The battle raged from morning until night, and from night until dawn.
Nymeria lay exhausted on the ground, watching numbly as the Westerland soldiers threw the bodies of their fallen comrades into the pyres. The number of White Walkers had to be limited, yet after an entire day and night of fighting, there was no sign that the tide of wights was diminishing.
The warriors' voices were hoarse, their movements sluggish and uncoordinated. The mages had long since run out of potions. Nymeria knew that if the wights maintained this relentless assault, the defenders wouldn't last half a day before breaking.
"Look ahead! What is that?"
A Westerland knight shouted, pointing into the distance.
Nymeria, having recovered some of her strength, forced herself to her feet and moved to the battlements.
Over a thousand bipedal creatures were slowly entering their field of vision. Their withered flesh clung to their bones, their skeletal structures largely human-like—except that they stood nearly four meters tall, wielding massive tree trunks as weapons.
"Giants! They're giants!" Rosamund shrieked, pointing at the monstrous figures.
"Calm down!" Nymeria pulled her close, knowing Rosamund feared these creatures. Her golden hair was drenched in sweat, and Nymeria gently brushed away a few strands stuck to her forehead. "There are even bigger ones behind them."
Beyond the giants, even more colossal figures emerged, their pillar-like legs sinking into the snow with each step. Their noses had long since rotted away, leaving gaping skulls with nothing but cavernous holes and two three-meter-long tusks.
Rosamund's eyes widened. "Those are long-extinct mammoths! I've read about them in a book!"
"Wright..." Nymeria whispered the name in her heart.
These creatures were beyond what ordinary soldiers could handle. Only wildfire and magic could stop them, yet after a full day of intense battle, every defender at the fortress of Torrhen's Square was utterly spent.
The giants and mammoths, covering several meters with each step, moved with deliberate but rapid strides. Yet, rather than targeting the most fortified areas, they charged directly toward the eastern wall.
Renly, Rosamund, and the mages rushed to reinforce the defense. Lightning and fire magic struck the hardened bones of the undead giants, requiring ten times the usual energy to bring one down. Wildfire splashed onto their fur pelts, but before it could burn through to the bone, the giants ripped off the flaming hides and hurled them back at the walls.
Faced with the relentless assault of giants and mammoths, the defenders intensified their attacks. Wildfire, magic, and even stones and wooden beams reinforced with ice were thrown in desperation. But it was not enough.
With a thunderous crash, a mammoth slammed into the wall, shattering a gaping hole through the ice barrier.
Renly raised his sword and roared toward the breach, "Peytvahaaz!"
Just as the massive creatures charged through the gap, a dragon—waiting behind the wall—unleashed a torrent of dragonflame.
Golden-red fire surged through the breach, pouring out the other side, engulfing the wights massing there.
"Seal the breach!" Renly shouted again.
Dragonflame had to be used sparingly. While it incinerated the wights, it also melted the icy walls, widening the breach.
Before the flames had even died down, a wave of soldiers rushed forward with shields raised, escorting craftsmen pushing stones and wooden planks to reinforce the gap.
"Roar!"
Screams erupted.
Several burning giants suddenly emerged from the inferno, grabbing soldiers and hurling them against the walls. Their victims were dead before they could even scream. Some craftsmen were set ablaze by the dragonfire still clinging to the giants' bodies, perishing in agony.
Each rampaging giant killed at least a dozen men before finally collapsing.
The remains of these giants had been buried in the North for thousands of years. Their bones retained traces of ice magic, allowing them to resist even the fiercest dragonflame—at least for a time.
"Fuck! Don't stop! Keep pushing! I'll cover you!" Renly leaped onto the breach, leading a handful of remaining mages. Spells rained down upon the wights.
More reinforcements poured in. When it seemed they could no longer hold, Renly ordered another blast of dragonflame—but each time, the newly stacked barricades were also reduced to ashes.
Outside the fortress, the wights shifted their attack, converging on the breach.
Just as Renly was on the verge of exhausting his magic, a golden shield of energy expanded from Rosamund's raised staff, enclosing the entire breach.
"Good work!" Seizing the brief respite, Renly hastily gulped down a mana-recovery potion.
With a sharp crack, the empty glass bottle shattered against the ground. Renly wiped his mouth, cursing, "The more I drink, the less effective it gets!"
"I won't last long!" Rosamund's hands trembled as she gripped her staff.
"Hold on!" Renly barked.
Not just him—every other mage around him was desperately downing potions.
Boom! A frost explosion detonated against the magical barrier.
A second blast followed.
Boom! The golden shield dimmed.
