*Whoosh.* Gendry's arms seemed to multiply as his massive blunt sword whistled through the air. Great Jon was strong, but his agility was ultimately lacking.
Great Jon couldn't believe his eyes. That blunt sword struck him heavily in his vulnerable spots, where the armor plates joined. The power behind the blunt sword was even more violent than his own, not to mention the opponent's agility was like a hunting leopard. He had been defeated in both strength and speed.
"Aah!" Great Jon first felt a heavy blow from the blunt sword against his ribs; had more force been used, his ribs surely would have snapped. In the chaos, Great Jon swung his greatsword wildly, but Gendry circled behind him, the blunt sword striking Great Jon's knee as fast as a phantom.
Before Great Jon could struggle, he fell like a mountain of flesh, kneeling directly on the platform. He scrambled to thrust his greatsword into the wood to prevent the farce of falling flat on his face.
Gendry lowered his blunt sword and looked at the defeated Great Jon. His gaze was sharp and bright, like the tip of a keen blade.
"I lost. You are a true warrior, a true Heir of the Storm." Great Jon set down his greatsword and knelt on one knee before Gendry, apologizing sincerely.
Dacey Mormont saw it all clearly from below; it was a performance of raw power, unparalleled.
"Hurrah!"
"long live the storm!" For a moment, the army's morale soared, with war drums, horns, and whistles erupting in a frenzy.
Robb's heart sank. How much leverage would he have left at the negotiating table?
Catelyn, the Blackfish, and some Northern Lords who were just entering the area witnessed this startling scene: Robb's premier warrior, Great Jon, was kneeling in total defeat.
Great Jon had now become a new fan of Gendry. Although this stag was young, he was the strongest warrior in the world, much stronger than that unlucky Robert in the ground. It was right for them to follow him all the way.
Gendry walked down from the platform with the laughing Great Jon to welcome Catelyn. Although Gendry did not like Catelyn, he had to maintain appearances.
"Lady Catelyn," Gendry said to her. "I am deeply sorry for the events in King's Landing."
Catelyn pushed aside her myriad thoughts. The things her uncle, the Blackfish, had told her were making her head spin. If Lysa was the killer, then her own independent actions had doomed Eddard and her daughters. Catelyn was currently in a daze.
"I did not expect to see you here either, Prince Gendry," Catelyn said. She wanted to save her daughters and see her aging father; she also knew her son had to take a stand today. If he were to bend the knee, it should be done from the best possible angle.
"Gendry is not Robert, and Robb and the others are not foster brothers, but I can only pray they become as close as brothers," Catelyn reminded herself. But there was no time; they had to make a choice. Catelyn had always despised bastards, but the situation was forced upon her.
"Prince Gendry, allow me to introduce the Lords under my command," Robb said.
"It would be my honor."
"Lord Roose Bolton." Roose's eyes were like dirty ice. He was neither fat nor thin, looking very un-Northern. His attitude toward Gendry was surprisingly submissive.
"The Dreadfort is at your disposal."
"Lord Rickard Karstark." Rickard was from a branch of the Starks. The men of his house were all tall and fierce-looking, with thick beards and hair past their shoulders. Their cloaks were made from the skins of bears, seals, and wolves.
"Karhold as well."
"Ser Wylis and his brother, Ser Wendel." The two brothers of House Manderly were extraordinarily fat, just like their father. However, Wylis was quiet and polite, while Wendel was gruff. Both had large, walrus-like moustaches and heads as bald as a newborn's bottom, and nearly every piece of their clothing was stained with food.
"White Harbor welcomes your arrival."
...The tent of the main camp was hung with sword belts. A moment later, the Blackfish led Catelyn and the others into the great tent.
Gendry sat at the very top. The Northerners sat on one side below him, while the knights of the Vale, the Claw Peninsula, and the Riverlands sat on the other.
The four great houses under the Starks of the North—Bolton, Manderly, Karstark, and Dustin—had all sent men south. However, several of them had held back their elite troops rather than going all-in.
The camp east of the river was filled with a festive atmosphere. The sounds of accordions and flutes began to play as bards sang songs.
"What tune is this? I've never heard it before," Theon couldn't help but hum.
"This song is called 'The Stag of the Night'," Anguy said proudly. "It commemorates the liberator's great victories: the Battle of the Whispering Woods, the relief of Riverrun, and the capture of The Twins."
Theon looked embarrassed and merely laughed it off.
"A toast to your victories, the relief of Riverrun, and the capture of The Twins, Prince Gendry." Robb thought for a moment, then stood and raised his cup. The Northerners' anxiety was etched on their hearts: hostages were in The Red Keep, their Riverlands allies had already joined the stag, the Vale could not be counted on, and now even their march south depended on the favor of others.
"Let us raise our glasses. I heartily congratulate Lord Gendry on his certain victory!" the Blackfish also stood and said.
"Victory to the Storm!"
"Victory to the Storm!"
All the cups clinked together with a crisp sound, as if laughter could mask the upcoming negotiations.
"Let us drink to the friendship between the stag and the Direwolf," Gendry also raised his cup and led the toast.
"Cheers!"
"Cheers!"
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