After the drowned god was caught in the webs, things quickly began to go right again.
First, Alaric ran toward the faceless men without a second thought.
Casting five instances of Cure Wounds—four at level 1 and one at level 2—the faceless men stood up and, despite still being tired, returned to the fight.
Next, Alaric reunited with his family, who were accompanied by Edmund Bushy. Edmund reclaimed Red Rain and headed into battle, while the Mormonts moved back to the front of Alaric, acting as a shield.
From that point on, the drowned god had to defend himself against the eight Steam Mephits above while dealing with six warriors below who were focusing on his Achilles tendons.
The sight of the drowned god trying to defend himself was a spectacle. When he defended from below, he took hits from above; when he tried to defend from above, he took hits from below.
Whenever he freed his leg from the spiderwebs, the spiders would throw more on top immediately after, forcing him to use only his arms to counterattack. And should he try to remove the webs with his own hands, the spiders would trap them along with his legs; he had to learn that the hard way.
When he finally managed to catch one of the Mephits in his hands and crush it, the elemental exploded into steam, causing him to take damage as punishment for his success.
It seemed like a fair trade initially: taking a bit of damage in exchange for reducing the enemy's numbers. But to the drowned god's frustration, after he finally eliminated one, the others began to use the ability they had been saving:
The ability to summon 1d4 copies of themselves for one minute.
Only three of the seven remaining used this ability, with one managing to summon four and the other two summoning three each. In total, the number of Steam Mephits had more than doubled, totaling seventeen.
These ten new ones would only last for a minute, but until that minute ended, the drowned god would suffer.
"Since when have you known how to do that?" Maege asked, watching the drowned god being "drowned" by the Mephits.
Once the initial shock of seeing the demonic-looking creatures passed, she now found herself fascinated by them.
"It's something new I learned in the last few minutes," Alaric replied.
The gears turning in her head as she interpreted what he said were almost visible.
"The 'experience' thing?"
The experience he was able to gain that strengthened him—something he had explained the day before while explaining his reason for joining the war.
"Yes."
"Can you create more?"
"Yes, but not now."
He had gained two level 4 spell slots by leveling up three times, slots he had filled with the same spell.
But since it was a concentration spell that required him to focus on it continuously, he couldn't use it again. He had already reached his current limit of three simultaneous concentration spells: the single Conjure Minor Elemental and the two Enhance Ability spells cast on Gerold and Rickard.
"When all, or most of them, are destroyed, I will cast others."
"Is there really a child of the forest up there?" Jorah asked, staring at the eagle flying in the sky.
There was a fascination and a childlike glint in his eyes.
"Her name is Garoa," Alaric said. "Her people don't like interacting with ours, so I don't think she will come down."
"Are all children of the forest small enough to ride an eagle like that, or is it just her?"
"Look at the eagle again. It doesn't look large because it's close to the ground. Garoa, or some other child, must have cast a spell to increase its size to allow her to ride it."
Jorah turned to him upon hearing his theory.
"Can you do the same?"
"No. I can increase the size of insects, as she did with those spiders, but birds are beyond my capability. However, I can transform you into a bird in the future, if you wish to know what it's like to fly."
And there, again, was the glint in Jorah's eyes.
"No one will be transformed into birds," Jeor said. "So forget that talk and get back to paying attention to the battle."
Despite his reprimand, even he no longer felt as nervous as before.
The sight of the god being suppressed stole away any sense of intimidation he previously felt.
And even when the ten new Steam Mephits reached their time limit and threw themselves at him in a suicide attack, exploding against the drowned god's hand as he tried to repel them, his situation did not improve.
The moment that should have been a relief for him turned into despair when Gerold delivered the final blow that severed his right Achilles tendon, bringing him to his knees.
"Looks like the fight is going to end," Maege commented.
There was a clear dismissiveness in her voice, unimpressed by the performance of someone who was supposed to be a god. It was a predictable reaction, considering she didn't know what Alaric knew through his system.
The system had named him the "Imperfect Avatar of the Drowned God" for a reason.
"He is not at his full power. I don't know why, but something is wrong with him; he can't access all his power in this form. I can feel it."
Maege hummed in confirmation, though not very convinced.
"Can you also feel how much is left until he finally dies?"
Alaric shifted his gaze from the god to the status window already open in front of him.
'322 / 615. Almost half.'
"If this were a race... you could say it just reached the halfway mark."
