Chapter 675

"Understood!"

From their vantage point due south of the Queen’s army, looking directly at the base of the trapezoidal formation, it was difficult to tell with the naked eye that the shape was an isosceles trapezoid. Fortunately, that distinction wasn’t necessary to grasp the key details—multiple thousand-man phalanxes forming the core, flanked by two angled wings.

The first priority for the cavalry commanders was to deploy enough men into countless roving scouting detachments, spreading them in layers across the north and south banks of the Mander. This would form an encirclement, a vast screening net ensuring that Aegor’s own scouts never strayed beyond his artillery’s range—cutting him off from all intelligence on forces outside his line of sight.

With that in place, the main cavalry force—nearly twenty thousand strong—was lying in wait just two to three miles away. Close enough to arrive in moments at full gallop, yet far enough to remain unseen.
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From this southward vantage, the Queen’s army appeared immense and orderly, its broad frontage reinforcing an image of immovable strength.

By contrast, the Reach’s vanguard, spread thin in a long, crooked line, looked disjointed, its flanks stretched too far.

Yet, thanks to the abundance of banners prepared to deceive the enemy, the two sides appeared evenly matched in presence—at least from a glance.
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The Tyrell brothers from Highgarden were the first to speak.

Beside them, Dickon Tarly silently raised his Myrish lens.

Unlike his companions, he had inherited his father Randyll Tarly’s discipline—and knew that keen observation was worth far more than idle talk.
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This cavalry force—the largest purely mounted army in Westerosi history—was their ace against enemy firepower and their trump card for victory.

At its core stood Garlan Tyrell, the steadfast leader.

Beside him, Loras Tyrell, famed across the Seven Kingdoms as the Knight of Flowers—brash, bold, and daring.

And rounding them out, Dickon Tarly—inheritor of his father’s strategic acumen.

Each embodied different virtues—wisdom, skill, courage, discipline.

And together, they had been entrusted with a battle plan that was non-linear, multi-layered, and reactive.
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The third volley of cannon fire split the air.

The deep, bestial roar of the artillery didn’t just shatter the morale of Rowan’s beleaguered vanguard—it rattled the nerves of the entire Reach cavalry force waiting in the south.
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“Seven Hells—Lord Rowan’s vanguard is faltering!”

Loras Tyrell cried out.
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“Their rate of fire is faster than it was at King’s Landing.”

Loras gritted his teeth.

“They must have received new artillery from the Night’s Watch foundries…”

His expression twisted.

“Damn it—we should’ve razed that factory to the ground!”
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“Wait a moment…”

Loras’ voice faltered, a troubling realization settling over him.

“This formation…”

His hands clenched instinctively around his reins.

“This formation looks like it was made specifically to counter us!”

He exhaled sharply.

“That damned Night’s Watch bastard—he never loses, does he?”

His breath came faster.

“If he just stays put and keeps firing, how in the hells are we supposed to break through a fully prepared heavy infantry formation?!”
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Garlan furrowed his brow.

And found that he had no immediate rebuttal.

Instead, he calmly reasoned through the situation.

“If he refuses to move, he cannot advance.”

He exhaled slowly.

“And as long as we have cut off his supply lines, time is on the Reach’s side.”
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“This is a feigned retreat.”

The realization struck all at once.

It was earlier than planned.

The circumstances weren’t exactly as expected.

But Lord Rowan’s intent was clear.

Garlan’s eyes hardened. He swung his arm down in command.

“Get to your units! If the Night’s Watch sends troops forward, we attack immediately!”
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Boom. Boom. Boom.

The relentless shelling continued.
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“Rowan won’t last much longer under this fire.”

Dickon Tarly spoke evenly, his voice measured.

“My recommendation—order the entire army to prepare for battle.”

His father’s lessons rang clear in his mind.

“Aegor might not fall for the trap, but whether they pursue or advance, movement will create openings.”

“And when that happens, we take our chance.”
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Garlan sighed at Loras’ earlier outburst.

“Loras, stop talking nonsense.”

His voice was steady, authoritative—not at all like a man their age.

“The Night’s Watch foundry was under Daenerys’ protection at the time. We couldn’t have touched it without starting a war.”

He shook his head.

“And even if we had taken it, do you honestly think my father and sister would’ve destroyed it?”

His lips curled wryly.

“They’d protect that ‘golden goose’ like a babe in swaddling.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“And once Aegor marched on King’s Landing, we’d never have been able to hold it anyway.”

His voice sharpened.

“Enough dreaming—focus on the battlefield. Gather information. Watch for opportunities.”
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This was all expected.
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And yet—

The Queen’s Army continued to churn smoke into the sky, the western edge of their formation belching white clouds that drifted eastward toward the Reach vanguard.

From afar, the scene looked almost comical.

A great warrior, lounging by the Mander, puffing smoke into the face of a frail young girl.

It didn’t take a tactician to see it.

Aegor held total control.

The Reach’s vanguard could do nothing but take the punishment.
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The spring sun shone bright.

A gentle breeze rolled across the plains.

If not for the distant rumble of cannon fire, the atmosphere was almost peaceful—like a carefree outing in the countryside.

The Reach cavalry was in no immediate danger.

Their overwhelming numbers ensured they were safe.

Their role as the final trump card meant they stayed out of artillery range.

And so, the three young commanders found themselves briefly detached, riding to a low ridge to observe the battlefield from afar.
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“The Night’s Watch has set up a very… peculiar formation.”

Dickon Tarly adjusted his lens.

“I don’t know whether to call it unprecedented or just excessively cautious.”

“But one thing is clear…”

His voice lowered.

“It’s defensive.”

He turned the lens slowly, adjusting focus.

“And it’s facing us.”

He clicked his tongue.

“And not just a simple line formation, either.”

His grip tightened on the lens.

“…This could be a problem.”
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The entire Reach vanguard was breaking apart before their eyes.

Rowan’s men had begun a controlled retreat, seeking cover behind scattered hills and slopes.

What was once a solid battle line had turned into a disjointed, broken chain.

Every commander on the field could see it.

If anyone attacked now—

It would be a slaughter.
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Garlan’s expression darkened.

“Their formation is too narrow. If we commit all twenty thousand at once, we’ll trample over ourselves.”

He exhaled sharply.

“We attack in three waves.”

“Pressure them relentlessly. Victory is only a matter of time.”