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#402 - Chapter 136 Fleet Arrives to Help

However, due to the limited capacity of the ships, and to save time, these wildlings had to be settled in two batches. One batch was sent to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, while the other was arranged nearby on Skane Island.

The rafts previously built by the wildlings were also put to use by Bran. Using ships to drag the rafts out to sea, the huge rafts were linked together, floating on the surface of the sea, forming floating platforms. They used small boats to continuously transport the wildlings to various floating platforms, each of which could temporarily accommodate thousands of people.

This way, they could temporarily stay on them, and the large ships that could not land at the bay could transfer personnel here.

In reality, Mance Rayder's plan was somewhat impractical. Not to mention whether these rafts could sail on the sea, or whether they would be overturned by the waves. The biting cold wind at sea alone would be enough to freeze them to death on the rafts. If nearly one hundred thousand wildlings went south according to his plan, then the number of people who could finally land alive might be less than a third.

Night fell like a huge black curtain covering the sea, and the sea wind was like a ferocious beast, making a low and fierce roar. The waves were surging and constantly beating against the rafts, splashing white foam. The wildlings huddled together, shivering, trying to use each other's body temperature to resist the cold and fear. Their eyes stared at the dark sea, filled with despair and helplessness. Every impact of the waves made the raft shake violently, as if it would capsize at any moment.

Suddenly, a gust of wind struck, and the waves rose several meters high, forming a huge wall of water. The raft shook violently, as if to throw the wildlings into the icy sea. A wildling lost his footing and fell into the sea, instantly swallowed by the merciless seawater. The other wildlings screamed in horror, but they could not save their companion.

Bran stood at the bow of the ship, looking at everything in front of him with a solemn expression. He clenched his fists, his heart filled with worry. He knew that this southward journey was far more difficult and dangerous than he had imagined. However, he had no choice but to continue moving forward.

At this time, the Skagosi fleet had already arrived in the nearby waters, but the fleet commander firmly refused to transport the wildlings. Even Robb could not order them to change their minds. Therefore, the fleet could only undertake guard duties to ensure the safety of the wildlings.

Bran, having acquired some of the Three-Eyed Raven's memories, had a deep understanding of the terror of the White Walkers. He had tried to use birds to scout the movements of the White Walkers, but those birds were quickly shot down by the White Walkers one by one. This made Bran feel deeply helpless and anxious, and Robb, who was commanding on the shore, was equally troubled.

In such a blocking battle, the cavalry was of no use, because they could not effectively cross the forests and hills. Stannis at the front line was reluctant to waste his precious cavalry here. Therefore, he only left twenty or so riders as messengers to ensure the transmission of information. The remaining cavalry returned to Hardhome with the wounded, where they were organizing boarding to leave the battlefield.

However, the arrival of these people put pressure on the ships originally used to evacuate women and children. This naturally aroused the dissatisfaction of the wildlings, especially the wildling leader Morona. She unhappily found Robb and questioned him: "King of the South, why stop the evacuation? We have laid down our weapons as you requested, how much longer do my people have to wait?"

Faced with Morona's questioning, Robb did not back down or explain. Instead, he straightened his body, and a hint of firmness and majesty flashed in his eyes. He was no longer the boy he was a few years ago, but a leader who had been tempered by war and grown up. He retorted without any politeness: "Leader Morona, please pay attention to your attitude. Standing in front of you is the Prince of the North, the head of the great Stark family! I don't care what agreement you reached with Commander Jon! From now on, I am the supreme commander here, and everyone must obey my orders! We came here to save you, look at these busy soldiers, and look at the ships on the sea, they all belong to us. Not only that, our brave warriors are fighting hard against the invasion of the White Walkers on the front line, and I have to raise the food needed to feed your tens of thousands of mouths. So, if you still want to live, there is only one choice—obey my orders! Immediately, get back to where you should be and do your job!"

Smalljon Umber looked at the person in front of him with admiration, secretly delighted in his heart: This is the real monarch I am loyal to! He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, took a step forward, stood in front of Morona, and said to her coldly: "Did you hear that? Obey the Lord's orders."

Morona was flushed with anger, but she could do nothing. At this moment, a burly middle-aged woman walked out of the crowd, staring directly at Smalljon without fear, her eyes full of provocation: "You are from the Umber family, who is your father? I am Dalla Umber, the daughter of Mors Umber."

Smalljon Umber was full of surprise. Of course he had heard of this name, she should be his aunt. But wasn't she abducted by the wildlings thirty years ago when she went out for a trip? Since then, the Umber family has been mortal enemies with the wildlings.

"Toot～Toot～Toot!" A melodious and deep horn sounded, breaking the strange atmosphere.

An officer said to Robb: "Lord Stark, this is the horn used by the legion to send messages! The support fleet is coming, Young Rickon should be back."

Sure enough, tall White Harbor warships broke through the mist and slowly sailed in. They carefully avoided the floating platforms to avoid collisions.

Bran took a small boat and sailed to the flagship. Rickon was already waiting there, his face full of joyful smiles.

"You're here, Bran! I'm glad to see you're okay, how is the battle going?" Rickon asked with concern.

Bran shook his head and said with a solemn expression: "The situation is very bad. Last night, the White Walkers suddenly attacked the fleet in the bay, causing more than two hundred small and medium-sized warships to be damaged or sunk, and more than six thousand sailors were unfortunately devoured by the White Walkers. In addition, the casualties on the front line are also quite serious, and our existing weapons have very limited lethality against the wights. Your arrival is just in time. The Skagos fleet refuses to participate in the migration, and I'm afraid only you can command them."

Rickon turned to look at the generals beside him, and then introduced to Bran: "This is the Skagos Garrison Commander, Al Crowl. I wonder what you think of my brother's suggestion?"