Are the mountain clans truly difficult to deal with?

Not particularly. They are poorly armed, malnourished, and untrained—little different from the wildlings beyond the Wall. So why had the rulers of the Vale never eradicated them?

The answer was the same as why the Night’s Watch had never wiped out the Free Folk. In theory, a few thousand well-trained soldiers, not even particularly elite, just fighters of Aegor’s caliber could slaughter the hundreds of thousands of wildlings beyond the Wall, driving the survivors into the Land of Always Winter. But where would those thousands of soldiers come from? How long would it take to hunt the wildlings to extinction? Who would pay for the soldiers’ provisions and wages during the campaign? What about the pensions for those who died resisting the Free Folk? And after the wildlings were gone, what purpose would the Wall serve, other than giving the Seven Kingdoms’ criminals and exiles a free place to rot?

The mountain clans were far fewer in number than the Free Folk, but they had the advantage of terrain. They lived in the mountains, had no fixed settlements, and relied on guerrilla tactics, making them even harder to eradicate.

In the end, the reason was simple: the cost of eliminating the mountain clans far outweighed the benefits. Instead of investing resources in exterminating them, it was easier for the Vale’s lords to simply travel with an armed escort whenever they passed through the Mountains. As long as a group had ten or more armed men, the clans rarely dared to attack.

Ultimately, it was a question of productivity. These three words defined the limits of human ambition. No matter how grand the vision, reality forced people to make pragmatic choices in order to survive in this harsh world.

On the day Aegor presented his strategy, the war council ran longer than usual. After many lords and commanders departed Robert’s tent and returned to their camps, the army finally began to move.

An hour or two later, units ranging in size from dozens to hundreds began to leave the encampment, marching toward the Bloody Gate. To the defenders watching from the high walls, it looked like an internal dispute had broken out, levies being dismissed early, returning home for the harvest.

But once out of sight, these soldiers took a long detour, slipping into the Mountains of the Moon to track down the mountain clans.

The poor clans had done nothing to provoke this. The moment Robert’s rebellion army arrived, they had fled deep into the mountains, staying hidden and starving for over a month rather than risking conflict. They had wanted no part in the war.

And yet, thanks to the suggestion of a single outsider, a man from another world, hundreds of elite scouts and soldiers, trained in woodland and mountain warfare, were now coming for them.

Aegor had initially planned to return to King’s Landing after delivering his advice. But when Buckwell returned from the war council, he brought news that changed his mind.

Robert had finalized the strategy and set a deadline: the infiltration force would coordinate an attack with the main army. If the Bloody Gate did not fall within two weeks, Robert would negotiate peace with the Righteous Alliance.

In such a hopeful situation, Aegor decided to remain. If his plan led to victory, he might even receive a reward.

Offering advice to the Iron Throne while wearing the black of the Night’s Watch was already a serious breach of tradition. Personally participating in military action? That was something Aegor would never dare.

So, he remained in the main camp, with no way of knowing how his plan was unfolding. The troops sent into the mountains couldn’t maintain communication with the coalition camp, leaving the entire operation a black box, a gamble whose outcome could only be waited on.

Each day, the staged “siege” at the Bloody Gate continued, while the rest of the coalition army remained at the ready. Outwardly, the camp appeared relaxed. In reality, every force was in a constant state of preparedness.

Buckwell had summed it up best:

“As soon as the signal comes, the army will charge forward and take the Bloody Gate.”

But what was the signal? When would it appear? Even Buckwell couldn’t say.

As the days passed, Aegor’s confidence wavered.

Had he overestimated himself?

The mountain clans existed, and they might know hidden paths into the Vale but could Robert’s elite troops actually track them down? Would the paths be passable? Would there be Just Alliance forces waiting at the other end?

He had assumed these things based on history, placing his faith in records from books. But this wasn’t his world, and history didn’t always repeat itself.

For the first time, the weight of uncertainty pressed down on him.

That doubt lingered until the sixth day after his proposal.

