Wright and Renly overlooked the battlefield from above. The once-organized formation, with civilians in the center and soldiers defending on three sides, had descended into chaos.
Terrified by the wights and the explosions of wildfire, livestock scattered in all directions. For some, these animals were their only possessions, forcing them to risk everything to chase after them. The once-unified march southward had broken apart. The soldiers tasked with protecting them had their formations disrupted—some trampled from behind by panicked animals, others scattered in battle against the wights. Humans, livestock, and wights were now all tangled together in a chaotic struggle.
"Renly, Odahviing's dragonfire is too fierce. It's becoming more of a hindrance here—I'm heading to the ground!" Wright shouted.
On its final dive, Odahviing had incinerated wights and men alike. If it continued breathing fire onto the battlefield, it would shatter the morale of their own troops before it did any real damage to the enemy.
Renly continued surveying the battlefield. "Have you spotted a White Walker?"
"One to the west!" Wright responded before leaping off the dragon's head. Odahviing flapped its wings powerfully, ascending just beneath the clouds as it continued to circle above.
Renly, clad in gleaming gilded armor, stood tall in his saddle. The golden stag antlers atop his helmet rose high above his head. Steadying himself by gripping the dragon's spines, he moved to the side of its back and spoke in Valyrian: "Peytvahaaz, once you grow a little bigger, I'll stand on your head! Fighting from the saddle is too inconvenient!"
Peytvahaaz was the eldest of the six young dragons. Its white body was streaked with red, and it was approaching a length of forty meters. The most stable place on a dragon's body during flight was the broad expanse of its back, making it a comfortable spot for long journeys.
But in battle, that same wide back and massive wings completely obstructed Renly's view of the battlefield. To see below, he either had to have the dragon tilt itself mid-flight or move to the very edge of its back.
"Why don't you just stand on my head next time?" Peytvahaaz grumbled in protest. Renly was already a large man, and with his full armor, standing on its head would make it impossible to fly freely.
Truthfully, Renly didn't like the idea either. Every time Odahviing breathed fire toward the ground, Wright had to go down with it. And when the dragon pulled up, Wright was lifted right back up as well. Renly doubted he could handle being tossed around like that.
Gripping the dragon's spines, Renly scanned the battlefield. The leafless forest allowed him a clear view of the western front.
Near the spot where Wright had landed, hundreds of Northern cavalrymen were surrounding a White Walker. Their banners bore the sigils of House Stark and House Karstark.
But the encirclement was failing. As the cavalry split into three groups to flank the Walker, five more suddenly leaped out from the snow, along with massive ice spiders crawling from hidden pits in the ground.
Riding atop these spiders, the six Walkers moved far faster across the snow than any horse. What had started as an attempt to encircle one White Walker had turned into a desperate retreat, with the cavalry now being hunted instead. Without the aid of sorcery, they were at risk of total annihilation.
Wright arrived just in time. His crimson crescent-shaped sword aura clashed against the White Walkers' ice magic, their attacks colliding in midair. As the battle shifted across the forest, trees toppled in their wake. Wright swiftly cut down three Walkers and was now chasing the fourth atop his spectral purple steed.
The wights on the western front had been dealt with, and with Wright on the ground, the White Walkers wouldn't last much longer. Renly, meanwhile, considered his own role in the battle.
"Wright is the one leading the charge, but I am a king. If the soldiers on the ground lose sight of me, their morale will shatter. As long as they see me and my dragon, they will continue to fight. That is what a king should do!"
Resolving himself, Renly returned to his saddle. Glancing upward, he saw the blue and black dragons still weaving through the clouds. With his mind at ease, he and Peytvahaaz turned northward.
---
Boom! Boom!
Fireballs exploded, sending fragments of charred bone flying skyward.
Two young mages, dressed in noble robes, unleashed their magic upon a horde of wights, easing the pressure on the soldiers fighting there.
"Mages! We need support on the left flank! Come with me!"
A burly, long-haired Northerner with a thick beard charged toward them on horseback, shouting.
"You lead the way!" replied the taller of the two mages. His voice cracked—he was a boy still in the throes of adolescence.
Several knights accompanied the bearded warrior, and upon hearing the mages' agreement, a few dismounted.
"Smalljon, let them take my horse!"
"No need—we can keep up!"
The two young mages, having just exhausted their fireball spells, summoned spectral purple steeds. With a practiced motion, they tapped the ground and vaulted onto the skeletal horses' wind-whistling backs.
