"Wights have crossed the outer wall from the east, south, and north, and the fighting has spread from the top of the wall into the residential areas."
As the champion and runner-up of Crown Town's archery competition, the sharpshooters Anguy and Theon Greyjoy were naturally kept at Aegor's side, tasked with the critical mission of shooting the Night King. But with the target nowhere in sight, the heroes had suddenly become like a deaf man's ears, useless decorations.
"If the Commander permits," Anguy offered, "why don't the two of us take the Lightbringer and head to the more dangerous areas to assist, to relieve the pressure on our Night's Watch brothers?"
"Without me to guide you, can you find the White Walkers?" Even in her calm and deliberate tone, Melisandre could no longer conceal her urgency. She looked seriously at the Prophet she served. "Has the Lord of Light granted you any new revelations? Should I stay here and wait for the Night King to appear, or go help the defenders deal with other White Walkers that may have already entered the city?"
Aegor took a deep breath. Instead of answering Melisandre directly, he turned to the side. "Lord Beric, Lord Thoros, each of you take a team and escort Anguy and Theon with the Lightbringer to assist inside the city. Harvey, return to the inner keep immediately and deliver my orders: have Bran use ravens to guide all archers with dragonsteel arrows to the locations of any White Walkers who dare enter Crown Town!"
With the overwhelming disparity in numbers, having the only Red Priestess capable of sensing the enemy leader go off to hunt ordinary White Walkers was like pouring cold water into boiling oil. It might reduce some of the chaos temporarily, but it would do nothing to reverse the overall situation. Their only hope now was to stick to the original plan: find a way to kill the Night King.
"Melisandre, do you have any magical means to directly locate the Night King?"
"There are indeed active detection spells to locate living beings. But first, this magic is designed for the living and unsuitable for use amid a crowd. Second... if the being I'm detecting is more powerful than I am, he can completely conceal himself or even turn my detection spell against me."
"What about luring him out? Last time at Castle Black, you cast a spell to strengthen the fire, and it attracted the White Walkers. Can you use that trick again, reveal your position on purpose and provoke the Night King into attacking you?"
Theoretically, it was possible. But it would undoubtedly put the caster's life at risk. If someone volunteered, there would be no issue. But how could anyone else propose it?
Aegor wasn't so tactless as to suggest others take such a risk without care. He simply couldn't do it himself, not being able to use magic. But the trust between him and Melisandre had already been forged. The Red Priestess would not take offense or assume he wished her harm. Besides, if offering her life could win the entire war for R'hllor, as His faithful servant, she would leap into a sea of wights without hesitation.
"But what should I do to provoke the Night King into attacking me?" Melisandre asked. "And if I succeed, I must not be killed in a single blow. Otherwise, I won't be able to tell you where he is!"
"Shields!" Aegor shouted. Soldiers beside him brought thick wooden shields for blocking arrows, which were quickly set up in front of them to provide some cover. Aegor then spoke seriously. "Of course, you can't just cast any spell. You must make the Night King feel threatened. Tonight, the wights aren't throwing themselves into the fire like before. That means the enemy has begun to value the basic troops he controls. Can you perform some powerful magic to wipe out a large number of wights in an instant, to force the Night King into reacting?"
"Powerful magic?" Melisandre shook her head with frustration. She hated explaining the basics of magic to laymen again and again. But unfortunately, the man before her was the Prophet. "Magic isn't what you imagine. Touch-casting is relatively easy. But even a short distance increases difficulty dramatically. Magic consumption and casting complexity increase exponentially with distance. Destroying dozens or hundreds of wights is not difficult if I'm in direct contact with them and willing to expend the energy. But your little Prophet says the Night King is in the northwest, and the wights in that direction aren't attacking. Trying to target wights standing outside the fire line from tens or hundreds of meters away? I might burn a few, but the loss wouldn't be enough to provoke him."
Aegor had to admit, when he mentioned "powerful magic," what he imagined were spectacular displays seen in games or movies, like meteor showers or blazing infernos. Clearly, such magic wasn't possible in this low-magic world. Ignorant in this domain, he could only trust Melisandre's words.
After a moment's silence, a spark flashed through his mind.
"Do you remember what you did to my sword?"
