Lancel, now legless, didn't dare to look back, let alone use magic. He plunged his hands into the snow, desperately crawling forward without stopping for even a second.
He suspected that the strike from Wright had been a casual swing, and since he was still fighting the White Walkers, he wouldn't waste time chasing him.
The dragon's magical onslaught had already killed an unknown number of allies, and the trees continued to burn. Lancel prayed that as long as he didn't channel any magic and crawled far enough, Wright would overlook him in the chaos of the battlefield.
"Leader, we're here to save you!"
A few low-ranking vampires, fleeing through the woods, spotted Lancel struggling in the snow.
"Get lost!"
Lancel furiously cursed at the vampires who reached to pull him up.
Of all the times to come, why now? If they wanted to die, they shouldn't drag him down with them!
"But we—"
Before the vampire could finish explaining, a thunderous roar erupted.
It was Wright's voice! Though Lancel and the others couldn't understand what was being shouted, instinct took over as they turned toward the sound. Massive trees disintegrated into dust upon impact, mixing with the snow and dirt, forming a horizontal tornado of magical sound waves barreling toward them.
Lancel, legless, pushed off the ground, grabbed onto one of the vampires, and spun his body to use him as a shield.
Before he could fully turn, the sonic blast engulfed them all.
The world spun. The sky twisted. The ground twisted. The trees twisted.
His fellow vampires were shredded into pulp—blood, flesh, shattered bones, wood splinters, and dirt all merging into a chaotic whirlwind.
Amidst the chaos, Lancel desperately bit into the neck of a dying vampire, hoping to absorb enough blood to heal his body and survive Wright's attack.
His body was simultaneously torn apart and rapidly regenerating, but the dragon magic was too overwhelming. Before long, he lost consciousness. Only his head and half a torso remained intact as he was flung several hundred meters, finally crashing into a tree.
---
"I'm still alive?"
Lancel opened his eyes, only to see six White Walkers standing in a circle around him.
The blinding sunlight made him instinctively raise his right arm to shield his face—his own arm. He flexed his fingers; the wounds were gone, his skin smooth and pale once more.
Turning to his right, he realized he was lying atop a mound of corpses and broken bones—a ritualistic magic formation.
Turning to his left, his eyes widened in horror.
"No! No! No!"
His fingers grew into sharp claws as he thrashed wildly, tearing at anything within reach. He clawed apart the mound beneath him and struggled to his feet, seething with rage as he glared at the White Walkers.
"Who the hell is disturbing my sleep?!"
Joffrey's voice came from Lancel's left.
"Why are you so close to me? What the hell is this?!" Joffrey screamed in panic.
Lancel remained silent.
His last memory before blacking out was his body shattering, leaving only his right arm and a portion of his torso.
But now…
His missing half had been replaced—stitched together with Joffrey's remaining body.
Two heads. One body.
Lancel lowered his gaze. The motion caused Joffrey to lean forward as well. Together, they looked down.
What was below wasn't his.
A White Walker spoke, its ice-blue eyes glowing intensely as the Night King's voice emerged from its lips.
"I have resurrected you with magic."
"I don't want this kind of resurrection!" Joffrey shrieked.
The White Walker ignored him. It raised a hand and clenched its fist, instantly paralyzing both of them.
"You will kill the Three-Eyed Raven."
"No!"
The Night King hadn't controlled their heads, allowing them to resist, channeling what little magic they had left to fight against his will. Slowly, they began to reclaim control over their shared body.
"You will regret this," the Night King uttered before withdrawing his consciousness from the White Walker's body.
But his thoughts were slow—he hadn't yet figured out what to say next if they refused.
Joffrey's magic was stronger. He controlled the body as it descended from the small platform, conjuring an ice mirror to examine his new form.
Several crude stitches were slowly fading. One ran across Joffrey's neck, another at the waist, and a third vertically down the center of his torso. His body was stitched together from four different pieces.
On the right side was Lancel's head, half of his torso, and his right arm. The left side belonged to Joffrey—his head and everything below the waist. Not long ago, he had been reduced to just a head and lower body after being shattered by Wright's attack.
The other half of their torso, however, belonged to a female vampire, whom the White Walkers had sourced from somewhere unknown. She and Lancel each had half a ribcage, their spines fused together with silk-like threads before being sealed with magic. This fusion made their upper body broader and more imposing than that of an ordinary person.
"Not bad!"
Joffrey raised a slender arm and pinched one side of his chest. This sensation was completely new to him.
Having a male lower body, a split male-female upper body, and two heads was too much for Lancel to bear. He shouted, "Joffrey, we need to find a way to separate!"
"No!"
Joffrey grabbed Lancel's throat, only to feel the same pain himself, causing him to release his grip immediately.
"Don't you see? We're not just physically merged—our souls and magic have fused too! Hahaha!"
Joffrey had always been the stronger mage. Now, upon channeling his magic, he realized he could fully control their shared body.
A blood-red magic sphere rapidly expanded before him, growing to the size of a man. He hurled it into the distant forest.
The sphere exploded. A crimson mist surged outward, engulfing the trees. A few seconds later, the mist condensed and vanished, leaving the affected trees completely withered. They crumbled into dry fragments, utterly drained of moisture.
"Did you see that, Lancel? I could never use this magic before! Now, I might be able to challenge Craster and take control of the entire vampire clan!"
"Perhaps you're right."
Lancel could only control his own head—he had no influence over their body. Joffrey did whatever he pleased.
It was only after Joffrey finished testing his magic and ceased channeling power that Lancel regained some bodily sensation.
