Viserys Targaryen? Dragonflame? It's nothing more than a fleeting spark, a slightly warmer ember, like a mayfly!"
The deity from the Land of Everlasting Winter laughed scornfully.
When Viserys Targaryen swept in with overwhelming Dragonflame, the Night King didn't even move.
He merely raised his hand slightly, and the frost in the air instantly condensed, precisely extinguishing the Dragonflame that was spewing towards him.
The next moment, a spear of ice coalesced between his pale fingers.
It had a texture somewhere between crystal and bone, and its shaft was entwined with visible black cold air—patterns formed by the solidified wails of countless lives it had ended.
The moment the spear appeared, the surrounding light began to twist and dim, as if light itself was being frozen and devoured.
It reflected no light, but continuously drew all warmth and vitality from its surroundings.
The Night King slowly raised the ice spear in his hand, its tip concentrating an absolute zero that could freeze time itself.
With this strike, he was confident he would immediately end this boring farce.
Merias let out a deafening roar, and golden-red Dragonflame surged out like a breached dam, attempting to block it.
However, the Dragonflame, potent enough to melt rock and steel, shattered and extinguished like fragile glass upon touching the black cold air at the spear's tip!
The spear's speed seemed not fast, yet it carried an inescapable sense of destiny, firmly locking onto Viserys Targaryen and the giant dragon beneath him.
It embodied the Night King's contempt for life, the ultimate chill from the Land of Everlasting Winter, intending to drag the entire world into silence.
This spear was the Long Night itself.
Just as the ice spear, carrying the silence that ends all things, flew towards the dragon's head, Viserys Targaryen made a movement to draw his sword.
It wasn't the clang of common iron leaving its sheath, but as if an entire firmament was supporting Viserys Targaryen from behind.
The sword sword of dawn, a legendary blade forged from a fallen star's core, truly awakened at this moment.
The pigeon-egg-sized ruby embedded in the hilt, from the Red Priestess Melisandre's necklace, no longer reflected light, but erupted with the light and heat of a primordial star core from its deepest depths, illuminating Viserys Targaryen's silver hair like a saint's halo.
He gripped the sword with both hands and, facing the ice spear that devoured light and heat, thrust out the most magnificent sword strike of his life.
There was no technique, no flourish, only the purest, most immense light and searing heat, confronting the world's most extreme and profound cold and stillness.
The moment the blade and spear tip collided, time seemed to stretch into an eon.
First, absolute silence, as if even sound itself was annihilated by the clash of these two ultimate forces.
Then, an explosion beyond description.
Centered on the point of impact, a circular shockwave, a mixture of shattered ice crystals and fiery magic, boomed outwards!
A rift seemed to tear open above King's Landing, and for the first time, the pitch-black night sky was completely dispelled by light.
The light was not merely bright; it was the genuine light of "sword of dawn" with the warmth of life, instantly flooding every corner of King's Landing.
It illuminated the shattered battlements, the frozen fear on the soldiers' faces, and also Jaime Lannister, who was leading troops to reinforce below.
The deathly cold air entwining the ice spear, like snow meeting the blazing sun, emitted a sharp, wailing sound, as if from the cracking of ancient ice fields, melting inch by inch.
The soul-wail patterns solidified on the spear's shaft, under the cleansing light of sword of dawn, dispersed like wisps of smoke, as if redeemed.
Meanwhile, the light on sword of dawn was severely depleted in this ultimate confrontation; the blade cracked, and the ruby became dim, as if it might melt at any moment from the overloaded light energy.
The armor on Viserys Targaryen's arms shattered completely, and the blood bursting from his tiger's mouth was evaporated into a bloody mist before it could even drip.
The standoff lasted only an instant.
Crack!
A hairline crack appeared on the tip of the ice spear, the point where absolute cold was concentrated.
The crack spread rapidly, instantly covering the entire spear shaft.
The next moment, accompanied by a thunderous roar like a collapsing glacier, the ice spear, beneath sword of dawn, exploded into billions of shimmering ice dust particles, like a reverse-rising shower of stars, slowly dissipating in the light of sword of dawn.
For the first time, a ripple of "astonishment" appeared on the Night King's eternally unchanging face.
As the light faded, Viserys Targaryen, leaning on the dim sword of dawn, panted heavily on the dragon's back.
But all the survivors in King's Landing looked up at the light in the sky that dispelled the Long Night, as if witnessing the magnificent scene of winter passing and spring arriving after a harsh winter.
This sword strike shattered not just an ice spear, but also the Night King's myth of invincibility.
"R'hllor, the lord of light?"
The Night King frowned slightly.
In the ruby embedded in sword of dawn, he felt the magic of his archenemy, the lord of light.
But he did not roar or shout in anger; he merely patted the spine of the ice dragon beneath him.
The next moment, the Hatchling Dragon with its half-injured wing spread its wings, carrying the Night King into the heavens, attempting to reassemble the symphony of death.
Then, as expected, a huge storm came.
This was not natural wind and snow, but a magical curse from the Land of Everlasting Winter.
Daenerys Targaryen in the sky abruptly tightened her reins, and Merias also let out an anxious roar.
Daenerys Targaryen looked down; white had swallowed everything: the burning battlefield, struggling soldiers, towering castles, all vanished behind the swirling curtain of snow.
The outline of King's Landing rapidly blurred and dissipated under the cover of the wind and snow.
"Your Majesty!"
Rhaenys Targaryen anxiously circled and shrieked on her dragon in the gale, "We can't see, we can't see anything below!"
Aegon Targaryen's dragon also circled nearby, emitting an uneasy wail.
They all became lost ships in the blizzard; every attempt to dive was fiercely pushed back by the hurricane.
Even more terrifying, they had to guard against Dragonriders colliding in the air!
The situation on the battlefield below was also being completely rewritten.
The army of wights, which had been scattering under the Dragonflame, now seemed to be infused with new magic.
They all crawled out of the snow, the blue flames in their eye sockets burning even more fiercely in the blizzard.
A soldier had just cut down a wight in front of him, and in an instant, the corpse was covered by new snow and then stood up again.
This time, its bones were encased in ice armor, making it faster and more ferocious.
"Form ranks! Maintain formation!"
Grey Worm tried to shout loudly, but his voice was immediately swallowed by the wind and snow.
The wights no longer feared the giant dragons lost high in the sky.
They stepped over the remains of their companions, over the bodies of the living, like a constantly self-reorganizing white tsunami.
Even more terrifying, the soldiers who had just died in battle twitched in the wind and snow, and the blue light of the dead reignited in their eye sockets.
They were joining the army of the dead.
Daenerys Targaryen gripped the dragon saddle's reins tightly, her fingernails digging deep into her palms.
She could hear the screams from below, distorted by the wind and snow, and could see occasional flashes of fire piercing through the snow curtain.
That was her people making their last stand.
But where was she?
Where was King's Landing?
She was like a blind knight, sitting high on a golden throne, yet utterly unable to see her land being devoured beneath her feet.
The Night King still stood on the ice dragon's back, looking down at this funeral dirge he had personally orchestrated.
He no longer looked at Viserys Targaryen, lost in the blizzard, as if he were merely the last withered leaf destined to fall before winter truly arrived.
The wind and snow grew even wilder!