The White Walkers can speak!!!
Dany was so shocked her heartbeat nearly stopped.They could speak, communicate, use language—what did that mean?It meant the White Walkers had the foundation to develop their own civilization!
So, was the Long Night not a righteous war of mankind against monsters, but a clash between two civilizations?Still, as the White Walker approached, she had already regrouped—three ranks of shield-bearing wildlings were arrayed before her.
Well, the Dragon Queen's courage seemed directly proportional to the thickness of her meat shield.
And behind her were hundreds—possibly thousands—of wildling warriors, all ready to give their lives for their Queen without hesitation.
With courage came defiance.
"Does anyone know what that bastard is saying?" the Dragon Queen turned her head, shouting the question to the wildlings hesitantly gathering behind her.
The White Walkers could understand human speech, and the word "bastard" made their deep, icy blue eyes flash with anger.
—Which left Dany deeply unsettled: They have emotions this vivid?
After a moment, Morona, wearing a weirwood mask, came to her side and whispered, "They seem to be speaking the Old Tongue."
"What's the Old Tongue?" Dany asked, confused.
"The language of the First Men."
"Then why did you say 'seem to'? And why can't any of the free folk around us understand it?" Dany looked at her oddly.
"Sigh, the Common Tongue we speak now is actually Andal in origin. The early form of the Old Tongue has been lost. Only giants and a few free folk in the far North still use it," said Morona.
"Do you understand it?"
"A little, but I'm far from fluent," Morona said hesitantly. "You should summon Mance. He can even sing in the Old Tongue."
Dany rolled her eyes at the witch-warrior and snapped, "Do you have any idea what situation we're in right now?"
"…Alright then."
Morona stepped to the front, leaning on her spear, and began loudly speaking with the White Walker.
Every word the White Walker uttered sounded like a liquid nitrogen bomb, freezing her mind on contact, as if her whole being was crystallizing into ice before being shattered by a hammer—utterly excruciating.
Though she endured better than the average wildling, it was clear from her halting voice that she was bearing some kind of pain and fear—but the exchange continued smoothly nonetheless.
Indeed, the Old Tongue was rough, sonorous, and rigid. Listening carefully, it did share some similarity with the White Walkers' language.
"It wants to duel you," said Morona, the "White Mask."
"…What?" Dany was dumbfounded.
Morona glanced at the skewer of bodies that had once been Halle the Hunter and quickly explained, "The White Walker heard Halle's earlier challenge, and knows it was you who ordered them to shout it. Now, it's accepting your request—for a fair duel."
"Are you kidding me? You saw it yourself," Dany pointed to her chest, exclaiming, "Just now, that ice sword was half an inch from my heart! If I hadn't reacted in time, I'd be a frozen lich by now. That's a duel? That was a sneak attack!"
"You're a serious threat to them, of course they want to kill you. Since the assassination failed, they might now intend to take you out in an honorable duel. Even if they lose, they'll have tested your strength."
Morona remained calm and rational. From their conversation, she had deduced something strange:
"For over a decade, White Walkers have never issued a challenge to any free folk.
They've always treated us like beasts to be hunted, cornered, and slain. Even when people shouted curses at them, they gave no response—aloof and cold, like the ice swords in their hands. But now, they 'lower themselves' and patiently repeat their challenge three times."
Dany cast a sidelong glance toward the city gates, where a hundred or so rangers with torches had gathered. They, too, had seen the sudden appearance of the White Walkers and were now hesitating.
"I will duel the White Walker," Dany said, voice low. "Find two Thousand-Leaders. While I'm dueling, have them take two hundred free folk warriors and circle around behind the White Walkers. Today, we leave all six of those bastards here."
Morona looked at the Dragon Queen in surprise, not expecting her to be—well, so resourceful.
"Go inform Wael and Solon," she whispered to a spear-woman behind her.
The spear-woman had been right beside them and had heard every detail of their little "conspiracy," loud and clear.
When Drogon finished building up for ten seconds and finally belched out a fireball the size of a winnowing basket, glowing red like rolling magma, Dany stepped forward from behind the shield wall like the Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King.
Left hand raised high with the fireball, right hand drawing her Valyrian steel sword, she shouted at the White Walkers, "Who dares duel me!"
The fireball blazed like a miniature sun rising over the open earth, radiating intense light and heat in all directions. The thick ice fog visibly dissipated, and even the howling wind gradually died down. Light and warmth once again blanketed the land.
"Long live the Dragon Queen! Long live the Dragon Queen!"
From within that brilliance and warmth, the wildlings regained their voices and strength. Hearing their Queen boldly challenge the White Walkers, they rediscovered their fearless courage and blood-stirring resolve.
"She—she's really going to duel a White Walker?!" On the Wall, Bowen Marsh was stunned.
Hearing the wildlings' shouts and seeing the Dragon Queen face off against the White Walkers with sword drawn, the Night's Watch could no longer pretend not to understand what was happening.
"By the Seven! The Knight-Queen duels the White Walker King… this—this is like something out of ancient legend!" Grenn couldn't help but shout, his voice trembling.
"We're witnessing history…" Black Castle's cook, "Three-Finger" Hob, muttered in awe.
"She is a warrior, she is a maiden!" Brother Selador excitedly pointed at the Dragon Queen below and declared to those around him, "Daenerys is the embodiment of the Seven Gods on earth—the prophesied child who will save humanity from the White Walkers!"