He gazed up at the sky and noticed the sun was still high—it seemed to still be midday. That triggered a realization.
"Frost Knight, when I was wounded, Wright was nearby. How did you manage to save us?"
The White Walker spoke slowly. "We conquered Moat Cailin. The living fled. Following the Night King's orders, we retrieved your bodies."
"What?"
Joffrey felt uneasy. It was as if he had gone to sleep, only to wake up in a completely different world.
Lancel pressed further. "How many days have passed since Wright appeared?"
White Walker: "Five sunrises."
Lancel followed the White Walkers back to their northern stronghold. Along the way, Joffrey wore a constant smile, relishing the strange sensation of walking without needing to control his body.
Lancel, meanwhile, felt relieved. Even with his newfound power, Joffrey's arrogant and reckless nature had stopped him from immediately challenging Craster's authority. Deep down, he feared death. The memory of Craster slaughtering other vampires had left a deep psychological scar on him. Only when he overcame that fear would he dare to make a move.
The camp was littered with discarded animal hides. Dried-up animal carcasses, left behind after being drained by vampires, were piled high, only to be reanimated into wights and taken away by White Walkers.
The undead army swept across the North. Any living creature they caught became a vampire's meal, and once dead, their corpses were turned into wights, serving as weapons of war.
It wasn't just animals. After the living had fled south, the undead scavenged the castles, looting whatever supplies had been left behind—luxurious tents, ornate clothing, even furniture. The war wasn't even over, yet the vampires had already begun indulging in a life of excess.
Ignoring the stunned stares of those around him, Lancel walked straight into a lavish tent, where Cersei resided.
"Joffrey, you're back! No—what kind of monster are you?!"
Cersei had risen to welcome her son, but upon seeing their fused form, she recoiled in horror.
---
When Wright slew the White Walkers, the wights attacking Moat Cailin collapsed. But before long, they rose again and resumed their assault—other White Walkers had taken over their control.
The living had underestimated the number of White Walkers. Wright, too, had misjudged the sheer number of wights. He hadn't expected that thousands of years of accumulated human and animal corpses would allow them to attack relentlessly, like an unending tide.
The endless tide of wights kept coming—one wave after another. Was there ever going to be an end? Faced with the seemingly infinite horde, the exhausted human coalition, unable to sustain a purely defensive battle, chose to retreat.
It was Robb Stark who proposed the withdrawal.
A few days earlier, after slaying the White Walkers leading the assault on Moat Cailin, Wright had expected the wights to collapse. However, the undead continued their relentless attack, forcing him to return to the fortress and consult Renly.
Renly, acting as king, quickly summoned the dukes and key commanders for a brief war council.
"This isn't sustainable," he declared. "The casualties aside, our men have been fighting for two days straight. If this continues, the fortress will fall before long."
The blond and battle-worn Ser Willem removed his soot-streaked helmet, wiping his face with his gauntlet before the others could even recognize him.
"If there were only a hundred thousand wights, we should have defeated them yesterday. If there were two hundred thousand, we should have won today. But how many more are there? How long are we expected to fight?" Robb shook his head.
Wright methodically wiped his greatsword with a velvet cloth. "I've slain over a hundred White Walkers, as well as some vampires, yet it hasn't slowed the assault. As long as the Night King remains, this war will never end."
"Even killing the White Walkers isn't enough?" Rosamund, who was dabbing Willem's face with a handkerchief, asked. "We have to kill the Night King himself?"
Wright nodded. "The Night King can turn humans into White Walkers. And from my study of the captured one, I've determined that as long as he doesn't enter the battlefield personally, he can control the entire wight horde from afar."
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the hall.
Robb stood. "Your Grace, my lords, I have a proposal for this war."
"Sit and speak," Renly gestured, feeling exhausted just looking at Robb in his full armor after such prolonged fighting.
"Perhaps it's because the Wall has stood for thousands of years, but everyone on this continent has internalized the belief that war against the White Walkers must be fought defensively—that we must rely on fortifications. This is a tactical dead end."
Robb set several wooden game pieces onto a makeshift map.
"If we continue defending, we cannot leverage our strengths," he continued, turning to the Vale lords and Denys Arryn. "Cavalry loses its mobility and charging power. Knights are reduced to standing on the walls with spearmen and archers."
He then looked at Willem and the Westerland lords. "Even with superior armor and weaponry, there's no avoiding the flames of the ice spiders while stuck on the walls."
Next, he addressed the Northmen. "Northern valor and ferocity can be unleashed with battle cries and steel, but the wights feel no fear. There's nothing to intimidate!"
Finally, he faced Wright and Renly. "Dragons, with their unmatched speed and devastating magic, are being wasted in this static defense."
Robb swept his gaze across the gathered lords. "That's why I propose we let the wights out of Moat Cailin and into the Riverlands!"
"Absolutely not!" Edmure was the first to object. If the wights entered the Riverlands, he'd be forced to evacuate his people just as the Northmen had.
"Uncle," Robb countered, "if the undead march into the open lands of the Riverlands, our cavalry can scout, harass, and strike them at will. Our infantry can rotate out and rest. Supply lines will be closer. And His Grace and Wright' dragons can provide rapid support across multiple fronts."
Wright added, "The south is warmer—better for us, worse for the White Walkers."
Robb pressed his hands on the map table. "We must seize the initiative! If we keep wasting our strength here, we'll have no room for strategy. All our best warriors will be buried at Moat Cailin. We need to dictate the pace of this war."