Perception is mutual.
When the White Walkers expended magic, human sorcerers could detect their location through the resulting fluctuations in energy. It was only fair. Magiro had been casting spells continuously along the way, and the Cold God Priests had sensed his presence and approach as well.
(A small group of humans is crossing the battlefield toward us, and among them is a powerful mage.)
The two Cold God Priests—or more accurately, the "Commander and Deputy Commander of the Eastern Army of the wights"—had already assessed the situation a few minutes earlier, but they had chosen neither to hide nor retreat, for several reasons.
Moments before, the two White Walkers had expended an enormous amount of magic assisting their army in crossing the sea of fire to storm the fortress. Now they were struggling to control the thousands of wights pouring into Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, micromanaging their efforts to seize the stairs leading up the Wall. The depletion of their magic had weakened the connection, forcing them to move closer to the fortress to ensure more precise control over the undead.
That was the practical reason. The other, more personal one was this: as priests of rival gods, servants of the Cold God and the Red God shared an inherent instinct and sacred duty to annihilate one another.
A Red Priest of considerable magical strength—especially with the Wall's suppression affecting only cold magic—was an enormous threat. To the wights, Magiro was what a White Walker was to unarmed civilians. His mere presence represented the greatest variable in determining the battle's outcome. The undead puppets could not deal with a prepared mage. If he engaged in street fighting or reached the Wall to reinforce the defense, the wights would never break through before his magic ran dry. The strategic goal of capturing the top of the Wall would become impossible.
But now, this lackey of R'hllor had not chosen to fortify the stairs, nor had he escaped atop the Wall. Instead, he had come to them, seeking death. For the White Walkers, this was the ideal outcome.
Since you are here, let's settle this now.
---
Although their bodies held many times more magic than even the most gifted human mages, the White Walkers could only use a portion of that magic to maintain their physical forms. Moments ago, that had been drained on the front lines, and with the Wall's suppression still in effect, recovery was slow.
However, even if their remaining magic wasn't enough to cast spells, the White Walkers had another gift from the Cold God: a body vastly superior to that of any human, several or even dozens of times stronger in speed, endurance, strength, and will. Their physical forms were nearly immune to conventional magic.
Unlike the servant of R'hllor, the Cold God's Priests were the world's greatest warriors, even without relying on magic.
...
The heat radiating from dozens of soldiers clustered together was simply too intense. Though Magiro had concealed his aura and stopped casting spells after approaching, the White Walkers could still roughly determine the location of the White Walker hunting party by the breath of living men, steaming in the cold air.
The moment someone poked their head above the battlements, they attacked, hurling stones with incredible precision.
A hit.
But not the one they wanted. The Red Priest was still crouched behind cover.
As a servant of the Lord of Light, Magiro could annihilate wights with ease. But against White Walkers, he had no such advantage. Their magically cold bodies rendered them immune to ordinary fire magic. To kill one, a person needed either Dragonglass or Valyrian steel infused with strong enough magic to disrupt the body's arcane structure, or an overwhelming flood of fire-aspected magic to completely annihilate them.
Unfortunately, no matter how deeply he drew on his power, Magiro—flesh and blood as he was—could not even burn off half a White Walker's arm.
So rather than expose himself, he remained hidden and let the others draw fire, preserving his strength for the critical moment. As a loyal servant of R'hllor, Magiro had only one goal: to fulfill the divine mission. Anything or anyone could be sacrificed.
"There they are!" The attack was far too precise and powerful to have come from mere wights. Splashed in the face with hot blood, Magiro showed no fear. Remaining crouched behind the parapet, he raised his hand and threw a torch over the wall. As he chanted, the spell surged with a burst of magic. The cloth-wrapped wooden stick ignited from within, instantly transforming its oil, wood, and resin into a brilliant flash of heat and light. A powerful flare lit the space below the wall for several seconds, turning night into day.
He puffed out his chest and roared, "Unsullied, attack!"
The Unsullied were not shaken by the deaths of their comrades. Upon hearing the order, they rose without hesitation, inspiring the accompanying Night's Watch soldiers to stand with them. Under the flare's bright light, they spotted two pale figures atop horses, unmoving, just a dozen yards from the wall. Without pause, they hurled spears, loosed arrows, and threw bombs at the targets, praying one of their attacks would strike true and deliver a miracle for mankind.
