Outside Bree's city gates, barrow-wights besieged the walls in terrifying numbers.
Seeing so many undead creatures, the defending militia went pale with fear.
"How... how can there be so many barrow-wights? Weren't the Barrow-downs already cleared?" A young militiaman asked, his voice trembling uncontrollably.
But no one could answer his question—everyone stood frozen, paralyzed with fear.
Among these militia, some were native Bree residents who had heard terrifying barrow-wight legends since childhood. Even before their lord had established his territory here, the road past the Barrow-downs had occasionally seen wights appearing from the mist—no sane person dared travel at night.
After only a few precious years of peace, how could the barrow-wights possibly reappear?
The militia captain reacted fastest, immediately shouting loudly to break the spell of terror. "Everyone to battle stations! Ring the alarm bell immediately! We absolutely cannot let these barrow-wights enter the city, or Bree will become a living hell!"
All militia scrambled for their bows and arrows, shooting frantically at the wights massing below.
Another militiaman sprinted desperately to the bell tower, frantically striking the alarm bell.
The urgent alarm immediately rang throughout Bree, shattering the night's peace.
The lively atmosphere in taverns and inns instantly quieted to shocked silence. Then everyone looked toward the windows in disbelief, confirming the bell wasn't some cruel illusion or drunken dream.
Sleeping residents were rudely awakened by the alarm, quickly rousing their confused families from their beds.
Bree's alarm bell was a tradition spanning hundreds of years. Even now, having expanded into prosperous Bree City, the bell's solemn purpose remained unchanged.
The more frequent and urgent the bell rang, the greater the danger threatening them. Previously, when South Downs bandits had attempted raids, Bree's bell had only rung three measured times—most residents had continued their business as usual.
But now, ringing non-stop with desperate urgency, the bell meant Bree faced unprecedented danger—the entire city caught in a genuine life-or-death crisis.
The city immediately fell into barely controlled panic.
Mayor Butch was jolted awake by the relentless bell. After a confused moment, he snapped to full alertness, his heart pounding.
"Mayor! Mayor Butch!" A militiaman burst into Mayor Butch's home, shouting in absolute terror. "Barrow-wights! Thousands of barrow-wights have gathered outside the gate! They're trying to break through right now!"
"What? Barrow-wights!" Butch's eyes widened in disbelief, his face draining of color. "Where did they come from? Weren't the Barrow-downs cleared years ago?"
Since Lord Kael had dealt with the Barrow-downs threat, these peaceful years had occasionally seen brave adventurers exploring the ancient burial mounds. Even Mayor Butch had sent people to investigate thoroughly, confirming no wights remained.
Where could these barrow-wights possibly be coming from now?
"No, wait!" Butch's survival instincts kicked in, his body shaking. "With so many barrow-wights, I need to find a safe place to hide immediately!"
As a member of a prestigious Bree family, Butch's ancestors had all lived in Bree for generations. According to grim ancestral legends, long ago Bree had faced a barrow-wight crisis with hundreds attacking the city.
At that terrible time, Bree had suffered devastating losses—nearly the entire city's population had been slaughtered.
Now with thousands of barrow-wights, wasn't this exponentially more fatal?
Butch felt instantly terrified; his first impulse was to hide somewhere safe and let someone else deal with this nightmare.
But just as he moved toward his escape route, his steps suddenly stopped, as if remembering something crucial. "No, wait... I'm the mayor!"
He looked out at the surrounding buildings through his window, his eyes filling with conflict and determination.
This city was built through my hard work—every brick and tile represents my effort. I cannot let those cursed barrow-wights destroy everything I've worked for! I'm supposed to become Bree's greatest mayor...
His jaw set with determination. "Right, I cannot flee like a coward! I won't let that smug bastard Luke from Hogsmeade mock me!"
Just when the militiaman who'd brought the terrible news fully expected the mayor would flee for his life, Butch unexpectedly stopped himself.
Then he quickly threw on his stab-resistant spider silk undershirt, and feeling that insufficient, added his ancestral armor over it for good measure. Wearing the bulky, clanking armor, Mayor Butch drew his sword while the militiaman watched in astonishment.
"Let's go—take me to the walls immediately to properly assess the situation! Also send word to summon all able-bodied men in the city. We absolutely cannot let these barrow-wights enter—have all women and children hide in cellars and barricade themselves!"
Atop the city walls, militia frantically shot arrows at the wights below with desperate speed.
But barrow-wight bodies proved hard as iron—being just animated bones—completely unfearing of arrow attacks. They continued relentlessly ramming the gate with horrible impacts.
Though the gate was constructed of thick, hard wooden boards reinforced with thick crossbars behind, it couldn't withstand the wights' violent coordinated impacts. The wood began making unbearable creaking sounds that promised imminent failure.
Moreover, though the walls stood high, some wights used their sharp claws to pierce the stone walls, climbing steadily toward the battlements like horrifying spiders.
In this desperate situation, the militia captain noticed that wights instinctively avoided the burning fire on the ground below. He immediately recognized this as hope and ordered fire arrows to attack the wights.
As burning arrows shot toward these undead creatures, flames proved effective—wights instinctively feared fire. When fire arrows landed on them, they ignited the tattered remnants of cloth still clinging to the wights' bones.
Climbing wights were doused with oil by quick-thinking militiamen on the battlements and ignited like terrible torches.
The wights' relentless attack was temporarily repelled by the flames, allowing exhausted militiamen to catch their breath.
Just then, Mayor Butch finally arrived, completely wrapped up in protective gear. The heavy armor left him gasping for breath.
He had also summoned most of the city's militia and ordered the armory opened immediately.
