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On the night of the following day, after properly arranging the affairs of Winterfell, Robb quietly slipped out of the fortress through the south gate with a group of Winterfell riders disguised as an ordinary caravan.
The false caravan was small, with only three wagons. Robb brought Edd, Torrhen, and sixteen handpicked riders.
All of them wore old common clothes, with false beards, fake scars, and other facial disguises. On the surface, they looked quite convincing.
Ever since Winterfell had announced the benefits tied to the Warriors' Mausoleum, the smallfolk from the surrounding lands had begun rushing to enlist. At the moment, Theon and Owen were handling that matter.
After screening them by age and build, it was estimated that between two and three thousand new soldiers would be recruited.
Dacey had been left in charge of the safety of the family members in the main keep. Smalljon, on the one hand, drew too much attention because of his size; on the other, he and Trogg were busy overseeing the daily training in the camp and the training of the new recruits that would soon begin.
As for the wolf guard, whom Robb had been using like tireless bearings, every one of them was a mid-ranking officer in the army and simply could not be pulled away.
Besides, this journey was not to attack King's Landing.
Its purpose was to use certain plans to rescue Eddard, Sansa, and Arya.
The few men Robb had brought served partly to maintain the disguise of the caravan, and partly in case he needed help at some point.
In truth, Robb's overall strength could already be considered, just barely, enough to stand among the stronger men of Westeros.
Before, when small amounts of the red mist entered his body, the negative effects were slight, and the positive effects were also slight.
But after losing control during the battle at the Dreadfort, Robb had come to understand that power much more clearly.
The worst part was the negative effect. It could make him lose his reason, lose control, and fill his heart with the desire to kill.
As for the positive effects, there were three: it supplied him with near-endless energy, sped up the clotting of blood and the healing of wounds, and finally strengthened the body little by little in a way that was almost imperceptible.
In truth, Robb had already been feeling for some time that his body was getting better and better, stronger and more resilient.
He had always assumed that was simply the result of his heavy daily training. But after the earlier loss of control, he clearly realized that his physical condition had taken a leap.
To say nothing else, in terms of strength alone, he had already surpassed Smalljon.
They had tested that a few days earlier in the camp, and the look on Smalljon's face at the time had been priceless, since the thing he took the most pride in was precisely his strength.
As for Bloodwind's current attributes, they could be considered quite balanced.
Name: Bloodwind
Contractor: Robb Stark
Constitution: 30
Speed: 30
Strength: 30
Species: Spiritual Direwolf (6)
Pack: war wolf: Nymeria; servant wolf: Lady
Blood Pact Points: 32
All of his attributes had reached 30 and could no longer increase. Robb did not know whether that was his natural limit of growth or whether some other condition still needed to be fulfilled.
That special gift could only be understood through trial and error. If only there were even the shallowest instruction manual, Robb would not be so irritated.
The blood pact points he had accumulated now also represented a danger.
If he kept fighting and killing, the points would inevitably continue to pile up, and he would lose control again.
When that happened, if he could no longer spend them on raising attributes, what then? Would he lose control for only a limited time? Or would he lose it forever, becoming a madman who knew only how to kill?
He simply had no idea what might happen next time. Because of that, over the past few days even his appetite had diminished considerably, out of fear of continuing to accumulate points.
And, incidentally, killing Roose Bolton the day before had earned him no fewer than eight blood pact points.
Aside from the case of that deserter leader named Dick, it was only the second time he had received more than the usual two points for a death.
Fortunately, during the loss of control in the battle of the Dreadfort, his points had gone over seventy, so there was still some room to spare.
Speaking of Bloodwind, he would probably have to endure some discomfort on this journey.
Because his size drew far too much attention, he was now locked inside the last wagon, which had been specially made to fit him.
In truth, Robb could simply have left him behind and ridden quickly south to King's Landing.
But abandoning his strongest card and greatest weapon, then risking himself alone, was the sort of foolish risk only movie protagonists from his former life would take.
Although the transport wagon reduced the party's speed somewhat, aside from the indispensable times when they had to rest, they did little except keep moving.
Thus, in a little over half a month, they had already reached the border between the Riverlands and the Crownlands, at Sow's Horn.
Sow's Horn was a strangely named place, with a tower-fort protected by walls eight feet thick. It was the land of a knightly family sworn to House Harroway, the Hoggs.
Naturally, getting into the stronghold itself was impossible. But outside it there was a small settlement, like Winter Town, formed by the smallfolk of the surrounding area.
It was not a large place, but it had everything: food, clothes, lodging, and other necessities. Overall, it still gave off a sense of activity and modest prosperity.
After all, its location was excellent. It lay less than a day's ride from King's Landing and could be considered the first resting point at the beginning of the kingsroad.
After so much time traveling without pause, with the exception of Robb, everyone else from Winterfell already had faces marked by exhaustion and spirits worn thin.
So he decided to rest there for one full night before continuing to King's Landing the next day.
The group took rooms at a simple old inn in the settlement. Costs in the South really were far higher than in the North.
Adding together food, lodging, and even high-quality fodder for the horses, the total for the group came to one hundred and ten silver stags.
And that was only because Edd haggled nonstop and managed to win them a discount. At first, when he heard their northern accent, the innkeeper had wanted to fleece them for a full golden dragon.
By the time they arrived at the inn, the sun was already close to setting.
After arranging where the wagons would be kept and climbing personally into the last one to calm Bloodwind, who kept sending waves of impatience through their mental bond, Robb led everyone into the main hall of the inn to have supper.
From the outside, the place looked old and ordinary, but business was going quite well. When Robb and the others entered the main hall, two-thirds of the tables were already occupied by guests eating, drinking, and talking.
After sitting down and waiting a while, the innkeeper brought the supper that came with the rooms.
A simple but large piece of bread, a deep bowl of thick barley stew with venison, some green spinach, and a large mug of bad ale.
Compared with the foods he himself had introduced at Winterfell, all of it made Robb frown the entire time he ate.
It was not that they could not afford something better. But if they were pretending to be a small merchant caravan, then at the very least their clothes, food, lodging, and everything else had to match it.
That was why, when Edd haggled with the innkeeper, Robb had not interrupted him.
In his past life, he had always been the sort of person who walked into a shop, bought a piece of clothing or a pair of shoes, paid, and walked out again in less than ten minutes.
Bang!
Just when Robb's group had nearly finished that uninspiring meal, the inn door was suddenly thrown open.
The man who stumbled into the hall looked frantic, and he shouted loudly:
"I just got back from the main tower! They told me the king took some whores into the Red Keep and ended up dying right on top of them!"
The moment he heard that, Robb's expression changed violently.
He slammed his hand down on the table, sending drink and scraps of food flying in all directions.
'Impossible!!!'
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