"Move out!" Smalljon wasted no time, rallying his men as they charged toward the left flank.
Whenever scattered wights broke into their formation, Smalljon and his knights swung their greatswords fiercely, hacking through the undead to protect the mages. Meanwhile, the two spellcasters scanned the battlefield for the densest clusters of wights, alternating between fire, ice, and lightning as they blasted apart the enemy ranks.
The wights were being directed by a White Walker hidden in the distance. After the initial probing attack, they identified the weakest points in the defenses and sent waves of wights to exploit them. A breach had formed on the left flank of the formation, and the wights relentlessly poured in to press the attack.
For warmth, convenience, and breathability, most Northerners wore leather armor, which allowed them to layer thick coats over it. Only the great lords wore metal armor—wealthy enough not to worry about their coats being torn by the metal.
In battle between humans, both attackers and defenders avoided trampling over their own, meaning that defenders only had to fend off attacks from the front lines. But wights, humanoid and bestial alike, wielded weapons, bared fangs, and slashed with claws. They even stacked on top of each other—those below forming a base while those above launched attacks. Against such an assault, the lightly armored Northerners suffered heavy casualties.
The air reeked of charred remains, a mix of burning pitch and wildfire. Soldiers whose formations had been broken regrouped under the command of knights, forming small defensive clusters. Archers and a few mages were shielded in the center, but the obsidian-tipped arrows had long been exhausted, and ordinary arrows were nearly useless against these skeletal horrors.
Destruction magic could eliminate a small group of wights with each cast, but the mages were sparing with their spells, occasionally summoning vines to create makeshift barriers or using healing magic to treat the wounded.
Pitch and wildfire had already been depleted. Realizing the importance of mages, Smalljon finally managed to find two more.
"Help hold the line here—I need to find more mages!"
Escorting the pair to a group of soldiers, Smalljon then turned his horse and charged off again.
Both Lyonel and Sauron had black hair and dark eyes, dressed in noble robes similar to those of the mages. Apart from the great lords, most knights and soldiers of the North had never seen them before. In the chaos of battle, with everyone focused on fighting the wights, no one had recognized them yet.
Lyonel shouted, "Destruction magic drains too much energy! Even if we exhaust ourselves, we can't kill them all!"
Sauron scoffed and yelled, "Even if Father were here, he wouldn't be able to kill them all!"
Lyonel didn't respond, instead rising onto his toes as if trying to get a better view of the battlefield.
They were too short. Pulled into the defensive formation, they couldn't see beyond the soldiers surrounding them. All they could hear were the battle cries and the wights' ghastly shrieks.
"Let me try this!"
The two had no interest in saving people—they simply wanted to test their magic on the wights. Sauron brought his hands together, and blue energy surged along his arms, condensing into a violet sphere between his palms.
"Ha!" With a shout, the magic orb didn't launch forward but instead exploded right in front of him.
A ripple of pale violet energy spread outward from Sauron, staying just a meter above the ground and expanding rapidly. It extended to a thirty-meter radius before gradually dissipating.
The defending soldiers were already exhausted. On this life-or-death battlefield, their hearts pounded, their eyes were bloodshot, and they fought on pure adrenaline. Without days of rest after the battle, they wouldn't be able to fight again.
"Charge! Kill the wights!"
"Give 'em hell!"
The knights and soldiers who had been holding their positions suddenly erupted with newfound energy. Swept by the blue magical wave, they raised their weapons and charged into the wights with reckless abandon. The battlefield turned into a bloodbath, with wights being hacked apart and soldiers falling in turn.
"What the hell kind of effect is this?" Lyonel exclaimed, watching the soldiers break formation.
He recognized the spell—an illusion-based magic called Rally. It granted courage, prevented retreat, and restored stamina and endurance.
But such magic was typically used before battle, not in the middle of one. At this moment, the 'no retreat' effect backfired. The knights and soldiers, already enraged and desperate to slaughter the wights, had their strength replenished and their spirits stoked, leading them to charge recklessly forward.
Restoring courage and stamina was beneficial, but in large-scale warfare, it shattered formations.
Lyonel quickly mounted his skeletal steed and pursued the advancing soldiers. "Sauron, don't use Rally anymore—try this instead!"
He hurled a golden magic sphere into the wight horde, and it exploded among them.
