The Great Hall of Riverrun had descended into hell on earth.
Walder Frey's severed head, eyes still wide with grievance, rolled down the dais like a rotting melon.
It finally came to a stop in a puddle of spilled wine and blood.
His cloudy eyes stared up at the flickering candlelight on the vaulted ceiling, reflecting the grave he had dug for his own house.
Hundreds of Frey soldiers stood frozen, their blades heavy in their hands, unable to move a muscle.
They stared at the man on the dais, who casually flicked the blood from his ice blade onto the fine carpet. They felt their very souls trembling.
That wasn't a man.
That was death itself, walked out of the Land of Always Winter.
"Father... Father is dead..."
"He killed Lord Frey!"
A trembling voice broke the suffocating silence.
It was "Black Walder" Frey.
One of Walder's most ruthless sons.
He looked at his father's headless corpse, a flash of horror crossing his eyes before being replaced by the madness of a cornered beast.
Surrender?
They had planned this bloody massacre and violated the sacred Guest Right.
Surrender now?
What awaited them would be a judgment far more painful than death!
House Frey would be nailed to the pillar of shame for all history, reviled for ten thousand years!
They were dead either way!
"He's only one man! We have hundreds!"
Black Walder drew his longsword, his face—a cruel mirror of his father's—flushed red with desperation.
"Kill him! Avenge my father! Carve a bloody path out for House Frey!"
His roar reignited the dying will to survive in the hearts of the Frey men.
Yes!
They still had hundreds of men!
Hundreds of sharp swords!
Even if he was a demon, they would tear a piece of flesh from him!
"Kill—!"
"For House Frey!"
Driven by the instinct to survive and twisted family honor, their last shred of reason was washed away.
The dozens of Frey soldiers closest to Lynn let out beast-like roars.
Swords and axes raised, they charged the high dais from all sides, intending to drown the demon in a sea of bodies!
However, Lynn just stood there quietly, not even blinking.
The nine black-robed White Walkers behind him moved as if receiving a silent command.
With synchronized, millisecond-perfect steps, they walked calmly toward the rushing crowd.
No war cries. No slogans.
Just nine silent black figures, and nine ice swords condensed from thin air, radiating ghostly blue cold.
CLANG—!
The first steel sword to strike an ice blade felt like it hit a glacier.
The massive recoil shattered the Frey soldier's grip, and his sword exploded into fragments.
Before he could scream, the ice sword traced a simple arc.
SPLAT.
A head flew.
From the severed neck, instead of hot blood, a mist of ice-blue vapor sprayed out.
This was just the beginning.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The crisp sound of shattering metal filled the air!
The castle-forged steel swords the Freys were so proud of were as fragile as glass before those eerie ice blades.
Whether slashing or blocking, the result was the same.
Shattered into pieces!
Without dragonglass or Valyrian steel, they were invincible!
A burly Frey knight tried to block with a heavy kite shield.
The White Walker didn't use any fancy moves, just a simple thrust.
CRACK!
The iron-rimmed wooden shield, capable of stopping a battle axe, was easily punched through and pulverized by the cold tip!
Then came the knight's heavy plate armor!
The knight looked down at his chest in disbelief, the light in his eyes fading rapidly.
It was a slaughter.
A slaughter without suspense, and frankly, without any beauty.
Every swing of the White Walkers followed the principle of maximum efficiency.
No wasted movement. No unnecessary flourishes.
Only precise cuts and lethal stabs.
Their bodies seemed to feel no pain, ignoring every blade that struck them.
A battle axe slammed into a White Walker's shoulder with a dull thud, failing to even make it stumble. instead, the axe shattered.
And the knight who launched the sneak attack was cleaved in half—armor and all—by a backhanded swing a second later!
White Walkers couldn't be measured by human standards.
It was simply unfair!
Inside the Great Hall, screams, shattering weapons, and breaking bones wove together into a symphony of death.
The Frey soldiers, who had just been shouting about defending their honor, completely collapsed.
They weren't fighting enemies.
They were fighting killing machines that didn't tire, didn't feel pain, and couldn't be stopped by death itself!
"Demons... they are demons!"
"Run! Run for your lives!"
The line broke instantly. The men of House Frey threw down their weapons, crying and screaming, scattering like headless flies.
Their only thought was to get away from the black-robed reapers.
But the doors had been locked by their own hands.
There was no way out.
The Great Hall became a sealed slaughterhouse.
Lysa Arryn lay slumped on the floor, trembling violently.
She watched the Freys—who had just sworn loyalty to her—being butchered like pigs and dogs!
Warm blood splattered onto her face, the heavy iron scent making her gag.
She didn't want to die.
She couldn't die here!
Her mind went blank, survival instinct driving her to crawl on hands and knees toward a corner away from the fighting.
She had to live!
She would do anything to live!
Just as she crawled behind a massive stone pillar, thinking she was safe for a moment...
A pair of black boots appeared in her vision.
Lysa looked up stiffly and met a pair of burning blue eyes.
It was a White Walker.
It stood silently before her, ice-blue blood dripping from its sword.
"Please, no... don't kill me..."
Lysa's mental defense shattered completely.
She wailed in despair, tears and snot smearing her face.
The White Walker ignored her begging.
It slowly raised the ice sword, the tip pointing straight at her forehead.