"White Walkers are attacking! They've finally appeared!" A hint of a smile finally emerged on Renly's anxious face.
Renly stepped onto the city wall. Bang! Another ice shard exploded against the shield, and at the same time, he caught sight of the White Walkers' icy spears flying toward them.
"Die!"
With a furious roar, Renly raised both hands and shot two magical orbs toward the stormy sky and the direction of the White Walkers.
The two pure white magical orbs moved at a slow pace. Amidst the chaos of catapult projectiles and fireballs launched by ice spiders, they didn't draw much attention as they floated steadily toward the White Walker ranks.
Magelight was a spell used solely for illumination, possessing no offensive power. However, it had a unique trait—it could be guided before attaching to an object, and once attached, it couldn't be extinguished by anyone except when its magic was exhausted. Even Wright himself had no way of dispelling someone else's Magelight.
"Magelight?"
Many mages on the battlefield questioned in confusion when they saw King Renly casting his spell. They hadn't expected it to be a harmless illumination spell.
The orb fired into the sky quickly disappeared into the clouds.
Renly's hands glowed with white light, his ten fingers moving ceaselessly as he concentrated on maneuvering the magical orbs through the battlefield. They weaved around sprinting wights and collapsed trees before finally appearing in front of a cluster of White Walkers.
White Walkers despised fire and, by extension, disliked light as well. They were aware of Magelight and knew it wasn't harmful, but even so, they instinctively avoided it.
The glowing orb darted unpredictably in the air, aggravating both the White Walkers and the vampires among them. One young-looking vampire, irritated, grabbed a low-ranking, unfortunate wight and hurled it at the orb. The orb latched onto the vampire's nose instead.
"What is this? I can't see!" The bright light so close to his face forced the vampire to shut his eyes. He reached out blindly, trying to grasp at nothingness, even attempting to dispel it with magic, but to no avail.
No one cared about him.
Over a hundred White Walkers, mounted on ice spiders, were gathered nearby, alongside nearly two hundred vampires. The unfortunate vampire marked by Magelight had no magic talent—he was a lowly, disposable grunt.
"Joffrey, something feels off. With Renly's abilities, there's no way he'd waste his efforts casting just one Magelight in broad daylight," said Lancel Lannister. He was tall, handsome, well-mannered, and clad in ornate white armor.
"Hah! Hah!" Joffrey laughed as he watched the struggling vampire flail about.
The wretch could simply close his eyes, but he was putting on a show to amuse Joffrey, hoping to earn his favor and rise within their brutal hierarchy.
"Joffrey, did you hear me? I sense danger!" Lancel rapped his knuckles against Joffrey's armor.
"I heard you," Joffrey muttered, swatting Lancel's hand away. He adjusted his elaborate helmet and the fearsome-looking sword at his waist before shouting, "Gather our forces and charge at Renly! Attack!"
"Kill Renly!" A chorus of vampires roared in response, raising their weapons. Their bodies began to glow red as they prepared to unleash their magic and launch an all-out assault on the fortress.
Joffrey stood with his hands on his hips, laughing heartily. However, he hadn't forgotten the Night King's battle plan—they had to wait for the giant wights to widen the breach further before the blood knights and frost knights could have their moment of glory.
Raising his arm, he clenched his fist. The moment he dropped it, his forces would surge forward to kill Renly. Joffrey relished the feeling of command.
Lancel had long since grown used to his behavior. As Joffrey's cousin and stepfather—whether acknowledged or not—he felt obligated to tolerate and guide him.
Still, he remained uneasy. He stepped up to the vampire marked by Magelight and inspected him carefully, wary of any trick Renly might have used.
But Renly had done nothing special. It was just a simple, genuine Magelight spell, infused with a bit more magic to extend its duration—nothing more.
The battle raged on. Both sides exchanged fireballs from a distance, archers rained arrows upon charging wights, soldiers hurled wildfire, and knights skewered the wights climbing the city walls. The entire Neck echoed with the clash of battle cries and the ghastly shrieks of the undead.
Beyond the fortress at Moat Cailin, a dragon's head suddenly burst through the dark clouds. Odahviing folded his wings, diving at high speed in eerie silence. As he plummeted, he surveyed the battlefield, his tail flicking to adjust his angle before zeroing in on the source of the bright white light.
And he wasn't alone. Behind him, dozens of fire meteors, prepared high in the skies, began their descent.
In the distance, a dragon the size of a castle plummeted rapidly, bringing dozens of flaming meteors down with it. Everyone on the battlefield of Karlin Bay Fortress witnessed this sight. At last, they understood the purpose of Renly's seemingly harmless light spheres—they were guiding the hidden dragon toward the White Walkers' positions.