Melisandre looked puzzled. "What?"
"That time you enchanted my sword without telling me and nearly blinded me…"
"Oh, that. Are your eyes still not better?"
"They're fine now. What I want to know is, you said later that dragonsteel is a much better conductor of magic than regular steel. So, can you do the same to the arrowhead of a Lightbringer? Make it shine brightly?"
"Of course. A better conductor means it's even easier. The effect will be excellent. But why?"
"Light up the Lightbringer, and I'll shoot it toward the Night King's direction."
"You want to take a shot in the dark?" Melisandre looked shocked. "Are you mad? There's only so much of it left, and you want to waste it?"
To inspire morale among soldiers and civilians along the Wall, Aegor had already distributed twenty Lightbringers to strongholds. Last night, or rather, early this morning, another twenty were used to craft dragonsteel bombs. Of the original and replica seventy-seven Lightbringers, only just over thirty remained. More than twenty were assigned to sharpshooters in the reserve forces. Anguy and Theon had just taken a few more. At present, Aegor himself held five.
Melisandre saying "there's only that much left" was no exaggeration.
Aegor wasn't hoping to actually strike the Night King with a single arrow. What he wanted was to use this dramatic display to demonstrate force and provoke the enemy into reacting, thus exposing his position.
The Night King was a magical being, not a machine. Normally, Aegor wouldn't have thought of provoking him this way. But the circumstances forced him to try something unconventional. White Walkers, after all, were not emotionless automatons. They were intelligent, and as long as intelligence existed, pure logic was impossible.
Whether it was his successful kill years ago using a dragonglass dagger due to the White Walkers' negligence, or Moqorro sniping two White Walkers at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea because they let bloodlust override caution, both proved the same point.
This tactic had at least a thirty to forty percent chance of working.
"I am the Commander and the Prophet. Do as I say." Aegor had no time to explain in detail. The battlefield changed constantly. He picked up his yew longbow in one hand, drew out a dragonsteel arrow with the other, and held the arrowhead up to Melisandre's face. "Enchant it. I only need it to shine for a moment, but the brighter, the better before it hits the ground."
Melisandre stopped arguing. She took the arrow shaft in both hands, placed her index and middle fingers on the arrowhead, lowered her head, closed her eyes, and muttered incantations. The dragonsteel tip instantly flared, shining like a high-powered lantern being switched on. The soldiers nearby turned their heads, shielding their eyes.
A similar glow had once radiated from Aegor's ordinary steel longsword, but that time Melisandre had layered spells using the immense power released during the cremation of Maester Aemon's body. This time, she only cast a single spell, and it was already too dazzling to face. The reason lay entirely in the incredible magical affinity of dragonsteel, combined with the spell's settings: it would burn all its energy within thirty seconds. This magical light, in terms of both power and efficiency, was pushed to its limit.
Even as he turned his face away, Aegor still had to squint through the blinding light. After holding the blazing Lightbringer for a moment, he nocked it, pulled the bowstring back at a forty-degree angle, and let it fly toward the northwest.
...
The brilliantly glowing Lightbringer No. 64 swept across the wight horde twenty to thirty meters above the ground, like an arrow carrying a miniature sun. The pure white light it cast illuminated the countless corpses standing below. After flying nearly two hundred meters without hitting anything of importance, it pierced a gaunt, half-skeletal wight and then embedded itself into another before finally coming to a stop.
Even buried in the gut of the fallen wight, it still burned brightly, casting a glow across the sea of the dead.
---
No magic is limitless, not even for gods. Creating low-temperature fields to suppress Wildfire was tactically effective, but it couldn't be sustained forever. Once it became clear the defenders could not be overwhelmed during the window of opportunity, the Night King changed strategy. He ordered the White Walkers who had been casting spells along the fire lines to mix in with the wights, cross the walls, and enter the city to wage war within. The goal: create chaos, cause deaths, and expand their ranks.
As the White Walkers stopped casting and infiltrated Crown Town, the fire walls were finally able to ignite, completing the outer ring of defense. The confused defenders, not fully aware of what was happening, even lit overturned Wildfire pots during the chaos, setting the walls ablaze. The resulting flames consumed the flesh-made slopes and breaches, as well as the bodies of the fallen on both sides, effectively halting enemy reinforcements and sealing off support to the White Walkers already inside the city.
