"The cold icy rain slaps my face at random…"
Ethan hummed a folk tune from his hometown while he tipped diced smoked jerky into the soup pot followed by pieces of dried shiitake mushroom stirring slowly with the ladle.
The rich aroma rising from the pot turned to white steam in the freezing air and seeped into everyone's lungs with every breath.
Othor sitting around the campfire swallowed hard and asked:
"Ethan—how much longer until we can eat this soup?"
Ethan scooped out a small spoonful of the cloudy broth blew on it tasted it and shook his head.
"No rush—it's not ready yet."
By then the sky outside was completely dark hidden behind rain clouds and tree shadows.
Although the heavy rain mixed with snow had gradually eased the entire day had been lost beyond recovery.
In a way this was for the best.
The strange behavior of the wildlings in the Haunted Forest over the past few days had put tremendous pressure on the Night's Watch stretching their nerves tight as bowstrings.
No one dared travel through the Haunted Forest in such freezing rain so even though the journey was delayed the exhausted patrol finally got a day to rest.
To lighten his companions' mood—and with plenty of time on his hands—Ethan once again used his "cooking" skill to prepare dinner for the whole group.
Inside the abandoned house a roaring campfire licked the bottom of the iron pot quickly bringing the smoked-meat broth to a rolling boil.
The crackle of sparks from the fire the patter of rain outside the bubbling broth and the gulping swallows of the watchmen created a strangely cheerful symphony making this small corner of the deserted village feel almost peaceful.
When the broth began to bubble vigorously Ethan poured in the flour slurry he had prepared earlier stirring constantly until the liquid thickened. Only then did he lift the pot off the fire.
Ethan urged everyone to crowd around the pot reminding them:
"One ladle per person—don't waste any."
Jafer gave him a strange look and said:
"Waste? How could you even think that? I could drink half the pot myself! Make more next time."
Benjen—who had been waiting the longest—was the last to fill his bowl. He shook his head as he drank.
"We don't have enough supplies left to waste like this.
When we reach Craster's Keep we'll see if we can trade for more.
For now—be patient."
In Benjen's original plan they should already have been heading back.
But the fact that five villages in a row stood empty was too abnormal to ignore.
It meant their remaining supplies could not support the rest of the journey.
Fortunately Craster was still a friend of the Night's Watch—they could try to barter for food from him.
But if even Craster had fled… Benjen and his men would be in serious trouble.
These were burdens the leader had to carry; the others only needed to follow orders.
Gordon lifted his bowl of improvised smoked-meat spicy soup downed half in one long swallow wiped his mouth on his sleeve and exclaimed:
"Ethan—if you ever joined the black I'd vote for you as Lord Commander just for this bowl of hot soup."
Ethan smiled without answering.
Jafer laughed pointed his spoon at Gordon and said:
"Gordon—is that your way of thanking Ethan—by trying to make him wear black?"
Seeing Gordon's slight embarrassment Ethan spoke kindly:
"It's fine.
I'll come back someday.
When I do I'll cook soup for all of you again—and bring some fine wine from Qingting Island."
A brother named Waymar chimed in:
"I want the beauties of Qingting Island too!"
His blunt wish made everyone burst out laughing.
As they ate and talked the exhaustion and tension of the past few days slowly melted away in the relaxed atmosphere.
After the meal was finished and the bowls cleaned everyone braced the heavy doors and settled down to rest.
Suddenly the horses tied in the empty house next door gave terrified whinnies; their hooves hammered the ground the sound carrying clearly through the walls.
Benjen listened intently for a moment then snapped:
"Something's wrong! Weapons—now! Let's go look."
It was foolish to stay trapped and helpless inside a wooden-and-thatch house if enemies were outside.
At the command the men leapt from their blankets grabbed weapons lit pine-branch torches from the campfire and followed Benjen out into the cold drizzle.
The deserted village—without starlight or moonlight—was pitch-black and deathly quiet; even the torches barely illuminated three meters ahead.
In the dim flickering light Ethan saw several figures in fur coats swords and axes in hand standing silently in the darkness not far away watching the Night's Watch.
Benjen stepped forward and called:
"Who are you?"
No answer.