Melisandre turned her head, her cold red eyes casting an invisible but palpable pressure on the drunken monk.
"Uh…" The old monk shivered, turned away, and muttered under his breath, "Since the White Walkers are real, then our Faith of the Seven can't fall behind. We should have our own savior."
"Grrr…" Stannis ground his teeth fiercely, and behind him seemed to rise the towering shadow of a demonic overlord. The oppressive aura made the surrounding Night's Watch and Baratheon cavalry shiver instinctively.
Like the Baratheon knights, "Giant Slayer" Godry Farring felt unsettled. At a time like this, the one dueling the White Walker King should be none other than His Majesty Stannis, wielding Lightbringer.
Still, he couldn't bear to watch the Dragon Queen bask in glory before the crowd. Forcing a smile, he tried to keep his tone neutral as he said, "What White Walker King? Just a regular grunt. No need to make such a fuss.Killing it won't end the Long Night—hardly legendary. Just like how everyone remembers Azor Ahai, but who remembers the common soldier who once killed a random White Walker?"
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Ser Clayton Song nodded and added, "That dragon witch is holding a giant fireball—any blind man could see she's using magic to cheat. That doesn't count as a proper knightly duel."
"Hmph! At least she was the first human to challenge a White Walker! That makes her a thousand times braver than all of you standing on the Wall just chatting!" Maester Pylos glared.
To be honest, the old maester was in deep anguish at that moment—worse than being stabbed in the heart. Physical pain was nothing compared to the despair and confusion brought on by his shattered worldview.
At a time like this, he should be numb, staring down at the White Walkers below and writhing in the agony of shaken beliefs.
Yet for some reason, when he heard the Baratheon men badmouthing the Dragon Queen, he suddenly snapped out of his daze and couldn't help wanting to refute them—despite the fact that, back in Oldtown, he had hoped for Stannis to claim the Iron Throne!
"Look! What is that White Walker doing?" Maester Aemon exclaimed from behind the star-gazing lens, interrupting the argument.
One White Walker stepped forward to engage in battle, while the remaining five stood quietly to the side, observing.
"Crack—!" The White Walker who stepped out let out a chilling cry like shattering ice. His hands clenched around invisible grips as cold winds howled and spiraled around him. Snowflakes and thumbnail-sized ice crystals materialized in mid-air. Gradually, a small tornado of ice and snow enveloped his body.
In a trance, a dim blue aura appeared between the White Walker's hands—matching the starlit blue of his eyes. Through Daenerys' vision, one could even see countless mysterious runes forming within it, growing, twisting, and assembling like creeping vines.
The swirling ice shards and snowflakes quietly sank into the glowing runes, rapidly condensing into a two-meter-long crystal longsword. The blade was thinner than paper, radiating a faint blue light and held flat—its edge nearly invisible.
Before everyone's eyes, the White Walker had forged an ice sword using frost magic!
Daenerys and the wildlings at the foot of the Wall were dumbfounded. The Night's Watch atop the Wall were equally stunned, their mouths agape.
"Graa—!" The White Walker mimicked Daenerys, pointing the longsword at her with a sharp, provoking cry.
"Kill!" Without hesitation, Daenerys spun a blazing fireball in her left hand. Dozens of blazing red fire arrows rained down like a torrential storm, hurtling toward the White Walker.
"Whoosh—!" The tall White Walker instantly vanished from sight without even a whisper of movement—as if he had teleported. He shifted two meters to the left, dodging the incoming volley of fiery bolts.
But he hadn't actually teleported. Though astonishingly fast, he couldn't evade the dynamic tracking of a dragon's field of vision.
The searing fireball roared like a Gatling gun, spraying a red stream across the air.
At first, the White Walker relied on his speed—over 30 meters per second—and sharp perception, darting left and right, forward and back, weaving a dazzling serpentine path right in front of Daenerys.
But gradually, as he tried to close the distance, Daenerys began to grasp his movement patterns. Her fire arrows no longer fired blindly; some shot like lightning bolts, while others drifted slowly like willow fluff—fast and slow intertwined, forming a deadly, blooming red flower around her.
"Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle—!" Tiny fire serpents struck the White Walker one after another, leaving pockmarks on his chest plate, arms, and face. Pale blue blood, steaming with white mist, gushed from the wounds.
Yes, pockmarks.
The White Walker's body and armor seemed to be made of ice—each fire arrow burned a crater the size of a broad bean. But as the shimmering blue blood flowed and filled the craters, the wounds quickly healed.
Even more terrifying, the White Walker's swordsmanship was deadly. Many fire arrows that couldn't be dodged were either shattered by a single swing or blocked with the blade—its width the size of a palm. The sword, glowing faintly blue, didn't even chip.
"Hiss—" The wildlings and Night's Watch all gasped in shock.
"A single flame used to burn wights to ashes, yet this White Walker has taken more than twenty hits and remains completely unscathed?" Bowen Marsh said, his face pale.
"It's not that he's unscathed," Melisandre's red eyes shimmered mysteriously. "He's consumed a great deal of magic power."
(Note: Regarding the White Walker's ice sword—this is not exaggerated. George R.R. Martin himself said: "It's ice, but not ordinary ice. White Walkers can manipulate ice and create materials with it—beyond human imagination."As for their speed—they aren't zombies. White Walkers are magical beings, akin to ice elves—also confirmed by author Martin.)
(End of Chapter)
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