Hearing her impatient sigh, Alaric calmed her. "The rest of this race won't take as long as the first part. Look at him."
The sight was pathetic. Even a bit anti-climactic.
Having fallen to his knees, the divine avatar tried to crawl toward Nagga's Hill, wanting to flee, but the spiders stopped him by pinning his hands to the ground with their webs, leaving him arched over the earth.
A truly pathetic position. It also revealed that he possessed no healing magic hidden up his sleeve.
It was ironic how the creator of immortal warriors like the Drowned Men possessed no version of it himself, or any magic capable of healing him.
Whether this was caused by his arrogance, which made him think he wouldn't need it, or by the nature of his imperfect avatar, Alaric didn't think he would find an answer.
Not that his enemies cared. The seven Steam Mephits jumped at the opportunity when they saw his unprotected back, beginning to flay it without any mercy.
HP: 309 / 615
The six warriors on the ground also seized the opportunity and began to hack at the left leg—the one that still had an Achilles tendon—in unison.
HP: 284 / 615
The drowned god could only scream in pain and frustration while being attacked and continuously covered in spiderwebs, which slowly bound him into a cocoon.
HP: 271 / 615
And after a few more minutes, it was done. He was completely covered in webbing. A cocoon. A prison in which he continued to try and rise, squirming.
HP: 258 / 615
To Alaric, or any connoisseur of nature and its insects, the sight of the moving cocoon bore an interesting resemblance to a butterfly trying to free itself.
HP: 245 / 615
But unlike a butterfly at the end of its metamorphosis, the drowned god would not leave his cocoon alive. Even no longer knowing if they were hitting their mark as they thrust through the webbing, the six warriors below did not stop.
HP: 232 / 615
And the seven elementals above did not fall behind. Even with the webbing acting almost like armor for the drowned god, they did not give up, tearing through it until they had access to his back again and could continue to sink their claws into him.
HP: 219 / 615
Twenty-nine minutes. That was all it took for the remaining two hundred and nineteen health points to reach zero and for the drowned god to die.
[System Notification]
Level 6 Enemy Eliminated.
Participation Reward: +10,000 Exp.
Exp: 46,122 / 48,000
But to everyone's surprise, he did not die without style—perhaps a way to compensate for his final moments.
At the exact moment his HP hit zero, the cocoon did not stop moving as expected; instead, it exploded in a burst of white light.
It wasn't a small explosion like the red orbs he had launched at Alaric twice—no. It was massive, turning night into day within a 100-meter radius, engulfing all who had assisted in the fight against the drowned god. To both armies, it was visible as an enormous tower of light that stretched upward infinitely.
The eagle carrying Garoa nearly fell after being momentarily blinded by the light when hit by the blast.
When the tower of light finally dissipated, the area where it had stood did not return to its previous darkness. The section of the veil covering Old Wyk that had been pierced by the white light had been removed, allowing the moonlight to touch the island's soil once more.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Alaric and the others returned to the army chanting of the drowned god's death, the Drowned Men lost their motivation even further, and little more than an hour later, they were all defeated.
Waiting for the shouts and cries of victory to die down, Gerold ordered everyone to cut off the heads of all the Drowned Men and carry them down.
He explained to the confused soldiers that, despite being defeated, they were not truly dead and might return to life if the island flooded and they remained submerged; therefore, they had to expose their heads to the next day's sun.
While the heads were being severed and tossed under the moonlight, various conversations and exchanges of information took place.
King Aerys congratulated Steffon for successfully taking Redhall, stating he had redeemed himself for his previous failure. Gerold informed the king in detail about the struggle and victory against the drowned god himself, making the eyes of the King of Westeros shine with fascination at the reports of magic.
When the warriors present in that fight were summoned, only the three Faceless Men failed to appear, having all vanished at some point during the harvesting of the heads.
Alaric, also summoned due to his importance during the battle, ended up being questioned by Aerys and Tywin about their disappearance, as he was the most familiar with their presence there.
Under the scrutiny of not having informed the crown about the presence of the three assassins and their subsequent disappearance, Alaric tried to deflect suspicion by saying he didn't know where they were, but that he didn't believe they would be a problem.
