The night grew thicker.
The wildlings' clamor grew closer.
After a series of piercing beast horn sounds, countless figures surged out of the darkness.
The curved stockade.
Backed by the mountains.
Facing the enemy on one side!
"They're here!" Hakon roared, gripping the longsword in his hand.
The High Mountain Clan, holding crude ladders made of wood bound with coarse hemp, charged towards the camp, shouting.
"Archers, prepare!" Hakon yelled. "Fire!"
A sparse rain of arrows shot towards the charging wildlings, and several screams rang out.
Several wildlings were struck by arrows.
Some wildlings, hit by arrows, continued to charge.
Some wildlings, hit by arrows, fell.
Their bodies were trampled by their tribesmen as they continued forward.
"Wooden spears!!!" Hakon shouted.
The soldiers threw their javelins with all their might, and after a short flight.
The wooden spears deeply pierced the wildlings' bodies, spraying blood.
Many wildlings fell, struck by spears.
However, the number of wildlings was simply too great.
The first ladder was heavily propped against the wooden wall.
"Hold them!" Arthur drew his Myrish longsword, its blade flashing with a cold glint in the firelight.
He lunged to the wall, slashing down with his sword, and a wildling half-climbing screamed and fell.
Arthur's sword struck him in the neck, and blood gushed out.
Bronn stood beside him, sword in hand, looking at him.
He hadn't expected Arthur to possess such combat prowess.
"Kill!" Arthur roared, his voice drowning out the clamor of the battlefield.
Hakon, in cooperation, also shrieked, "Kill!"
The soldiers were also infected, "Kill!" "Kill!" "Kill!"
They desperately used their spears, longswords, axes, and wooden spears to stop the wildlings trying to climb up.
Bronn moved like a leopard along the wooden wall.
He didn't make a move, waiting for the right moment.
As soon as a wildling poked his head up, Bronn's sword pierced his throat, and blood gushed out.
His swordsmanship was cunning and ruthless, every strike aimed at the wildling's vital points.
"Well done, mercenary!" Arthur shouted in the midst of the battle. "I'll pay you more!"
"Just doing my job for the money!" Bronn sneered back.
With a backhand, he chopped off half the head of another wildling attempting to climb from the side.
Arthur marveled that the money was well spent!
The wildlings, fearless of death, surged towards the stockade wall in wave after wave.
Ladders were constantly knocked down, only to be propped up again.
On the wooden stockade wall, Arthur's soldiers fought bathed in blood; for every one who fell, another immediately filled the gap.
Blood stained the wooden wall and the ground.
The air was thick with the smell of blood and sweat.
Arthur's Myrish longsword swung up and down, each swing taking a life.
His movements were swift and precise, the sword tip targeting eyes, ears, throats, and noses.
Each strike was so light, without any sense of force.
It was as if he wasn't engaged in a bloody fight, but dancing a dance of death.
But every wildling struck fell from the wooden ladder.
"These wildlings are really tough!" Bronn kicked away a climbing wildling and spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva.
He was covered in blood.
Arthur's voice was as calm as water: "We are, too."
Time passed bit by bit in the brutal struggle.
The soldiers had been fighting for an unknown amount of time, their arms so sore they could barely lift them, each breath carrying the scent of blood.
Their physical strength was rapidly depleting, but their will to survive sustained them.
Arthur was drenched in sweat, and his breathing was heavy.
He, too, felt tired from such high-intensity combat.
He didn't know how many times he had swung his sword.
How many wildlings he had wounded or killed.
His mind was no longer processing.
There were no superfluous thoughts, only the mechanical swinging of his sword.
His chest felt like it was about to burst.
He glanced in the direction of the river, where it was still pitch black.
No movement whatsoever.
Lucien! Lucien!
His attention wavered, and a wildling seized the opportunity.
He threw a beast-blade at him!
Arthur felt a tremendous force hit him, pushing him down.
