Chapter 8: The Lingering Shadow
The sound of hooves drew closer, and the identity of the newcomer was swiftly revealed: the horse belonging to Will, which had been taken out ten days ago by a crystalline blade to the head, emerged from between the trees. Atop its stiff, frost-rimed carcass sat a pale, gaunt figure.
The White Walker that had hunted Egger had raised the dead horse as a wight, transforming itself from a mere foot soldier into a spectral rider. Had its horsemanship not been so poor, it would have overtaken the pair long before they neared the Wall.
But the result was satisfactory enough. Within the White Walker's being, a cold sensation akin to satisfaction stirred: Finally, I have caught them.
By human standards, the endurance and willpower of these two "Black Brothers" were exceptional, especially the younger one. From the decisiveness of his immediate flight upon seeing a White Walker, to the cold judgment he showed in not being fooled when the creature's weapon left its hand, to the agility used to dodge the thrown blade and the sheer speed of his escape... this was a human of fine quality. After today, he would make an excellent thrall in the army of the dead.
It was one against two, but the advantages of strength, equipment, and ability were so vast that the creature could utterly ignore the numerical disparity. Moreover, the two humans before it were at their absolute physiological and psychological limits. This was not a battle; it was a hunt.
The collapsed horse whinnied in terror, scrambling up to stumble away into the distance. Egger drew his weapon, staring coldly at the approaching horror. Hot air steamed from his lungs, and a low, guttural rasp escaped the depths of his throat—it didn't sound like it came from his vocal cords, but from his very soul. Shock and fear had metastasized into a surging battle-lust. The enemy had a horse; running was no longer an option. Therefore, it was either his life or the creature's!
A back-to-the-wall struggle—not for the Wall, not for the Realm, but for survival.
"I'll hold it off." Gared, realizing they were cornered, raised his sword. "You run. Someone has to warn the brothers. Winter is coming."
"No. I have no desire to be hunted down in despair after you're finished, dying while running." Egger knew Gared stood no chance of stopping the creature. "We take it down here, then we cross the Wall and escape together. We'll discuss the plan later. Watch out for its weapon—steel won't hold. If it dares to throw that thing at us again..."
The enemy didn't wait for him to finish. Its eyes, glowing with a ghostly blue light, stared dispassionately at the two Watchmen for a few seconds before it spurred the horse into a charge.
"Dodge!"
The two split instantly. The surrounding trees provided excellent cover, and the two Watchmen engaged in a deadly game of "hide-and-seek" in the Haunted Forest. By circling the obstacles, they caused the mounted White Walker's charges to miss them by a hair several times over. After a few failed passes, the creature let out a grating roar, dismounted, and charged them on foot.
"Now!" Gared bellowed, lunging forward.
"Watch out!"
Egger cried out. The sword training the Night's Watch received focused on basic parries and counter-attacks—more than enough for wildling raiders who fought on instinct and raw strength. But the foundation of that style relied on the condition that the weapon could withstand the impact. In the face of a White Walker, that condition was not met!
There was little build-up or posturing; the true battle escalated from an eruption to a life-and-death climax in an instant. Though Egger had warned the veteran to be wary of the creature's weapon, Gared had lived by his combat style for over thirty years. Seeing an opening as the White Walker dismounted, he instinctively stepped in for a heavy overhead strike!
It was a plain, unadorned, but perfectly refined blow. The angle was impeccable, and the timing caught the White Walker in the moment of instability after hitting the ground. Gared had never received fancy fencing lessons; he relied solely on forty years of experience and muscle memory. This strike seemed to gather every bit of skill and strength of his entire life—even if the Sword of the Morning himself rose from the grave, he would have had to meet this blow with total focus. The veteran even felt an intuition: Egger won't even need to follow up; this strike will end it.
(Even if the blow is blocked, I can quickly recover and transition into a side-slash, forcing the creature to keep defending. That's when Egger can strike from behind and finish the damned thing. Best of all, if we kill this White Walker and bring the body back to the Wall, we won't have to risk desertion!)
It was a cunning and lethal blow. Had the opponent been human, they would have been in deep trouble... but reality deviated at the very first step. Because his sword shattered.
The fine blade Waymar Royce brought from home had barely lasted a few exchanges against the ice sword; the standard-issue weapons used by the common soldiers were "steel" in name only. Their tempering and strength were no match for the supernatural ice. At the moment of impact, the contact point disintegrated. The entire sword dramatically snapped into two pieces and several shards with a sharp crack.
Gared hadn't encountered such a thing in fifty years of life. In the split second he stood frozen, the White Walker calmly drove the ice sword through him.
"No!" Egger's eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. He was still two meters away when the exchange happened, unable to coordinate. He could only watch as his teammate was run through. He let out a roar of absolute despair and charged the enemy from behind without a thought of retreat.
Egger didn't feel a deep sense of reverence or love for Gared—how could one truly admire a man who had served for forty years and remained a common soldier? It was like his life before the transmigration: as a supervisor representing the client at a construction site, he wouldn't have naturally become best friends with a sixty-year-old illiterate laborer laying bricks. This wasn't elitism or discrimination; it was simply that their horizons, mindsets, and lifestyles were so vastly different that they shared no common ground for deep friendship.
But regardless, Gared was the roommate he shared a roof with, and the Black Brother who had looked after him most since he arrived at the Wall. Most importantly—and most practically—the veteran was his only ally against the White Walker, his last support and psychological pillar. He had a series of coordinated maneuvers in mind; if they could just lure the creature into a single opening, he could drive the obsidian dagger home.
If everything went well, Gared would have been his guide and partner in escaping the Wall.
But now, every plan and ambition was stillborn. His only teammate hadn't lasted a single breath before being cut down. Left alone, how could he possibly defeat this ancient predator with its terrifying strength and eerie powers?
"AHHH—DIE!" When hope vanishes, even the most rational or cowardly man can turn feral. Egger screamed himself hoarse. In this moment, fear vanished. Nothing can scare a soldier who has already decided to go down with the enemy. He raised his steel sword overhead with his right hand to strike at the back of the creature's head, while his left hand gripped the obsidian dagger, thrusting toward the enemy with every ounce of his strength. If there is no chance of living today, then I'll fight like a man. Since I'm dead anyway, don't think you're getting off easy!
The pale humanoid spun around, expressionlessly raising its weapon to parry. This last prey was a bit of a disappointment. The previous one had been defeated just like this, yet this one attacked in the exact same manner?
This blow—slow as a snail, deformed by rage, with a trajectory so clear it could be blocked or dodged in a dozen ways—was the final struggle? Oh, and perhaps that tiny little dagger in the other hand?
The White Walker's face twisted into a look of disdain. As a being maintained by magic, it had no vital organs. Aside from losing its head, which might cause some trouble, a stab to the gut... even if it stood still and allowed the attack, that little thing couldn't possibly cause a shred of harm.
The White Walker raised its ice sword. In a perfect echo of Gared's defeat, it caught Egger's blade and shattered it. Then, taking advantage of the wide-open gap in his defenses, it followed through with a horizontal sweep. The ice blade cut through the Watchman's body. Everything was settled.
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