Renly clenched his fists.
Not long ago, Wright had sent him a signal, letting him know he had returned but was staying hidden high in the sky, refraining from engaging. Both of them understood that killing the concealed White Walkers was the fastest way to end the war. Was it worth sacrificing the soldiers first? Renly believed it was. After all, this was a war between the living and the dead.
"It's over!"
Lancel shouted, grabbing a vampire in front of him and hurling it toward the White Walkers before dragging Joffrey and running back.
His instincts served him well. Just as Joffrey, who was being dragged along the ground, was about to open his mouth to curse, a shockwave from an explosion reached them.
The two of them were sent flying, smashing through who knows how many tree trunks. By the time Lancel pulled his head out of the snow, half of his face was stripped of flesh, leaving behind only ghastly white bone.
"Night King! Get your ass out here!"
A furious roar echoed from the distance, carrying magical power that made the snow beneath their feet tremble.
Lancel quickly crawled under a fallen tree trunk, only to find a vampire already hiding there. Regardless of status or rank, the two silently acknowledged each other's presence and instinctively restrained their magical energy, pretending to be dead.
"Die!"
The furious shouts grew closer, accompanied by crackling lightning and explosive fireballs.
Lancel pressed himself against the damp earth, not daring to move an inch, yet his hands trembled uncontrollably. Carefully, he tucked his arms inward and pressed his shaking palms against the ground—only to see the vampire beside him trembling as well.
Buzz—
A faint sound sliced through the snow above them, moving from far to near, then back into the distance.
Buzz—
Again, but this time from a slightly different angle.
Lancel knew exactly what this was—the blood-red sword energy unleashed by Wright's terrifying greatsword. It didn't matter what kind of defense one had—if it hit, it would slice them in two.
"Son of a bitch!"
"Hiss—"
Above them, the sounds became even more chaotic—Wright's curses, the White Walkers' screeches, and various magical eruptions.
After over a dozen deafening explosions, more sword energy swept across the snowy battlefield. Reinforcements had arrived—both White Walkers and vampires. The battle intensified.
Vampires had no heartbeat and no breath, yet Lancel felt as if he were suffocating.
"I'm scared!" The vampire beside him finally cracked under the pressure, his face twisted in despair as he whispered for help from his former lieutenant commander.
Don't drag me into this! Lancel cursed inwardly. He dared not reply, nor did he dare strike the vampire. Instead, he pretended not to hear, holding his breath and focusing entirely on suppressing his magical fluctuations.
"Save me, Lance—"
Before the vampire could finish speaking, a massive black greatsword pierced through the tree trunk from above, driving straight into his back. It wasn't until the sword impaled him that Lancel heard the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow.
A surge of lightning crackled along the greatsword's blade before it was swiftly withdrawn. Lancel watched as his companion's body crumbled into a pile of ash. Even while battling dozens of White Walkers, Wright still had the presence of mind to eliminate those hiding in the shadows. This time, he was truly going to die.
"Fuck your! Die already!"
Wright stood just above him on the wooden trunk, roaring in rage. More footsteps approached, followed by the chaotic clashing of blades.
The tree trunk above trembled violently, causing snow to fall onto Lancel's face, onto his body, soon burying him almost completely.
Boom!
Something—some form of magic—obliterated the tree trunk beside him. Suddenly, sunlight pierced through the opening, casting light on Lancel's face and exposing his lower body.
A chilling fear engulfed him. His mouth hung slightly open, his pupils constricted to their smallest size.
Moments later, a White Walker's severed head tumbled into the pit, rolling to a stop right before his eyes.
Their gazes met—four eyes locked in mutual shock.
Seconds passed before the blue glow in the White Walker's eyes faded, and its head transformed into a block of blue ice.
Lancel dared not even pull his exposed legs back, fearing that the slightest movement would draw Wright's attention.
You can't see me. You can't see me.
Lancel desperately wished for Wright to overlook him—more than that, he wished for the White Walkers to kill him. But he could still hear their footsteps, along with those of the ice spiders skittering across the snow. Their numbers were rapidly dwindling.
Not enough! Not enough!
Lancel was paralyzed with fear. The ceaseless clash of blades and explosions raged just above his head.
Gradually, the sounds began to fade—Wright and the White Walkers had taken the battle elsewhere.
Only then did Lancel's heart finally settle.
Shit! Joffrey!
The thought jolted him. He quickly crawled out of the hole and leapt from the pit.
A red light flashed in his vision, streaking off into the distance.
As he jumped into the air, still mid-fall, he looked down—his legs had separated from his body, each flying in opposite directions.