Dozens of giants, each over 3 meters tall and covered in shaggy hair, moved to the front of the Wildling line. They rode on the backs of towering mammoths, waving massive wooden clubs.
Their leader, Mag the Mighty, held his club high, shouting commands in the Old Tongue.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The Northern army advanced at a steady, disciplined pace, the sound of their marching boots relentless. That sound echoed across the snow, and fear spread across the faces of the Wildlings. Their hearts pounded.
Mance Rayder watched from his horse, his expression grim. He looked at the endless, organized line of enemy soldiers, his hands clenched tightly on the reins.
He knew the truth. His own forces, barely 20,000 strong, didn't even have proper iron weapons. They stood no chance against this massive, well-armed army.
If it weren't for the Wights hunting them from behind, he never would have brought the Free Folk to the Wall. But Mance would rather die fighting men than be killed by those monsters and turned into one of them.
In the center of the Northern army, Jason sat on his horse, surrounded by his elite guards and the Northern lords.
He raised his binoculars and scanned the Wildling formation. It was a chaotic mess.
He lowered the binoculars and waved his hand. "Order the cavalry to circle around both flanks. They are to intercept anyone who flees. I don't want a single Wildling to escape!"
"Yes, my lord!" Jon bowed on his horse and immediately rode off, splitting the cavalry into two large groups to ride wide on either side of the infantry.
Jason had no intention of negotiating. He knew these people only respected power. He had to break them, to make them fear him. Only then would they surrender.
It was simple: surrender or die.
"By the gods..." one of the Northern lords whispered. "Giants. They actually have giants!"
The other lords stared, wide-eyed, at the mammoths. They couldn't believe what they were seeing.
Jason frowned at their shouts. He glanced back at the lords' own armies, which he had positioned in the rear. Their troops were just a levy of untrained farmers. He couldn't trust them in the main fight. He had ordered them to stay back and simply sweep the battlefield after his trained soldiers were done.
He put his faith in his firearms.
Jason nudged his horse forward. He picked up an electric bullhorn, and his voice boomed across the field. "Don't be afraid! Those giants are just big men! They die just like anyone else! Everyone, listen to the order... Attack!"
At his command, the two legions in the front accelerated, their formations moving as one.
The Wildlings looked terrified. They stared at the strange "sticks" the soldiers were carrying, completely baffled.
Mance Rayder saw the fear in his people. He couldn't let them be intimidated. He gritted his teeth, raised his sword, and roared, "Free Folk! Attack!"
"Awooooo!"
The Wildlings banged their stone axes against wooden shields and charged, a chaotic, screaming wave.
"Halt! Raise rifles!"
The Northern soldiers stopped. When the Wildlings were just 100 meters away, the officers gave the command. The front rank of soldiers knelt, raising their flintlocks.
The Wildlings screamed, waving their crude weapons as they ran.
The officer waited. "Ready... Fire!"
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!
A sound like thunder echoed across the field, and black smoke choked the frontline.
The charging Wildlings dropped like wheat cut by a scythe. Hundreds fell in an instant, their battle cries turning into screams.
The officers showed no mercy. "Rear rank, advance! Front rank, reload!"
The second row of soldiers stepped forward, aimed, and fired another volley.
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!
Hundreds more Wildlings fell.
They were stunned. They didn't understand. What was this magic? This thunder? Their friends were dying without even being touched by a blade.
The charge faltered. The Wildlings stared in horror as the third rank of soldiers stepped up and aimed their "sticks."
That was enough. The fear was too great. They turned and ran.
CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!
The third volley hit the fleeing crowd. The entire Wildling army broke. They threw down their weapons and ran for their lives.
"Don't run! Hold the line!" Mance Rayder screamed, heartbroken. He had known they would lose, but not like this. Not without a single sword swing.
But no one would face that thunder.
Jason watched the rout through his binoculars. He smiled. "They couldn't even take three volleys. Just a mob."
He lowered the binoculars. "Order the cavalry to attack. Intercept them all!"
The signal was given. Nearly 10,000 cavalry thundered from both flanks, hooves shaking the ground as they charged into the fleeing Wildlings.
Jason turned to the Northern lords. "Lord Glover, Lord Manderly, Lord Karstark, Lady Mormont... all of you! You can go now. Take your men and round up these prisoners. Make them drop their weapons and kneel. Behead anyone who dares to resist!"
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