Seeing thousands of wights with eyes glowing with evil ghostly fire and dry, rotten skin pressing against the gate, Butch inhaled sharply. His legs went weak, and he nearly wet himself in terror.
But seeing the wights successfully repelled by flames, he immediately seized on this desperately, shouting hoarsely, "Quick! Collect all oils and kerosene—I personally have one hundred twenty-two barrels of olive oil in my private warehouse. Bring them all here immediately and burn these cursed monsters to ash!"
The usually penny-pinching Butch now couldn't care at all about his expensive olive oil, only desperately wanting to burn these wights.
The militia received his orders—some quickly fanned out to collect every flammable substance in the city.
The remaining majority manned the walls, grimly defending their home.
Mayor Butch remained cowardly by nature, looking at the densely packed wights below and desperately wanting to leave this dangerous position. But maintaining his mayoral dignity and pride, he stubbornly stayed at his post.
While other militia shot fire arrows with practiced skill, unable to use a bow himself, he simply grabbed heavy stones and threw them down with surprising strength born of terror.
He happened to knock down a wall-climbing wight, immediately getting excited by his success. But the next second he was startled badly by that wight's glowing red eyes staring up at him with malevolent intelligence.
As countless flammable materials continuously arrived in carts and barrels, even the Prancing Pony's innkeeper, Mr. Butterbur, brought his entire stock of high-proof spirits—all were thrown down outside the gate, dousing the area, then ignited into roaring flames.
Instantly outside Bree's walls, blazing flames surrounded everything in a protective ring. The firelight soared skyward, directly illuminating the area outside the city as bright as day.
The wights were blocked by the roaring fire wall, instinctively retreating several paces in obvious fear.
People manning the walls all cheered with desperate relief and hope.
If they could successfully block the wights until dawn when the sun rose, these undead creatures would have to retreat to their graves.
But before they could celebrate for long, the wights suddenly seemed to fall under some malevolent control. Their red eyes blazed crimson, bodies emitting thick black mist that swirled around them.
Overcoming their instinctive fear of fire, they all transformed into shadows moving at speeds barely visible to the naked eye. They passed straight through the firewall and resumed ramming the gate with renewed fury.
Flames burned the wights' rotting clothes and decomposed skin but, under that unnatural black mist's protective shroud, didn't cause major damage.
The wights went completely berserk, shrieking while using their hard bodies to smash the gate like battering rams.
One, two... dozens, hundreds—constant force can break through any barrier. How could even the hardest gate possibly withstand so many wights' violent coordinated strikes?
Under the militiamen's terrified gazes, the thick wooden gate shattered into splinters with a terrible crack.
Just as the wights showed ferocious, triumphant smiles, preparing to rush through the gate for bloodthirsty slaughter, after breaking through the wooden gate, they crashed into an unexpected iron portcullis.
The portcullis was forged from solid steel in a heavy grid pattern, weighing several tons.
The entire iron portcullis was embedded deep into the walls on both sides, originally suspended above the gate passage. When facing an irresistible enemy invasion, it would drop down like a final defense, blocking enemies from entering the city.
The portcullis's defensive power proved far stronger than wooden gates, successfully blocking the barrow-wights from rushing into the city proper.
Through the iron portcullis's bars, militiamen inside watched with relief those frustrated blocked wights clawing uselessly at the barrier.
Mayor Butch announced excitedly and proudly, his voice carrying across the walls, "It was me! This iron portcullis was my design when we rebuilt the city walls!"
Others looked with newfound respect at this usually vain, not-very-likable mayor.
Unexpectedly, this costly addition during construction had now become the crucial key to blocking the barrow-wights' invasion.
The iron portcullis possessed strong defensive capability—no matter how viciously the wights struck and clawed, they couldn't break through the metal barrier.
Seeing this failure, the wights abandoned attacking the impenetrable gate. Instead they began piling atop one another like industrious ants crossing a river, building grotesque towers of writhing undead bodies.
With thousands of wights available, these macabre constructions could easily scale the walls.
Everyone seeing this horrifying scene showed terrified expressions, their brief hope evaporating.
All desperately threw stones and fire down, trying frantically to stop the wights' coordinated actions.
"Mayor Butch, we can't hold much longer!" The militia captain shouted hoarsely over the chaos. "We must request immediate aid from our lord! Only Lord Kael can save us now!"
Mayor Butch was now visibly panicked, desperately clutching stones to throw down, his face showing pure terror.
"Request aid? But outside is completely full of barrow-wights—how can we possibly get to Hogwarts Castle to ask Lord Kael for help?"
"No, wait!" Butch suddenly remembered something crucial, his eyes immediately brightening with hope. "The Prancing Pony! The inn's fireplace connects to Hogwarts Castle through the Floo Network! We can go there immediately to ask Lord Kael for rescue!"
But before they could dispatch someone to the Prancing Pony, a loud, triumphant eagle cry echoed from the east.
Storms suddenly arose from nowhere, the sky rapidly filling with dark clouds, lightning and thunder.
Everyone looked up at the sky with desperate hope and delight. In the flashing lightning, they saw a massive winged figure appearing in the roiling clouds.
"It's Thorondor! Lord Kael's Thorondor!" Mayor Butch shouted with tremendous excitement and relief.
He regularly traveled to Hogwarts Castle, reporting Bree's situation to Lord Kael, so he had been fortunate enough to see the Great Eagle—now Thunderbird—Thorondor living in the golden Mallorn tree or circling majestically above Weathertop, leaving an indelible impression.
The wights trying to pile up together also seemed to sense approaching danger, their movements hesitating and pausing.