This was not terrain Benjen knew well and starting a fight would be unwise.
He tried again:
"Tosh and Bannon are good friends of mine. Perhaps we can talk."
It was impossible to gauge how much hatred these strangers bore toward the Night's Watch.
Without a word one rushed forward raising his axe to strike Benjen.
Benjen dodged retreated to his brothers and shouted:
"To arms!"
The shout seemed to serve as a signal for both sides at once.
The black brothers roared their various war cries and charged the wildlings while the enemy met them in grim silence.
As the strongest of the eight Ethan naturally took point.
To relieve pressure on his companions he plunged into the enemy line chose the tallest strongest wildling as his target and slashed.
The opponent blocked easily with a left-arm shield then seized his short axe in his right hand and chopped at Ethan's left side.
Ethan withdrew his longsword raised his right arm to block with the vambrace.
You must remember that for several months after transmigrating no one had ever broken through Ethan's armor.
For a long time he had fought without a shield—and this trip he hadn't even brought one.
As Ethan expected the axe struck the vambrace but neither shattered nor bent; the plate held firm on his arm.
Yet the tremendous force transmitted through the armor staggered him and sent him sprawling.
Before he could recover the enemy was already closing forcing him to roll backward several paces until he regained his footing in a deadlock.
Back on his feet Ethan was stunned.
Were wildlings really *this* strong?
He had singled out only one opponent—and yet the man possessed such power.
Anxious now Ethan scanned the surroundings.
In just a few breaths four of his seven companions had fallen; the remaining three were in desperate straits.
"Othor—watch out!"
It was Benjen's voice.
Ethan cursed under his breath:
"Damn it!"
Anxiety surged through him.
He knew wildlings were fierce—but surely not *this* fierce?
Seven seasoned rangers were swiftly overwhelmed by an equal number of enemies; four down three pinned—even the usually overconfident Ethan had been knocked off balance.
These were no ordinary foes—they were undoubtedly elite wildlings.
Ethan's original plan had been to rely purely on physical attacks and conserve mana for healing his teammates after the fight.
If things continued like this there might not *be* an "after the fight."
Seeing the last three barely holding their own Ethan shouted:
"Inside—quick! Fall back and defend!"
Ethan couldn't see Benjen.
The wildlings now freed from other opponents had already surrounded him.
He could hide his strength no longer.
He raised his hand cast Power Word: Fortitude on himself—a glowing blue fist phantom appeared above his head—then channeled holy Light into his blade.
The edge of the Sea Serpent Strike sword blazed with brilliant golden radiance.
Then he roared:
"Consecration!"
Golden holy flames erupted from his body spreading across the ground in a five-meter radius.
The two wildlings already standing inside the circle collapsed with sharp agonized hisses.
Ethan seized the opening stomped on one's neck and drove his sword through the other's chest.
The instant the sun-blessed longsword pierced the enemy's chest thick foul blood sprayed out.
The wildling shuddered violently twice then went still.
Hm?
The power of the Light could do *this*?
While recovering mana atop the Wall Ethan had secretly tested various abilities and confirmed they could be used—but he had never seen their real combat effects until now.
Looking at the fallen enemies the destructive force of holy power surprised him greatly; the effect was far less "noble" than he had imagined.
But the surprise lasted only a moment.
He immediately threw himself back into the fight.
With the blessing of holy power Ethan easily shattered the defenses of the remaining enemies—piercing one with a single thrust killing another with the follow-up.
Yet these ferocious wildlings never wavered even when wounded.
They pressed forward in grim silence heedless of life or death.
The attackers were quickly cut down by Ethan—but his mana had dropped below one-tenth.
Inside the deserted village friend and foe alike lay dead.
Ethan's last three companions had never reached the safety of the house—they fell just outside the door.
In the stinging drizzle Ethan turned over the bodies of his fallen comrades sorrow washing over him.
Othor's neck was nearly severed in two; Gordon's skull was crushed open; Jafer's intestines spilled across the ground…
Of the seven black brothers only Benjen still breathed protected by his armor.
Even so a terrible gash ran from his face across his right chest; massive blood loss and repeated heavy blows had left him barely clinging to life unconscious.
