Inside the great hall of Winterfell, Robb sat high on the main seat, listening to the Baron's complaints.
He seemed to be somewhat lost in thought.
Just half a year ago, the banners of King Robert's Baratheon family still hung on the walls.
Hundreds of candles lit the hall, and the harp music of the musicians was incessant.
Hundreds of people dined together at several long tables.
Robert walked in front, arm-in-arm with his mother, Catelyn.
Eddard followed closely, arm-in-arm with Cersei.
Everything felt as if it were just yesterday.
Gradually, he came back to his senses, and the complaining voice in his ear became clearer.
"Robb... My Lord, your brother's hand was truly too heavy; he nearly broke his bones. My son merely forgot to pay; he shouldn't be subjected to such punishment.
My Lord, I beg you, give me justice."
Robb looked down at Baron Chytterly.
He looked to be in his early forties, but with a shrewd demeanor.
He wore a red velvet vest that didn't look like cheap merchandise.
'It matches Mother's hair well; I wonder where she is now.'
A thought suddenly flashed through Robb's mind, then he looked at Jon on the other side.
"Jon, what happened then?"
As Robb spoke, the Baron also turned and looked angrily at Jon.
He knew what kind of character his son was.
An argument was inevitable.
But to his surprise, Jon didn't argue with him about the exact circumstances at the time.
Whether the leading ruffian had truly forgotten to pay.
Jon simply said:
"Perhaps, but they were a group of people blocking the shop owner and his daughter, and even attempted violence. Perhaps my hand was indeed too heavy; please punish me."
"You're talking nonsense... Hmm?"
Baron Chytterly seemed to choke on his words. He hadn't expected Jon to admit his mistake so readily.
Before he could react, Robb spoke:
"Alright, since you admit your mistake and that you overstepped your authority, I think I should punish you with twenty military lashes. But Sir Shuta, the army will soon set off, and Jon and I both bear the responsibility of rescuing our father and family. I've decided to postpone his punishment until after the war."
"But... My Lord..."
"What, do you think there's something inappropriate about my decision?"
Baron Chytterly suddenly thought of something and said:
"I... My son is a noble! He! Is just a bastard! He shouldn't use weapons in front of a noble!"
Baron Chytterly, as if having found a fatal flaw, shouted at Jon.
However, Jon was unperturbed.
"But I used a wooden stick."
"Then you still attacked my son, and that is a crime!"
"I'll return to the Wall after the war ends."
"You..."
Watching the two argue, Theon chuckled from the side.
He found that Jon seemed to have become 'invincible' in some sense.
It was as if he had already been sentenced to 'life imprisonment,' and adding another hundred years to it would be meaningless.
"Enough!" Robb said, somewhat displeased.
He thought that if it were his father, this fellow would have quieted down when he had just mentioned fifty lashes.
"If, Baron, you believe there's something improper, then call those father and daughter to confront them."
Seeing Robb say this, Baron Chytterly remembered that detail.
After some stammering, he could only sincerely express that Robb was wise and brilliant, and that he was completely convinced.
The only solution was to go back and restrain his subordinates, making them behave and not cause trouble.
Realizing that he had so easily awed a knight, though only a Baron, Robb also felt invigorated.
Earlier, when dealing with those old foxes, although he had sent them away, he was still somewhat at a disadvantage.
Robb looked at the expressionless Jon with some gratitude, truly not knowing what kind of chaos would have erupted here without him.
And watching the Baron's discomfited expression, Theon in the corner couldn't help but want to laugh.
He hadn't expected this matter to be so simple.
Everything was unfolding as Jon had predicted.
After the Baron left, the three discussed the day's events, with Theon eagerly taking on the task of recounting them, and doing so vividly.
But when Robb heard that Jon had knocked down a dozen people in the blink of an eye, he was still somewhat disbelieving.
He knew Jon's martial arts were stronger than his own, but it couldn't possibly be this strong.
For a moment, his competitive spirit got the better of him, and coupled with the increasingly oppressive atmosphere in Winterfell, Robb actually proposed to duel Jon.
Although they were half-brothers in name, Jon knew that Robb was now the 'leader'.
It wouldn't be appropriate whether he won or lost.
So he said:
"Robb, the entire North is on your shoulders now. There's no need for a duel. I need your trust; we'll soon tame those spoiled, fierce soldiers out there!"
"Alright, Jon, I truly don't know how I would manage those people out there without you." Seeing Jon say this, Robb no longer insisted.
Jon smiled and said nothing.
This Young Wolf was still too young, and somewhat underestimated himself.
He might lack a bit in political maneuvering, but his extraordinary military talent compensated for that.
The prestige boost a monarch gains from military victories is extremely substantial.
Otherwise, after the Battle of the Whispering Wood, those Northern lords who originally didn't obey him wouldn't have clamored to make this Duke, not yet sixteen, their King in the North.
Soon, over the next few days, Jon continued to go out with a group of people to play 'Guangzhou play' as usual.
The soldiers who followed him also became increasingly proficient with their sticks.
And Jon's accumulated post-war punishment count was already more than he could count on two hands.
The number of people Jon had prematurely turned into casualties was already approaching three digits.
They carefully guarded against Jon and his group, but these people would always appear in unexpected places.
In alleys, behind walls, and even on rooftops.
The security around Winter Town was completely cleared up.
In the Northern army, Jon earned his first nickname: 'The Brutal Stick'.
The smaller lords had already begun to consciously restrain their soldiers, not daring to provoke trouble.
And these small fries could no longer satisfy Jon's appetite.
He hoped for a big fish to prove his strength.
And Jon's actions had already been noticed.
"This is our young Duke asserting his authority."
Roose Bolton, the Earl of Dreadfort, was the first to see this clearly.
In a brightly lit room, Roose Bolton chuckled after hearing about the matter, unconcerned.
His goal remained unchanged: to command the entire Northern army.
He hoped to gain sufficiently high prestige and status in this war.
He hadn't initially planned to pledge allegiance to Tywin.
After all, the current situation was that Eddard had exposed that the person now sitting on the Iron Throne was the bastard child of Cersei and the Kingslayer, Jaime.
This was a huge disgrace for all of Westeros.
In many people's eyes, Lannister was about to face an assault from all of Westeros.
And one against six hardly seemed like a winning scenario.
This wasn't even an advantage; it was practically a guaranteed victory.
If he didn't seize this opportunity, the shrewd Lord of the Dreadfort would not give up.
"So what should we do? Teach this bastard a lesson?" The speaker was Micky Seaworth, a man over fifty who still wanted to marry his thirty-year-old plump daughter to Robb.
Roose Bolton shook his head; after all, it would be too undignified for a Lord to personally intervene.
Since Jon was acting under the banner of law enforcement, he had to be pulled down from his 'moral high ground'.
"Ramsay, you are also a Snow; are you interested in competing with that Snow?"
Bastard against bastard, that was just right.
"Father?" Ramsay was a little surprised, but quickly licked his lips excitedly.
He had a strong desire to prove himself.
That he was perfectly qualified to inherit the Dreadfort.
"Yes, Father! I am!"