Chapter 136

The south gate of Winterfell City was fully opened, the drawbridge between the two city walls was lowered, and the cavalrymen entered Winterfell City one by one in neat rows; the column of those entering the city stretched from the gate to the end of the road.

The people of the Winter Avoid Market lined the muddy road on both sides to watch, enviously gazing at the passing soldiers.

Leading the entry into Winterfell City were veritable iron beasts. The tall warhorses were encased in iron scales, appearing mighty and majestic; the soldiers riding the heavy cavalry horses were likewise fully armed, their armor gleaming, weapons abundant.

People shouted loudly on both sides, and some loudly counted the number of barded warhorses, starting with soft counts that grew louder and louder until they drowned out all other celebratory noises.

When had the North ever seen warhorses clad in armor?

The shouted numbers came in one after another from outside the city into it, initially keeping a steady rhythm, but once the count finally surpassed one hundred, it fell completely into disorder.

No one knew whether they were counting accurately.

Not a single heavy cavalryman was missing; there were exactly three hundred. This was the largest and most complete prize taken by the southern forces after defeating the regicides.

Among the cavalry entering the city, besides the three hundred heavy cavalry, there were over three hundred other cavalrymen. If the onlookers watched along the right side of the extending road, they could also see an even larger herd of warhorses being driven and gathered by the herdsmen.

The pasture for these warhorses was a specially designated field northwest of Winterfell City.

Although Winterfell City could accommodate so many warhorses, managing them there was far less convenient than in the pasture.

Outside Winterfell City, besides the pasture, there were many other valuable targets, including the pottery kiln, armory, iron mine, livestock farm, threshing field, and the Winter Avoid Market; once the city was besieged, these important facilities would inevitably be destroyed, as a matter of course.

However, the warhorses beneath the entering cavalrymen did not need to be placed in the pasture; riding them into the city was a courtesy and welcome extended by Winterfell.

But the most important courtesy the soldiers should have already felt was the crowd's fervent shouting; they were heroes avenging the North.

The cavalrymen, riding their warhorses, consciously strove to maintain solemnity amid the crowd's shouting, each holding their heads high. But a few of them disagreed, pulling various coins seized in the south from their pockets and tossing them to the sides of the road, provoking fresh cheers amid the tumult.

This was merely a trifling spoil of the southern campaign; much more was to be brought back by the earls of Deepwood Forest, including countless furs and cloths, blades and spears, and wagonloads of gold and silver. In fact, this was the most important task remaining for the cavalrymen.

The cavalry returning to the North this time numbered over eight hundred; one or two hundred of them split off upon entering Stark territory and returned home on their own, so only over six hundred cavalrymen actually reached Winterfell City.

Guarding the city gate were Winterfell's city watch; before them lay stacks of wooden frames holding numbered plaques, and the watchmen were handing out wooden plaques to the cavalrymen entering the city.

The cavalrymen would lodge in the rooms assigned to them by Steward Fen En according to the numbers indicated on the wooden plaques.

Mei Yi stood on the bridge, seeing Crede coldly refuse the plaque; he seemed not to have noticed the guards, riding his armored warhorse into the empty, solemn drill ground within Winterfell.

The stable boys nervously waited by the road they had passed, expecting the soldiers to dismount. When the lead Crede seemed completely unaware of the stable boys ready to catch the reins, he continued forward on horseback. This exceeded the stable boys' expectations, leaving them somewhat at a loss. The nearby guards shouted at Crede to stop, but he appeared not to hear.

If Winterfell City were a bit smaller, the trailing cavalrymen following behind could easily block the city's passages.

Seeing this, the diminutive Steward Fen En immediately ran forward from the edge of the drill ground; it was clear he wanted Crede to dismount at once so the stable boys could lead the warhorses into the stables one by one. Obviously, if everyone remained in the courtyard while more cavalry kept pouring in, congestion would easily arise, as would chaos and trampling within the city.

"Where is the little boy?" Crede boomed, "We fought and bled for him—why does he not come out to greet us?"

"Lord Brandon was assassinated by the Boltons." Steward Fen En hastily replied.

"Then does Winterfell belong to that even younger wolf pup?" He sounded surprised, lifting his visor, "Is his leg all right? Could he not walk out, or has the maester not yet taught him any manners?"

"Prince Rickon, Prince Rickon has also died." Steward Fen En looked extremely distressed. The cavalry behind had already gathered behind Crede.