Coincidentally, this scene occurred less than ten seconds after Aegor's light-bringing arrow had been fired.
The soldiers on the northwest walls witnessed this scene in awe. They didn't know this was a desperate gamble, a symbolic gesture made by the Commander. All they saw was this: at the most desperate moment, the Prophet loosed a glowing arrow into the night. The enemy fell, and the fire wall, which had resisted ignition all night, suddenly erupted in flame.
The emotional impact of "I don't understand, but it's amazing," along with a surge of blind confidence, sparked cheers along the walls. Despite their dire situation, cries of victory echoed across Crown Town's ramparts.
...
Amid this uplifting roar, the giant smashed a wight wolf with a single blow.
The wall's narrow width prevented the defenders from forming proper formations or fully leveraging their numbers. But the counterattacks, bolstered by bomb usage, had been fierce. The wights who crossed the breach failed to expand their foothold further. Choosing not to engage the frontline defenders, they jumped down into Crown Town itself to attack civilians.
But they ran headfirst into the second line of defense.
Giants were slow, clumsy, and not suited for organized warfare. But in static defenses, they were invaluable. Before the battle, dozens of adult giants had been paired with New Gift soldiers and spread across command sectors. Once enemies breached the wall, the giants were deployed immediately.
Now, one stood in a central intersection like a massive, living statue. With soldiers, burning barricades, and archers on rooftops nearby, a mobile defensive line formed, blocking the wights' path into the heart of the city.
Giants, with minds like children, could still distinguish friend from foe. Their thick hides and layered animal pelts resisted damage from common wights. And their massive arms struck like siege weapons. Even without dragonglass weapons, giants could cripple armored wights with ease. Human soldiers needed only finish them off with dragonglass spears. It was far easier than what the frontline defenders faced on the walls.
More and more wights poured in from the streets, and soldiers eventually had to engage directly. Still, the giants carried most of the burden. The defenders' morale rose with the cheering from the wall... until a pale, agile figure burst from the horde and slammed into Wangwang's chest.
The impact made the giant stagger. Roaring in fury, he clasped his hands together to crush the foe, only to realize the pale figure was as hard as stone. As the giant prepared to toss it aside, he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. A cold unlike anything he had known spread through his body. His vision darkened, and he collapsed with a thunderous crash.
The pale figure slowly rose from the fallen giant's chest, pulling a translucent longsword from the gaping wound. Its icy blue eyes shone brighter than those of any wight.
"White Walker!"
A soldier shouted in horror, fired a dragonglass arrow, and turned to flee. Their team lacked dragonsteel arrows capable of piercing ice armor. With no hope of winning, retreating toward the command center with a Lightbringer was the only choice.
This was not cowardice. It was part of the plan.
The White Walker let out a sharp, mocking hiss but didn't pursue. Instead, it ordered the wights to encircle it as it began casting a spell.
The fire wall now burned brightly. The outer wall had been reclaimed. The eight White Walkers and thousand-plus wights inside Crown Town had to rely on their own strength. Fortunately, this one had been lucky, claiming a giant at the outset. Reanimating such a puppet would be invaluable, even useful as a shield against arrows.
Surrounded by wights, the White Walker laid its hand on the giant's corpse and began infusing it with cold magic.
Larger creatures required more energy to convert, but the cost was always worthwhile. However, as the cold energy poured in, the White Walker noticed something strange. Fire-aligned magic lingered in the giant's body, neutralizing everything he sent.
It was as though his magic disappeared into the void.
What was going on?
Such a phenomenon was not unheard of. Magical creatures, or beings exposed to powerful magic, often retained residue. It had to be purged before reanimation. Dragons, R'hllor's chosen, and those strange folk who commune with trees... all required preparation before becoming wights.
But how could a common giant contain fire magic?
Startled, the White Walker turned to another human corpse nearby and tried the same spell, only to find the exact same result.
For the first time, he felt something like fear.
His magic was nearly spent. If he couldn't raise new puppets, then here in Crown Town, surrounded by powerful foes and enchanted weapons, he might as well be a sacrificial lamb.
(To be continued.)