A large section of wights suddenly seemed to break free from the White Walkers' control, staggering away from the battlefield instead of attacking. The golden wave had no effect on the living.
It was a restoration spell—Repel Undead. Unlike destruction or healing magic, it didn't kill wights outright, but with the same amount of energy, it could affect a much larger area, temporarily robbing undead creatures of their ability to fight.
"This one works!"
Sauron immediately mounted his skeletal steed and galloped alongside Lyonel.
The two rode side by side, one covering the left flank, the other the right, constantly hurling golden magic spheres into the fray. The battlefield shimmered with golden waves, rippling outward wherever their horses galloped.
The Northern knights and soldiers quickly noticed the change—just as an axe-wielding wight was about to cleave into them, a golden wave would sweep past, and the wight would suddenly abandon its attack and flee.
"Kill the wights!"
"Kill the wights!"
This time, the battle cries came from the soldiers' hearts.
The tide of battle immediately turned. The wights, which had gained the upper hand, now began to flee, while the exhausted human warriors gave chase, hacking them apart from behind.
"Hiss~~"
From deep within the distant forest, more than a dozen White Walkers suddenly emerged from the vast, snow-covered landscape. Following closely behind, ice spiders crawled out from beneath the snow, carrying their riders.
"If we don't cast magic up close, we'll soon run out of wights," said one of the vampires standing near the White Walkers, dressed in human clothing with blood-red eyes.
"If we show ourselves, the dragons will find us in no time. Wright and Renly won't take long to track us down," another vampire added.
While the vampires were discussing their options, the White Walkers mounted on ice spiders remained silent, their eyes blank, their movements sluggish. Controlling the wight horde from such a distance required all of their mental and magical focus.
"The eastern front has completely collapsed. On the western front, Gard and his six Frost Knights are being hunted down by Wright," one of the vampires, who had placed a hand on a White Walker's shoulder, reported to the group.
Of course, they wouldn't call each other "White Walkers" and "vampires". The two so-called noble races had their own terms for each other. The vampires referred to the White Walkers as "Frost Knights", while the White Walkers called the vampires "Blood Knights",
"Leech, tell Gard to lead Wright westward," commanded the tallest vampire in a deep voice.
"Understood!" The vampire who had placed his hand on the White Walker's shoulder, known as "Leech", relayed the order using magic.
The tall leader had long white hair, a pale but rugged face, and a stern, imposing expression. He was once a ranger of the Night's Watch from the Reach. When Benjen was promoted to Lord Commander, he was made a squad leader. His name was Jeoff Flowers.
During one of his patrols beyond the Wall, his unit fell into a trap dug by the White Walkers.
Leech, the vampire responsible for communications, had once been a steward in the Night's Watch. His real name was Zit. He was an ugly man, his flushed red face covered in boils, with a tumor on his neck, making him the subject of constant ridicule among his brothers.
He had learned about vampires from returning patrols. When he heard they could change their height and even enhance their appearance, he eagerly betrayed humanity to join them.
The vampires played a significant role in why this war was going so poorly for the humans. Their knowledge of the Night's Watch and the North had given their side a major advantage.
"No matter how well we control them, wights are still just reanimated corpses. Aside from sheer numbers, they can't compare to the living—let alone to us," Leech grumbled as the battle turned against them.
"Leech, tell the Frost Knights to concentrate all our remaining forces on the northern front!" Jeoff ordered. "Back at Castle Black, I once saw the maesters' records. Those two short mages casting large-scale spells are most likely Renly and Wright's sons!"
Leech was shocked. "Are you sure? Their dragons are still in the sky!"
"Their dragons may be in the air, but have you seen how many different spells they've cast? Do you know how many all-school mages exist across the entire continent? Fewer than ten! And every single one of them is a Baratheon!"
Jeoff threw off his cloak, revealing his pale yet muscular torso. Blood-red magical runes carved into his flesh began to glow.
"Jeoff, even if we have to sacrifice every wight here, killing those two will be worth it!" Leech turned to the pallid White Walker beside him, who had one hand raised and eyes closed as he controlled the wights. "Even if it means sacrificing them, it's still worth it!"
"Let's do it!" The other Blood Knights behind them voiced their agreement with Jeoff's plan.
The Blood Knights had a primitive hierarchy—power and contributions dictated status and resources. Intelligence alone would only earn mockery from their high lord, Craster.