They simply stared straight up at the sky.
As if silently recounting some terror from an ancient time.
Lynn's heart sank violently.
In his mind, buried memories of fear belonging to the original owner surged up once again.
That bone-deep cold.
That suffocating silence.
That indescribable evil from the ancient past!
It was the White Walkers!
No.
To be precise, these were wights—wildlings killed by White Walkers and reanimated.
The surrounding guards clearly sensed something was wrong too.
"My Lord, these corpses... are so strange."
A young guard's voice trembled slightly.
"Their eyes..."
"I've never seen eyes so terrifyingly blue."
Another guard chimed in, subconsciously gripping his sword tighter.
Torren squatted down, intending to prod one of the corpses with his scabbard.
"Don't touch!"
Lynn shouted sternly, stopping him.
Torren jumped, quickly pulling his hand back.
Everyone looked at Lynn in confusion.
Lynn's face was graver than ever before.
He stared dead at the corpses.
"My Lord, what's wrong?"
Torren asked cautiously.
Lynn didn't answer.
He slowly drew the longsword at his waist.
"Everyone, step back. Get away from the bodies."
Although puzzled, the guards obeyed the order and retreated a few steps, warily encircling Lynn and the corpses.
Lynn took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
He knew these potential wights were still just corpses for now.
But given the right conditions, they could "wake up" at any moment.
And the only way to deal with them was fire.
"Torren."
Lynn's voice regained its calm.
"Bring torches."
"Burn this place, along with these corpses, completely clean."
"Don't leave even a speck of ash."
Though filled with doubt, Torren immediately executed the order.
Soon, dozens of torches were lit.
Roaring flames were thrown into the ruins.
Dry furs and wood ignited instantly.
The fire spread at an alarming speed.
The charred corpses crackled under the devouring flames, emitting bursts of black smoke.
An indescribable stench permeated the air.
Guards covered their noses and mouths, expressions of disgust on their faces.
Lynn, however, remained motionless.
He just stood there, quietly watching the sea of fire.
The dancing flames were reflected in his eyes.
Only when the corpses were thoroughly burned to ash did he slowly withdraw his gaze.
"My Lord, what... what exactly were those things?"
Torren finally couldn't help but ask.
Lynn was silent for a moment.
He knew some things could no longer be kept hidden.
Besides, this group was his most loyal subordinates; there was no harm in telling them.
"They are the things I once spoke of to Lord Stark in Winterfell."
Lynn's voice was very low.
"Wights."
Those two words plunged the entire valley into a deathly silence instantly.
Only the crackling of the fire remained.
Shock and fear were written on the guards' faces.
White Walkers?
Weren't those monsters that only existed in Old Nan's bedtime stories?
Wasn't that a legend driven back to the Land of Always Winter by the First Men thousands of years ago during the Age of Heroes?
How could... how could it be?
They appeared again now?
"My Lord, are... are you serious?"
A guard's voice shook uncontrollably.
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
Lynn retorted.
His gaze swept over everyone's face.
"Beyond the Wall, something has awakened."
"Winter is coming."
Spoken by Lynn, these words carried a chilling sense of destiny.
The guards looked at each other, the blood draining from their faces.
They were all Northmen.
They understood the heavy meaning behind the words "Winter is Coming" better than any outsider.
It wasn't just a House motto.
It was a warning from ancient times.
"We... what should we do now?"
Torren's voice held a trace of bewilderment.
"Return first."
Lynn's answer was simple and firm.
"Send a scout to tell Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon everything we saw here, exactly as it happened."
Lynn gazed north again.
In that endless darkness, countless ice-blue eyes seemed to be peering back at them.
---
The column set off on the return journey to Castle Black the next morning.
The atmosphere was terrifyingly heavy.
No one spoke.
Every soldier's face bore the solemnity of having survived a disaster.
The shadow of the White Walkers pressed on everyone's heart, making it hard to breathe.
The column continued south.
Halfway there.
The scout responsible for pathfinding ahead galloped back again.
"My Lord!"
The scout's face held a strange expression.
"Ahead... there's a situation ahead."
"What is it this time? Wildlings?" Torren immediately became alert.
"No... not wildlings."
The scout shook his head.
"It's a battlefield."
"Very tragic."
"But... very strange."
When Lynn and his men arrived, they understood what the scout meant by strange.
It was a patch of snow stained red with blood.
The corpses of several warhorses lay on the ground, entrails spilled everywhere.
Broken weapons, shattered armor, scattered all over.
The air was thick with the scent of blood.
This was clearly a brutal battle that had happened recently.
But the strange thing was.
On the entire battlefield, apart from the horse corpses, there wasn't a single human body to be seen.
Only long drag marks left in the snow, extending deep into the forest.