Alaric didn’t give him a speech. He didn’t have one in him. He just kicked his horse into a trot. Behind him, the heavy thud of the Blood Knights’ stride began—a rhythmic, bone-deep pulse that drowned out the jangle of Bolton’s cavalry.
Rivy drifted through the shadows ahead of them, less a pet and more a patch of darkness that moved with a mind of its own.
...
By the third day, the "relentless riding" had turned the n’s tempers raw. The Riverlands were a sodden ss of oak and pine, the air thick with the sll of damp earth and old rot. They pulled up on a ridge overlooking the Whispering Wood, the canopy so thick it felt like the trees were leaning in to listen.
Alaric wiped a sar of frozen grit from his brow. To his right, Roose Bolton was still there, looking as fresh and bloodless as the day they’d left the Twins. Behind him, fifteen hundred n waited in the shadows—not "seasoned killers," but tired, hungry n with sharp steel and very little rcy left in them.
Alaric’s face did not change. The wind tugged at his cloak. Mud clung to his boots. Around him, n shouted and horses stamped, but his gaze slid once more to Roose Bolton.
Roose stood among his banners, pale eyes steady, lips curved in that thin, bloodless smile. To Alaric’s sight, a sick red light wrapped around him like a stain that would not wash out. It pulsed, slow and certain, as if marking a corpse before it fell.
Alaric looked away first.
He knew with absolute certainty that Roose Bolton had a 90% to 100% chance of betraying him today.
To n like Roose, Alaric was still just a ward. If he died in the mud today, the massive Northern host—now spread out and commanded by divided lords—would fall into imdiate disarray.
With the Northern command shattered, Bolton could easily pull his n back, send a raven to Tywin Lannister, and negotiate a highly favorable position for himself—perhaps even the Wardenship of the North.
Alaric hadn’t brought the Dreadfort n to Riverrun just for their swords. He brought them here to be eradicated. House Bolton was a poisoned spear hanging over his head.
By isolating them from the main Northern host, He had perfectly orchestrated a scenario where Bolton’s inevitable treason could be t with imdiate, justified slaughter.
Alaric looked down from the ridge. In the valley below, Jai Lannister’s vanguard moved through the trees. Red cloaks and gold armor stood out against the dirt.
Alaric turned his head to Roose Bolton. "Lord Bolton. Take your cavalry straight down the middle. Hit their front line."
Roose Bolton’s pale eyes stared at Alaric. It was a brutal order. A direct charge into a prepared Lannister vanguard would cost heavy casualties. But Bolton couldn’t refuse without committing open treason right in front of Alaric’s Blood Knights.
"Draw swords," Bolton ordered his n, his voice flat.
The Dreadfort cavalry rode down the hill, picking up speed.
Alaric watched them go with cold eyes. He didn’t send his giant knights to help. He just sat on his horse and waited. Down in the valley, the Lannister soldiers turned. Arrows flew into the air. Spears locked into place.
The Dreadfort n crashed into the Lannister lines. Horses fell. n scread. The Lannister vanguard was too strong, and Bolton’s n were getting slaughtered in the mud.
When the Dreadfort lines started to collapse and the Lannisters were completely distracted, Alaric moved.
"Now," Alaric said.
He kicked his warhorse forward. His five Blood Knights ran beside him. Thanks to the system upgrade, the seven-foot giants moved as fast as horses, their heavy red and black armor making no noise.
Alaric hit the Lannister line from the side. The red cloaks were too busy killing Bolton n to see him coming.
He swung his dark sword. The blade sliced through a Lannister soldier’s neck. The man dropped. Alaric did not slow down. He kicked his horse and rode deeper into the enemy ranks.
His five Blood Knights crashed into the soldiers right behind him. They did not yell. They just killed. One giant knight swung a heavy mace, crushing two shields and the n holding them. Another grabbed a Lannister spearman by the throat, lifted him off the ground, and threw him into his own n.
There were about two thousand Lannister soldiers in the valley. They had the numbers, but they were trapped in the mud and confused.
"Form a wall!" a Lannister captain shouted. "Hold the flank!"
Alaric rode straight at the captain. He ducked under a spear thrust and drove his sword into the captain’s chest. He pulled the blade free and kept moving forward.
He looked up. In the center of the battlefield, Jai Lannister sat on a white horse. His gold armor shined even in the dull light. Jai was watching the front, directing his n against the rest of the Dreadfort cavalry.
"That way," Alaric said.
The Blood Knights moved. They ford a wedge around Alaric. Normal swords bounced off their thick red and black armor. They stepped on dead bodies and hacked through the Lannister ranks. They cleared a straight path toward the center. The Lannister soldiers started to back away. They were too scared to step close to the silent giants.
Jai noticed the panic. He turned his white horse around and looked at his collapsing left side. He saw the five massive knights tearing his army apart.
Then he saw the rider leading them.
Jai narrowed his eyes. He looked at the young man’s face, the dark armor, and the heavy winter cloak. He rembered the trip to Winterfell.
Jai gripped his sword hilt. He stared right at Alaric.
"The ward," Jai muttered.
Alaric pulled his horse to a stop. His five Blood Knights stopped moving right away. They stood in a half-circle around him, letting their bloody weapons rest by their sides. The Lannister soldiers quickly backed away, leaving a wide, empty circle in the mud.
Jai Lannister looked at the dead bodies, then at the giant knights, and finally at Alaric.
"You did not expect to see here, did you?" Alaric asked. His voice was calm, but it carried clearly over the noise of the battlefield.
///
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