Ethan used his last scraps of mana to cast Flash of Light stabilizing the worst of the wound—but he could not heal it fully.
Sitting in a pool of blood staring at his lifeless companions Ethan gave a bitter smile.
Since arriving in the Gift lands he could feel his mana still regenerating—just far more slowly than when he stood atop the Wall.
To refill his mana bar Ethan had to wait patiently.
But the enemy would not grant him that time.
A sudden gust swept past; Ethan instinctively rolled aside.
Looking back he saw the wildling whose neck he had broken standing upright once more.
Shocked Ethan surged forward seized his longsword leapt and delivered a clean horizontal cut—decapitating the creature.
To his horror the body slumped silently to the ground.
No arterial spray erupted from the chest as should have happened—as though the thing had already been a corpse.
Only now did Ethan understand the deep unease he had felt since the fight began.
These enemies were strong silent relentless and utterly fearless of death…
Could they be… the legendary wights?
Ethan kicked the corpse shuddering.
At that moment more rustling sounds rose in the distance.
Unsure whether fresh enemies were closing in and unwilling to stay Ethan kicked open the gate of the house where the horses were tethered secured the unconscious Benjen across one mount then swung onto Lightning and led the surviving animals at a gallop away from the death-shrouded deserted village.
On a low rise outside the settlement a pair of eyes glowing faint blue watched his retreat in cold silence.
Uncertain whether ambushes waited along the back-trail Ethan dared not retrace his steps.
He could only press cautiously southward.
After riding through the night in darkness by dawn both men and horses were spent.
Ethan halted beside a stream.
He lowered Benjen beneath a tree washed him with water and strong spirits and bandaged the wounds with torn cloth.
After finishing he led the horses to the water to drink.
Breaking the ice on the stream took time.
When he returned Benjen had already regained consciousness.
Seeing only Ethan before him he asked weakly coughing:
"…Is it just the two of us?"
Ethan nodded face heavy with grief.
"Yes… they fought to the very last.
They were all great men."
Benjen closed his eyes and murmured:
"Unkillable… completely unkillable!
When that one raised his axe against Othor I clearly ran my sword through his chest—but he acted as though nothing happened and kept going for Othor's throat!
I rushed in tried to shove him down—but he didn't budge at all…
This isn't strength ordinary men possess.
Where did they come from?"
Recalling his own suspicion Ethan said cautiously:
"Could they be… wights?"
"Wights…"
Benjen struggled to rise but the movement tore at the wound across his chest.
He collapsed again in agony.
Ethan hurried to support him warning:
"Your wounds are severe.
One careless move and you'll die."
"We have to get back quickly." Benjen pushed Ethan's hand away.
"We must tell Old Bear this news.
We can't let the Night's Watch face an enemy like that unprepared."
He staggered toward his horse but after only two steps collapsed once more unconscious.
"Why is he so stubborn?"
Ethan did not want Benjen to die here.
If he died how could Ethan ever explain to the black brothers?
Eight men rode out—one returned unharmed while the rest were slaughtered by wights?
He had to keep Benjen alive no matter what.
So Ethan gave up resting tied Benjen across the saddle once more and continued south.
Though Benjen was gravely wounded Ethan's repeated Flash of Light kept him clinging to life.
But because the wounds healed slowly infection and inflammation set in.
Seeing Benjen feverish and delirious Ethan remembered his own near-death ordeal outside White Harbor and tried using Purify to suppress the infection.
Benjen's condition improved somewhat that night—but by morning the fever and swelling had returned.
For Benjen to recover fully the wounds needed to close completely—but Ethan's mana regeneration rate could not sustain simultaneous use of Purify and Holy Light.
Holy Light accelerated wound closure but could not clear infection; Purify reduced inflammation but did nothing for the wounds themselves.
Only by returning to the Wall quickly could Ethan regain enough mana to fully revive Benjen—but Benjen's present state made him unable to guide the way.
Desperately anxious Ethan felt like a headless fly blundering through the forest with the gravely injured ranger.
Before they realized it they entered a dense grove of weirwood trees.
In the center stood a massive trunk that would take four men joining hands to encircle its white bark carved with a strange solemn human face.
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