Game of Thrones: Oath of Iron and Fire-Chapter 38: The Battle for the Disputed Lands

The road was a scene of chaos. The Brave Companions, a band of bandit mercenaries, marched at the forefront, followed by the Myrish forces. Horses neighed and panted, and the free mercenaries bickered and cursed, their voices a cacophony of noise.

Jorah distrusted the slaves and had little faith in the bandits of the Brave Companions. He feared the Myrish slaves might turn against them; the Gunpowder King's rallying cry had sown confusion in their hearts. Jorah's greatest trust lay with his thirty Unsullied and four Meereenese gladiators, the most valuable legacy left to him by his uncle.

The force Jorah led was a mishmash of free mercenaries and adventurers, but they were too undisciplined.

"How much longer?" Jorah spurred his horse forward to catch up with the leader of the Brave Companions, Vargo Hoat, who was fond of lopping off limbs and wore a goat's head helmet.

"About, about two days," Vargo's speech was still slurred, but Commander Jorah maintained his composure.

"I think we should wait a bit longer. I believe it would be more prudent to coordinate with the fleet to attack from the west, and the bandit mercenaries from Crown Town to attack from the south. A coordinated assault by three armies would be more reliable!" Jorah thought, suppressing his inner anxiety and panic.

Rumors had it that the Gunpowder King was a devil of war, skilled in horsemanship and weaponry, capable of smashing Meereenese gladiators and the bodies of Unsullied in the blink of an eye. Of course, the most reliable option would have been to hire the Golden Company, but their price was exorbitantly high, and Magister Joy was unwilling to pay.

"What do three armies do? More, more people, just to, to share the loot with us?" Vargo grunted discontentedly. "They're just a bunch of bandit mercenaries and runaway slaves. What, what are you afraid of?"

"Jester" Shagwell chopped off the heads of two runaway slaves, swung them around, and made them "talk" to each other.

"Why did you die?" one head asked.

"I support the Gunpowder King!" the other replied.

Commander Jorah felt a bit queasy at the sight of the bloodshed but held his nausea. "The Wolf Pack's men aren't that weak, and neither are the loyal runaway slaves. Otherwise, so many mercenaries wouldn't have failed. This mission isn't a piece of cake."

"Is there any unusual activity ahead?" Jorah asked.

"No, Commander Jorah. It's calm. The manor lords are afraid of the Wolf Pack's attacks, so the manors are tightly shut, and there are few travelers on the road. We can't gather any intelligence. Except that I found two slaves on the road who were trying to defect to the Gunpowder King," the Jester replied.

"I just feel it's too quiet!" Jorah looked at the vast expanse of land, plains, rivers, and manors.

The lush Disputed Lands had many forests, and he felt a sense of lurking danger in every grove.

Jorah always thought his uncle was too optimistic. Perhaps a three-pronged attack would be better.

"There are manors all around here. Instead of letting the Gunpowder King have them, we should plunder first!" the Jester suggested.

"No! We can't do that. These are the properties of the magistrates. We can't go wild," Jorah hurriedly dissuaded. They were here to suppress the Wolf Pack, not to create new enemies.

"That's too boring!" the Jester sighed.

"I just want to get some gold and silver to spend. But the Wolf Pack's men have six or seven manors and the surrounding land. They should have some money, and there's the gunpowder grass."

"That's the wealth of my uncle and other Myrish nobles. You've already been paid!" Jorah said indignantly, feeling a wave of darkness before his eyes. There's no such thing as a free lunch. There's a reason why these notorious mercenaries aren't hired by anyone.

"Look how angry you are, Commander Jorah. We were just joking!" the Jester laughed heartily.

"Move faster!" Vargo commanded. "We'll find a safe place to camp!"

The black goat banner flew high in the sky as they discovered a major road and a small hill.

"There are the Wolf Pack and those despicable runaway slaves!" Commander Jorah saw that a shield wall had already been organized on the main road, with oak shields or large pieces of wood for defense. On the hill to the left, longbowmen and crossbowmen were also eager to engage.

"Blow the horn!" The sharp sound of the horn rang out, followed by the beat of war drums.

"Go! Move!" Jorah shouted.

"Shut, shut your mouth, Commander. If you want to live, you need brothers. Brothers, charge down! Most of these people are runaway slaves who haven't seen blood," the Goat said, looking at the dense crowd and noticing the Free Army behind them. Their equipment and armor were inferior, with chainmail and leather armor, all outdated and shabby.

"Alright!" Jorah gritted his teeth. "Let's charge once. I'll give you twenty Unsullied!"

Commander Vargo's eyes were fierce. Vargo personally led some of his men, twenty Unsullied, and knights from the free mercenaries to charge forward. There was a chance. The Wolf Pack's elite were only a minority. If they could break the shield wall, the manor slaves who only knew how to farm and grow gunpowder grass would scatter, and they would achieve a great victory.

"Twang!" "Twang!" The longbowmen and crossbowmen launched their attack, shooting at those who dared to charge with Vargo. But the Unsullied were well-trained, and the crossbows' range was not as long as the longbows. Amidst the confusion of many crossbowmen and the intervals between arrows, the Brave Companions managed to gain some opportunities.

"Watch out for the longbowmen! We can only win by breaking through the formation!" the Goat shouted, noticing that many people around him were shot down. He narrowly dodged. There were sharpshooters in the enemy's ranks, but he had no choice.

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"Thud!" "Thud!" The Unsullied formation, armed with spears and short swords, and other mercenaries with battle-axes, charged the shield wall, hoping to create a breach. But the Free Army's reinforcements seemed endless, maintaining the line.

"Deploy the infantry! Deploy the infantry!" Jorah saw the line wavering, and the shield wall seemed on the verge of collapse.

The infantry also pressed forward. Jorah ordered the free knights to charge, and he let out a sigh of relief. The so-called Wolf Pack was nothing more than that. He had already envisioned the sweet fruits of victory. He would inherit his family's wealth and would likely be elected as a magistrate.

But then came the shouts and screams. From the forest on the right, fifty or sixty heavily armored knights charged out on horseback.

Leading them was a black knight, with a black helmet, an iron mask, and clad in black scale armor, wielding a mace. The knights came like a flood, charging towards the Brave Companions and the Unsullied.

"Thud!" Gendry's mace struck forward, smashing the face of a free mercenary, blood flowing steadily.

"Long live the Wolf Pack!" "Long live the Wolf Pack!" The Wolf Pack's cavalry cheered as they joined the battle, their flails, battle-axes, and lances creating a terrifying mist of blood, flesh, bones, and brains.

Jorah's vision darkened. Glory and honor no longer existed. In that moment, he felt that all that awaited him was defeat.