It was Hakon.
"Lord Arthur!" Hakon had taken the blade in his arm and pulled it out with force. "Be careful, My Lord!"
Arthur grabbed the hand Hakon offered and stood up.
No words of thanks were exchanged.
Arthur took several deep, gasping breaths.
More wildlings surged forward.
They seemed endless, tireless.
"Ah—!" Toman felt a flicker of despair; he struggled to block a wildling's chop with his shield.
But his spear failed to thrust due to exhaustion.
Another soldier came to his aid, piercing the wildling's neck with a spear.
Arthur glanced at the soldiers around him; they were all wounded and exhausted.
But, one person was missing from their ranks.
Bronn!
In the shadows beneath the stockade wall, Bronn huddled in a relatively safe corner.
Watching the wildlings charge the defenses like Mad Dogs outside.
"I'm not going to die for nothing!" he muttered curses, as if comforting himself with profanity, "Arthur! My sword can fight for you! But I won't die for you!"
"That was agreed upon from the start!"
"Always that look of having everything under control! What an idiot!"
If Westeros became untenable, he could go to the Free Cities!
There would always be someone to pay gold dragons for a mercenary's sword!
Bronn didn't want to lose his life here.
He stealthily moved to the gate of the wooden stockade wall.
The wildlings were climbing the wall like Mad Dogs, paying no attention to the gate.
He estimated the distance and angle; as long as he had a horse and was fast enough.
He could slip down the hill in the chaos, gallop away, and escape into the forest.
He didn't care what damage opening the gate would cause to the defenders.
Nothing was more important than his life.
Until he saw the corpses of six High Mountain Clan wildling warhorses in the stable.
And a hanging noose specifically placed there.
"Arthur!! I'm going to kill you!!" Bronn let out continuous heart-wrenching roars, "Arthur!! I'm going to kill you!!"
Arthur on the wooden wall sneered as if he heard Bronn's roar, "Want to leave! Die with me, you bastard!"
From a distance, the battle cry of the Milk Snake Tribe chieftain echoed.
The wildlings, surging like a tide, launched their final fierce assault on the wooden wall gate.
They had noticed the diminishing fighting will of the Plainsmen soldiers on the wooden wall, and their climbing tribesmen were at a distinct disadvantage.
While the Plainsmen soldiers at higher positions held a distinct advantage.
They descended from the wooden ladders.
They planned to break through the main gate; once inside, the Plainsmen's lives would be over!
"Lord Arthur! The main gate! The main gate is about to fall!" a soldier shrieked, covered in blood and grime, indistinguishable whether it was his own or the enemy's.
Arthur's eyes narrowed; he saw the main gate of the wooden stockade being furiously rammed by the wildlings using makeshift battering rams made of sharpened, thick tree trunks.
Under the movement of ten wildlings.
The wooden gate swayed precariously.
Once the wildlings broke in, it wouldn't hold for long.
Soon the wooden stockade would be overrun by the wildlings.
The soldiers were all in despair!
It was too late to rush there now.
Arthur was also a bit tired.
He felt as if his body was no longer his own.
The wildlings were about to burst in.
Everything was meaningless now.
Even if the flood came.
It wouldn't overwhelm these wildlings anymore!
Arthur looked at his soldiers.
He raised his sword.
And spoke his final words, perhaps his last will.
"Brothers! It is my honor, Arthur, to die with you!"
All the soldiers raised their swords in response!
"Bang!"
The wooden gate was breached.
The soldiers were ready for a desperate, bloody fight.
However, the expected scene did not appear!
Only a hoarse, desperate roar, even louder than the battle cries of countless wildlings, was heard from the wooden gate!
"Suleiman Stinky Fort!"
"I'm going to kill you!!"
"I'm going to kill you!!"
"Where's the water!! Where's your damn water!!"
"Where's the damn water!!!!"
Bronn stood before the gate!
One man holding the pass!