The shadow of death had never been so clear.
It was over.
Everything was over.
However, just as the cold tip was about to touch her skin!
THWIP—!
A sharp whistle cut through the air!
A black dagger, spinning weirdly, struck the flat of the Walker's blade with precision!
CLANG!
A crisp ring!
The indestructible ice sword was actually knocked off course by the small dagger!
For the first time, a ripple of emotion appeared in the Walker's blue eyes.
It turned its head toward the source of the dagger.
A black figure had appeared in the shadows of the hall.
He wore a similar loose black robe, hood pulled low, hiding his face.
But his movements were faster and more fluid than the Walker's.
Without pause, as he threw the dagger, his body turned into a blur, rushing toward Lysa!
Another White Walker moved to intercept.
But the black-robed figure flicked his wrist, scattering a handful of black caltrops on the floor.
The Walker stepped on one. Though it didn't pierce through, the impact caused a momentary stagger.
That moment was enough!
Like a nimble cat, the figure reached Lysa, grabbed her arm, and hauled her up.
"Come with me!"
A familiar voice whispered in Lysa's ear.
The Walker's attack followed immediately.
Its ice sword turned into a deadly blue blur, sealing off all retreat.
But the black-robed figure seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.
Dragging Lysa, he dodged and weaved through the sword strikes.
Every dodge was by a hair's breadth.
In his hand, a strangely shaped dagger had appeared.
Every clash with the ice sword sent sparks flying.
He could actually... hold his own against these monsters?!
Lysa was stunned by this sudden turn of events.
She let the mysterious figure drag her through the chaos of blades and blood.
BOOM!
The figure smashed a black clay pot onto the floor.
Choking smoke erupted instantly, covering the corner and blocking the Walkers' vision.
"Go!"
The figure didn't linger to fight. Dragging Lysa, he turned and crashed into a large tapestry on the wall.
Behind the tapestry was a dark secret passage, barely wide enough for one person!
The two dived into the tunnel, the sounds of slaughter fading behind them.
It was pitch black inside, save for the faint glow of a gem set in the figure's dagger.
Lysa stumbled along, dragged by him through the narrow passage.
Her heart pounded violently with tension and excitement.
She was alive!
She had actually escaped the demon's clutches!
After running for who knows how long, a sliver of light appeared ahead.
It was a hidden door leading outside Riverrun.
They burst out into the cold night air, the damp smell of the river hitting Lysa's face, sobering her instantly.
She gasped for fresh air, feeling as if she had been reborn.
"You... who are you?"
Lysa panted, finally asking the question in her heart.
"Why did you save me?"
The black-robed figure didn't answer immediately.
He turned around and slowly pulled down his hood.
When his face was revealed under the cold moonlight...
Lysa Arryn's breath stopped completely.
It was a face she knew better than anyone.
Slightly gaunt, with a carefully groomed goatee.
A pair of grey-green eyes, always twinkling with a shrewd, unreadable light.
Petyr Baelish!
"Petyr?"
Lysa's lips trembled violently. She couldn't believe her eyes.
Wasn't he dead?
In the Vale, she had seen his severed head...
No!
Impossible!
That must have been Lynn's trick!
Petyr wasn't dead!
He was alive!
He had been here all along!
He had been secretly protecting her!
In this moment, all the fear, despair, and grievance turned into a flood of ecstasy, washing away Lysa's already fragile sanity.
"Petyr!"
She screamed with joy.
Like a swallow returning to the nest, she threw herself into the man's arms, hugging him tightly.
"I knew it! I knew you wouldn't die!"
"I knew you would come to save me!"
She babbled incoherently, burying her face in his familiar robes, weeping loudly.
As if releasing all the suffering of the past few days at once.
"Littlefinger's" body stiffened slightly, but quickly relaxed.
He reached out and gently patted Lysa's back.
His movements were tender, but his eyes were dead cold.
Unfortunately, Lysa didn't notice.
He slowly looked up toward the Great Hall of Riverrun.
A playful smile, one only he understood, flashed in his grey-green eyes.
Meanwhile, inside the Great Hall.
Lynn stood in a pool of blood, looking at the torn tapestry and the dark tunnel behind it.
He didn't order a pursuit.
Because there was absolutely no need...
Lysa was about to meet a terrible end.
Brynden "Blackfish" walked up to him, his face full of anxiety and confusion.
"Lord Lynn! We can't let Lysa escape..."
"The enemy was too strong. My guards couldn't stop him."
Lynn's voice was calm as a still lake.
"But rest assured, I will drag Lysa out."
"A stray dog is nothing to fear. We have more pressing matters."
Brynden nodded reluctantly.
Compared to the chaos in the Riverlands, one Lysa was indeed insignificant. He knew where the priorities lay.
Lynn turned around.
Looking at the remaining Freys kneeling on the ground, shivering in terror, a meaningful smile played on his lips.
Lysa had to die.
But Lysa and Catelyn were sisters, and Catelyn was his mother-in-law.
So.
Lysa could die by anyone's hand, but absolutely not by his own.
Even if Catelyn herself raised both hands and demanded he kill Lysa, he couldn't do it.
Reputation mattered.
He didn't want people gossiping.
However, just because he wouldn't do it himself, didn't mean his people wouldn't...
And his hand-crafted Petyr would see her off properly...