"I don't think they came here on a contract for someone's head. If they had, there would be no reason for the House of Black and White to send three of its members, nor for the assassins to have helped us against the drowned god and his followers," Alaric said, vocalizing the theory he formed upon realizing the Faceless Men knew how to use Daylight. "They could have fled the fight by swapping faces with some Ironborn and letting them kill us, but they chose the opposite. And they didn't just fight; they knew exactly which magias were necessary to defeat them. Because of that, I believe they came here after the drowned god himself."
"Why?" Aerys asked.
On the side, Alaric family watched the exchange with nerves on edge. Any wrong answer and he could be accused of treason.
"Because what the drowned god was doing here goes against the motto of the House of Black and White: Valar Morghulis. All men must die."
It did not go unnoticed by Alaric how Tywin seemed impressed by his firm posture, even before the two most powerful men in Westeros.
But despite being impressed, Tywin would not go easy on him just because he was a child.
"And you?" the Lion spoke. "Apparently, not only are you capable of performing magic—something considered extinct until a week ago—but you also used the same magic they did. The exact same magic was needed to defeat them. Explain yourself."
His question was laden with an accusatory tone and presumption, as if he already knew the answer and was merely waiting for Alaric to tell it.
"I am merely lucky that, among the magics the Old Gods decided to bless me with, there was one suitable for the situation."
"Your power comes from your veneration of the Old Gods?" Aerys asked, staring at him with eyes that carried a deep longing.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"How? What did you do for them to bless you with their power? What did you offer? What did you sacrifice?"
Stepping forward and looming over Alaric, any image of composure appropriate for a king was lost as Aerys continued to demand the origin of his power.
What stood out most about the king wasn't his hungry gaze or the flood of questions, but how he caressed his right arm with his left, as if he felt or was searching for something beneath his armor plating.
Alaric wasn't the only one to notice this strange mannerism.
The Lion beside the king noticed as well, but instead of feeling confusion through his Insight, Alaric caught discomfort.
He knew something.
"With all respect, Your Grace, but that concerns only House Mormont, just as the dragons concerned the Targaryens."
The Warden of the North came to Alaric's defense.
Discontent burned in Aerys's eyes at having his desire refused. Tension gripped the air during the silence that followed Rickard Stark's interference.
But to everyone's surprise, someone rather unlikely came to the Northmen's aid.
"He is right, Your Grace; that kind of... secret is one that should only remain within the hands of the house itself," Tywin said.
And once again, Alaric caught a sign that there was something more, this time in his words rather than his gaze, though he continued to give quick glances toward his king's arm.
To an even greater surprise, the king listened to his Hand and dismissed the Northmen.
Safe and away from the king, Maege joked about the danger they had just survived, while Rickard warned Alaric to stay away from the king and any other Southerners.
Alaric said he would do so, but less than an hour later, Andrey found him while he was throwing a severed head that screamed for mercy onto the pile of heads erected where the drowned god had died.
This was their first reunion since arriving at Old Wyk and going to their respective camps.
Andrey exchanged a few words with Alaric, but noticing the unfriendly glares from the other Mormonts—which intensified when he asked if the rumors of Alaric using magic were true—he said goodbye, saying they would talk later.
A few hours later, dawn arrived, and with it came the sun's rays and the screams of despair from the bodiless heads.
Under the eyes of thousands, the mound of severed heads began to bleed when touched by sunlight.
Stripped of their blessing by the sun, the heads finally returned to normal and died. All those who had been screaming for mercy stopped the exact moment they were touched by the sun, suffering an instantaneous death.
Alaric gained a bit of experience from their deaths, but not like before. Since his role was merely tossing the heads into the sun, the total Exp gained was only 1,810, bringing his total to 47,932.
In an instant, the previously dry and dead ground was drowned in a puddle of blood, which slowly became a sea. It was so much that the circle of spectators had to step back to avoid being stained.
After another hour of tossing the top heads aside so the sunlight could reach those beneath, all the screams of despair ceased.
It was over.
[Quest Completed: The Ironborn Resurgence]
Reward: +3,000 XP
Exp: 50,932 / 48,000
[Mystic Quest Completed: To Fight a Squid]
Reward: +3,280 XP and 1 new Feat or 2 new Ability Scores.
Exp: 54,212 / 48,000
As soon as the panel for the completion of the mystic quest appeared, time stopped.
In front of him, the panel gave him the choice between choosing a new Feat or adding two new points of Ability Score to his stats.
***
The end of the Arc. The next one: The Lannisport Tourney.
For 6 advanced chapter, you can go to my patreon: Patreon.com/Keiondir