That afternoon, Aegor had been drinking with Buckwell, listening to the old man complain about military pay and the impact of war on his lands.

Then—suddenly—the call of a war horn echoed across the camp.

A long, distant blast.

The ground trembled. Shouts erupted from all around. Horses neighed in alarm. The heavy thud of hooves rumbled through the earth.

“What’s happening?” Buckwell and Aegor rushed outside, calling to the nearest soldiers.

A breathless man turned to them.

“My lord! A signal has been received, full assault ordered! Bring the siege ladders!”

There was no need to ask more.

The screams and battle cries rising from the Bloody Gate told the story.

For days, the staged “sieges” had followed the same pattern, an army would march up, go through the motions of an attack, and then withdraw. The space before the pass would be empty once they were done.

But today, battle cries still echoed from that space.

Meaning—there were soldiers already inside.

The infiltrators had made it through.

“Damn it… Aegor, stay here in camp!” Buckwell snapped, already moving. “Robert will be leading the charge himself. This is the perfect time to earn merit!”

With that, the old earl rushed toward the assembling men of Antlers, barking orders as the chaotic mass of soldiers scrambled to form ranks.

“Hold your ground! Find your commanding officers! Don’t drop your weapons, maintain formation!”

“The king is already leading the cavalry charge!”

“Seven hells! Whatever happens, keep moving forward, don’t break rank! Follow those ahead, and don’t lose your swords and armor!”

What does it look like when tens of thousands charge at once?

Aegor soon found out.

Yoren, drawn outside by the commotion, joined him. As Night’s Watchmen, they were the only ones in the coalition camp who could watch the battle without worrying about earning merit. They climbed a small hill near the Antlers camp, looking down at the battlefield.

At the front of the charge, Robert Baratheon led the cavalry himself. No one dared compete with the king for the honor of first blood. The white cloaks of the Kingsguard flanking him gleamed in the sunlight as they rode like a spearhead straight toward the Bloody Gate. The usual rain of arrows and stones from the defenders was conspicuously absent, those still manning the walls were too busy fighting off the real threat now striking from the rear.

Behind the cavalry came a wave of infantry. Their formation was all but nonexistent. With so many officers and veteran soldiers sent into the mountains, the remaining peasant levies were a disorganized mess.

On an ordinary day, such a chaotic assault would have been suicidal. But today, it didn’t matter. As long as they ran fast enough, scaled the walls, and reinforced the infiltrators before the defenders could push them back, the battle would be over.

“Gods…” Aegor muttered under his breath.

The idea of a king personally leading a charge might seem romantic in this era, but to a man from another world, it was reckless, a relic of an age where leaders had no choice but to fight because their troops lacked discipline.

“Robert, don’t get yourself killed.”

“Don’t worry,” Yoren said. “I’ve not seen many battles, but I’ve seen enough to know, when an army gets hit from behind without warning, the fight is already over.”

The cavalry thundered through the filled trenches and reached the Bloody Gate’s walls. Robert and the Kingsguard, along with more of the king’s cavalry dismounted.

They had reached the battlefield first, but they couldn’t scale the walls without ladders.

The solution appeared almost immediately.

Scattered at the base of the walls were siege ladders—left behind after failed assaults days prior. Bloodstained, caked in mud, but still usable.

Under the distant gaze of the two Night’s Watchmen and Aegor’s servant, Casey, a white-cloaked figure was the first to ascend, reaching the top of the Bloody Gate. Then, a second figure—a large, unmistakable shape.

Robert Baratheon himself.

By the time the second and third ladders were raised, it no longer mattered.

The battle was already decided.

The screams of war began to fade.

There was no deep hatred between the Bloody Gate’s defenders and Robert’s army. Many had likely fought side by side during the Usurper’s War.

Seeing the banners fall, realizing their position was overrun, they chose the only path left to them.

Surrender.

Less than half an hour later, the banners of the Righteous Alliance were torn down.

In their place, a crowned stag flew high above the Bloody Gate.

***

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep