Among the sixteen knights, the leader rode a chestnut-colored warhorse, holding a lance, clad in armor, with a white cloak draped over his shoulders. His hair was graying, and his face bore some wrinkles. He wore a strange black item on his head that obscured his eyes. On either side of the saddle hung lances and the banner of the Pierced Sun. His mouth continually let out hoarse calls of "Ohh! Ohh!"
"Oberyn?"
Robb, Asha, Nymeria, standing on the ice, and others who knew Oberyn weren't focused on him.
Oberyn himself only wished to be a witness. The sixteen of them had ridden non-stop from Nymph Spring to offer support. Their horses were weary, and Oberyn gradually fell to the back, eventually separating from the group and galloping toward Robb.
The formation had changed. Leading the charge was a white-robed elder with a bone staff. Behind him, young men who had consumed special alchemical potions, enhancing their bodies and altering their appearances, followed. Each of them was thin, and a few even had youthful faces, looking under sixteen years old. Yet, like the other fourteen, they had white hair and pale skin.
Fifteen white-armored knights maintained their pace, even accelerating as they charged toward the army of zombies. The warhorses beneath them were unadorned and unprotected by armor, and they made no heavy breathing sounds. They were skeletal steeds, mere white bones.
The knights wore white clothing and pants, with simple bone piece decorations on their chests, arms, and lower legs, forming a basic light armor. They wielded a variety of weapons—lances, war hammers, long swords—all made of bone.
"It's Grand Mage Qyburn!" Asha shouted in delight.
Her magic and martial skills were closely intertwined. She could handle single strong enemies with ease, but large groups of undead were another matter. Now with Qyburn, an expert in the study of the dead, her chances of success had greatly increased.
"That's him? So this is what he looks like!"
As they watched the white-armored knights charge toward the zombie army, more soldiers were asking each other.
Qyburn had been active ten years ago, but due to the unsettling nature of his research, he had retired into seclusion. Many of the soldiers present were children at that time, only hearing about Qyburn through his name. The Magic School of King's Landing had only his portrait, and he had appeared in public only a few times in recent years.
Though he did not have an official title, Qyburn had been one of the first apprentices of Wright. During the war, he had risked his life for others, but his research into corpses had caused him to be rejected and driven away, much to Wright's anger.
Wright personally traveled to the Red Keep to speak with Renly and Stannis. Now, with only three Baratheon brothers remaining, Renly controlled the Magic School of King's Landing, and Wright had his own in Tyrosh. The three of them decided to settle Qyburn and his apprentices on Dragonstone, far from the land, so Stannis would also have his own magic school.
"Attack!" Qyburn shouted from his skeletal warhorse, raising his bone staff, his voice hoarse and ancient. His apprentices raised their weapons in unison.
The weapons began to glow with purple light, a color specific to summoning magic. Small purple dots appeared around them, and chunks of bone flew out from the light, covering both the skeletal warhorses and the knights.
The bones formed thick helmets and armor. Thin lances were transformed into heavy spears, war hammers sprouted bone spikes, and long swords grew jagged bone teeth. Even the skeletal warhorses were cloaked in a thick layer of bone. In an instant, the light-armored knights became heavy-armored ones.
Magic users had gone astray in recent years, wearing robes and wielding wands. A true mage should wear heavy armor! Only Qyburn's faction, having fully embraced Wright's philosophy, had adhered to this concept.
"Roar!" The white-armored knights shouted in unison, their purple light growing even more intense.
From the ground between the zombie army and the human defenders, huge white bone spikes erupted from the earth. The sharp and hard tips angled toward the zombie horde, forming three rows of skeletal barricade. The charging zombies were impaled on the spikes, and the ones behind them fell into chaos.
The bone spikes could only slow the advance of the zombie army. The zombies that impaled themselves didn't die, and many others simply climbed over their fallen comrades.
The purple light began to flicker, and from the glowing mass, large numbers of bone fragments shot out. To the astonishment of everyone, the flying bones began to gather and form fourteen skeletal giants, each four meters tall, wielding weapons.
With every strike, the skeletal giants smashed large numbers of zombies into pieces. Each sweep cleared a wide area. The white-armored knights, now riding in close formation, followed closely behind, engaging in battle to buy time for the human army's retreat, as severed limbs and torsos flew through the air.
One direction was blocked, and the tide of the zombie horde began to encircle from the sides.
Qyburn, after unleashing the bone spikes, had retreated to the back, observing his apprentices' battle and continuously giving them orders.
Seeing the horde closing in from the sides and the vast number of zombies spreading out behind him, Qyburn knew it was time for him to take action.
Dispelled magic caused the warhorse to fall into a pile of white bones. Standing on the muddy ground, Qyburn straightened his crooked back with effort and slowly walked towards the group of wights, muttering, "Today is the last lesson I will teach you!"
The fourteen apprentices immediately pulled away from the battle, retreating behind him, gripping their skeletal weapons tightly against their chests, watching their mentor.
As Qyburn moved slowly, blood began to seep from the pores on his wrinkled face, and the white bone armor he wore became stained red. His body quickly began to shrivel and darken.
"Rise~~!" Qyburn's voice was painful, hoarse, and trembling. The blood he ignited formed blue magical flames that enveloped his body.
This was a low-level spell that every mage learned, though it was rarely used—burning blood to increase magical power.
Qyburn glanced at his apprentices. "Our school of magic is not heretical! We are not the minions of the White Walkers! We are necromancers who control the dead!"
"Remember your master's teachings!" the fourteen apprentices stood tall, staring at Qyburn.
Qyburn's body trembled. He looked up towards the direction where Odahviing had disappeared. After a moment of silence in the sky, he lowered his gaze to Ashara and Robb, giving them a brief nod before turning back, his eyes fixed on the wights.
After receiving the summons from Wright, the aged Qyburn ignored his apprentices' warnings and, after drinking a large quantity of alchemical potions, resolutely set out on this suicidal journey.
He did not wish to die alone of old age on Dragonstone, but instead wanted to use his last remaining magic in front of Wright, hoping to gain his recognition and call him "master"—something he had never done before. Unfortunately, Wright had gone south to battle the monsters.
"Ha~~~"
With Qyburn's final roar, his long hair and waist-length beard all fell out. Strands of white hair fluttered in the wind. His breathing and heartbeat almost stopped as his body shriveled into something like a dried corpse, barely able to stand, propped up only by the staff in his hand.
"Qyburn! Stop!" Ashara and Robb shouted, but did not approach to help.
They had lived and studied with Qyburn since childhood, and despite the age gap, their bond was deep. Seeing him about to commit suicide, they shouted in panic to stop him, knowing that unless Qyburn broke the spell himself, no one else could do anything about it.
The blue magical flames were absorbed back into Qyburn's body, transforming into pure summoning magic. It gathered before him into a large magical sphere swirling with purple mist.
"Step back!" Robb quickly ordered the army to retreat.
This was a spell in which Qyburn expended his life force. Summoning magic could either bring forth dead objects, such as weapons, or summon corpses with lingering souls. With Qyburn's strength, whatever he summoned would be incredibly powerful.
A massive white bone spike emerged from the purple mist—one meter, then ten meters, until it reached thirty meters in length. Then came the second, and third spikes.
"Bone claws?"
"That's... Dragon wings?"
As the entire skeletal structure crawled out of the purple mist, the onlookers saw it was a winged skeleton, uncovered in flesh. Soon, its spine, ribs, neck, tail, and a dragon's head with purple-blue soul flames glowing in its eye sockets emerged. What Qyburn had summoned was a bone dragon, about forty meters long from head to tail.
Qyburn had found many animal remains left by dragons on Dragonstone to practice his magic, but this didn't satisfy him.
The Targaryen dragons were buried in the dungeons of King's Landing, and the dragon bones there had been absorbed by Wright, the dragon souls gone, making them unusable as summoning mediums.
He had scoured the ancient texts in Dragonstone Castle and dug relentlessly on the island. Finally, in a hidden location, he unearthed the long-buried remains of a giant dragon.
Once the mount of Aegon II, it was now a bone dragon: Sunfyre.