"Hold!" Magiro didn't raise his head. Instead, he reached out and grabbed Aen Emmett, who was just about to stand and take aim, holding him down until two more Unsullied were killed by hurled stones. Only when it was clear the enemy couldn't immediately launch another volley did he release Aen and clap him on the shoulder.
"Now. Aim and fire. This is our moment."
...
Beyond their incredible physical strength, the White Walkers had one more reason to risk this exchange of fire with a dozen human soldiers armed with Dragonglass weapons: a crystalline layer of armor they had just formed moments ago to protect themselves during spellcasting near the Wall.
Like the weapons they wielded—ice swords that could cleave steel and spears that could bring down dragons—this crystalline armor was made from the same material as their bodies: a tiny amount of physical matter bound with surging, pure magic. When their energy was consumed to alter its microstructure, it crystallized, forming a rigid shell. Though this slowed their movement and blocked the flow of magic, it made their exterior harder and more impervious than any known material. The Night's Watch's Dragonglass weapons couldn't even scratch the surface, let alone pierce it.
Arrows and spears whistled through the air. The two White Walkers shielded their eyes, letting the Dragon Crystal projectiles strike their bodies. With popping sounds, the tips shattered into shards. Shafts clattered to the ground. Then came the blast of explosives. The Dragonglass fragments propelled by gunpowder moved faster and hit harder than arrows, but still only shattered against the crystalline armor. The two White Walkers were unharmed. Only their unlucky mount, a dead horse, was pierced by shrapnel and collapsed, sending both riders tumbling to the ground.
The first volley had ended. The White Walkers lowered their arms and began scanning the wall once again for the red priest's silhouette—but still saw nothing. They had no choice but to raise their arms and randomly choose two more targets for their next volley.
But then, an arrow—late by only a second—flew straight at them.
The Commander of the Eastern Army of the wights instinctively raised his arm to block. It didn't help. The arrow pierced through his arm and chest with ease, bypassing the crystalline armor like it was nothing. A vast torrent of fire-aspected magic surged into his body. The purity and strength of it were so overwhelming, it felt as if R'hllor himself had kicked him in the chest. His magic shattered instantly. The very structure of power within him unraveled. Within a single heartbeat, he fragmented, the pieces vaporizing midair. He didn't even have time to fall to the ground. His body disintegrated into a cold mist, returning to the world as raw, elemental magic. Nothing fell. Not even a bone. Only the arrow remained.
Dragonglass weapons were not capable of that.
The Deputy Commander, still raising his arm to throw, blinked in shock as his comrade vanished into nothingness. In that instant, he understood.
The humans' confidence had not come from their Red Priest, or from their frozen fire bombs, but from a divine weapon they had never seen before—one capable of killing White Walkers instantly.
Though the Cold God's servants knew no fear, the mission programmed into their minds by the Night King required self-preservation above all else. Without hesitation, the remaining White Walker severed the connection with most of the wights. After absorbing a mouthful of the pure cold magic left behind by his fallen comrade, he turned and fled, leaping onto a charging wight bear and riding it swiftly into the darkness.
...
"Aen, keep shooting. I'll create your opening!"
The moment Magiro sensed that one of the White Walkers had been killed, he rose from behind the wall. Locking onto the back of the fleeing enemy, he clenched his fists. Every spell he had mastered throughout his life, all the magic he had accumulated, gathered now into a razor-sharp thread.
He unleashed his magic like a needle storm at the wight bear's back.
He couldn't kill a White Walker outright. But a wight animal? That was easy.
The wight bear stumbled. Its connection to the White Walker broke instantly. As it collapsed, it erupted in white flame, becoming a burning ball of light. In that brief moment, with the White Walker thrown to the snow and fully exposed in the light of the flames, the First Ranger of Eastwatch nocked his second Dragonsteel Arrow to the string.
He released it.
The arrow arced across eighty meters in the night, striking true as the White Walker scrambled to rise. The tip pierced his back just as he rolled into the snow.
With a quiet thud, the final White Walker fell.
And with him, the Eastern Army of over ten thousand wights collapsed into lifeless corpses.
(To be continued.)
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◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 200 Power Stones.
◇ You can read the ahead chapter on Pat if you're interested: p-atreon.c-om/Blownleaves (Just remove the hyphen to access normally.)