"Who now runs Winterfell?" he shouted angrily, "Utterly useless! You're nothing but a bunch of trash and good-for-nothings, unable to protect your lord even within Winterfell! Why don't you just kill yourselves and drop dead here in disgrace?"

Steward Fen En's face was flushed crimson; under the tall horse and beneath the gaze of the giant-like Crede, this short-statured swamp dweller could hardly speak.

"The maester, the maester has already, already committed suicide!"

"Then why didn't you go with him?" Crede questioned, "Or do you think your small stature makes you more useful?"

Mei Yi knew she had to come forward, so she leapt lightly from the bridge between the main keep and the armory, landing steadily before the cavalry under everyone's eyes.

The warhorses startled, stepped back a few paces, making the formation even more tightly packed.

Steward Fen En let out a great sigh of relief, looking gratefully at Mei Yi.

"Master Fen En is the steward I appointed to manage Winterfell Castle for me." Mei Yi regarded the red-armored warrior still on horseback with indifference, "Winterfell is now under my rule. So, what welcome you desire, you may ask of me."

Crede hesitated for two seconds, then, only after the knights behind him had all dismounted, did he leap down from his armored warhorse, his tall frame descending.

Before him, Mei Yi looked like a child, her height reaching only his shoulder, her frame even more slender—perhaps only a third of his size.

Mei Yi began to feel pity for his warhorse.

At that moment, the stable boys took the reins from the knights' hands, swiftly driving the warhorses into the stables with practiced ease. Their work today was not only to tend the horses, but also to assist apprentices like Mikken the smith in removing the horses' barding, cleaning and storing it, piece by piece, in the armory, to be taken out again when needed.

She heard the knights behind her repeatedly calling her "sir," and she wanted to say more, but the warhorses' neighing never ceased and the crowd behind was noisy—this was no place for conversation.

"Sir, you actually returned before us." Crede's surprised tone sounded more like a reprimand, "We rode back along the King's Road without the slightest delay—how could you possibly have done so?"

At least he did not bring up any further demands.

"Single-handedly subduing the Riverlands' marauding 'Brotherhood Without Banners,' leading the coastal city's soldiers to defeat the ironmen entrenched nearby, and capturing the brother of the Iron Islands' king, Vikarion—even so, Your Highness still returned three days before you." Ser Rodrik and several other high officials appeared then, saying, "You are far too slow."

Several of the high officials also sensed the arrogance of these triumphant cavalrymen.

Crede seemed not to have heard his mockery, oddly staring at Mei Yi.

"I heard from Steward Fen En that the long-abandoned baths inside Winterfell have been cleaned and already filled with hot spring water two days ahead of time," Mei Yi turned to tell the nearby guard, "Tell the cavalrymen that Winterfell's hot spring baths will be open to them these days, and I have only one small request," she addressed the cavalry soldiers, "that at the victory feast in the hall, you who have returned from the south be clean, and if possible, fragrant." Mei Yi gestured to stop their laughter, "Ser Crede, your armor looks new, your spirits are fine, your bearing is passable—you look like my elite troops—but you smell like a pile of old dung, which I simply cannot tolerate."

The cavalrymen finally burst into laughter at this, and Mei Yi let out a soft hum.

Just as Mei Yi turned to head toward the hall, a shout of "sir" came from behind.

Mei Yi gazed at the cavalry throng, and a boy pushed his way out of the ranks. Mei Yi involuntarily smiled.

His little page, George Keisuo, red-faced, darted out from the throng of horses and soldiers, appearing taller and thinner than when they had just parted.

"Sir." He flashed a bright smile, though a bit embarrassed and also somewhat sad, "You're all right—I'm truly overjoyed!"

Mei Yi was also pleased. George Keisuo was one of the few outstanding youths of the Keisuo family; barring mishap, he would likely become a mainstay of Winterfell for the next several decades.

"Hehe, thank you for your concern!" Mei Yi felt she hadn't been this happy in a long while, "But no matter how much you say, I won't make you a knight. I never want to see Ser Rickarpull's pompous airs again!"

Those nearby burst into laughter again, each looking at the blushing boy George. Even Ser Rodrik standing nearby smiled.

George Keisuo twisted the corners of his mouth, appearing both embarrassed and grieved.

"Your Highness, are Brandon and them really dead?"

Mei Yi wiped away her smile, feeling her mouth full of bitterness.