "control the situation."
Soon, with the sixty-plus Dreadfort soldiers gone, there were only about a hundred people left in the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. Thirty-plus were brought by Jon and Harrion, and fifty-plus were fully armed Dreadfort soldiers.
Jon silently confirmed by the footsteps that the sixty-plus Dreadfort soldiers had left the floor where the Kingpyre Tower hall was located and were moving further away.
At this time, Roose Bolton was still patiently listening to Harrion rambling about today's conflict. Suddenly, Jon moved. Bolin beside him instantly tensed up.
After all, this was the ruthless man who defeated a heavy armored swordsman with a wooden stick and slew The Mountain in single combat. Every move was worth watching out for.
"Jon?" Roose Bolton was naturally very nervous too. He had long regarded Jon as a dangerous beast. He called out tentatively, only to see Jon walk expressionlessly to the window with his raven and release it.
What is he doing?
Roose Bolton was even more baffled, and everyone else's gaze focused on Jon.
Harrion standing there, Hakon and Beric lying on stretchers.
After releasing the raven, Jon walked straight to the main door. What happened next made their eyes pop out.
Jon pushed the massive oak door, which was no smaller than a typical castle gate, slowly closing it.
The oak door was at least twice Jon's height, creating a severe sense of dissonance. Only the creaking sound of the door closing spoke of its immense weight.
Not only Roose Bolton and Bolin, but even Harrion and Beric lying on the stretcher swallowed secretly.
Is this even human?
Ignoring the stunned Dreadfort soldiers at the entrance, Jon shouldered the door shut and barred it. The light in the hall dimmed instantly.
The surrounding Dreadfort soldiers gripped their weapons tightly. No one gave the order; it was entirely a subconscious reaction.
"Jon, what are you doing?!" Roose Bolton on the throne could sit still no longer. He secretly moved his hand towards his sword.
Roose Bolton couldn't see Jon's face clearly; standing by the door, Jon seemed to have hidden himself in the shadows.
"Lord Bolton, I want to ask you: if I were to lead the army to attack King's Landing now, would you be willing?"