In the east, the horizon slowly turned the pale white of a fish’s belly.
Morning light shrouded the land like a veil of thin gauze, yet it could not dispel the gloom hanging over everyone’s hearts.
Behind them, the snarls of Wights had long since faded into dead silence.
Only ugly, malformed tree trunks swayed like phantoms beneath the gray sky before vanishing into the deep twilight.
The air reeked of rotting earth, mingled with the rapid, ragged panting of horses.
Every step felt like treading on frozen terror.
Will hunched low over his horse’s back, his spine trembling slightly with fatigue.
His mount was originally a ranger’s horse, but now Logan was the only ranger left from south of the Wall leading their party.
Of the seven travelers, the mapmaker followed right behind two soldiers of the Jingsai Army, followed by Will and Logan, and finally two Wildlings on horseback.
The horses ridden by Will and the others were no match for the half-dragon horses of the Jingsai Army—those magnificent beasts galloped over the snow as if flying, while their own mounts were utterly spent.
After miles of desperate fleeing, white foam bubbled at the horses’ mouths, and hot breath spurted from their nostrils, condensing into clouds of white mist in the freezing air.
They struggled forward for a few hundred meters more before the horse beneath Will finally buckled, its forelegs collapsing beneath it as it crashed heavily into the snow.
“My lord, we can’t run anymore!
The horses can’t take it!” Logan yanked his reins, his voice hoarse.
His black horse exhaled heavy, ragged breaths, its mane drenched, sweat dripping alongside melted snow.
Behind them, the mounts of the two Wildlings collapsed into the snowdrifts, letting out muffled, mournful moans.
Though the two Jingsai soldiers could not understand Logan’s words, they clearly heard the sound of collapsing horses.
They instinctively looked toward their own half-dragon steeds—though panting slightly, the beasts still stepped firmly across the snow as if they had merely warmed up.
Still, they could not abandon these four locals.
*Whoosh—* Just as the party reached a stalemate, the sound of flapping wings echoed overhead.
It was so remarkably clear it felt right beside their ears.
Will and Logan looked up at the same time; across the dim, gray canopy, a massive dark silhouette swept past.
“That sound…
it’s too close,” Logan whispered.
Will stared up in daze.
High within the gray clouds, a flock of massive figures flew rapidly past.
They were not birds, yet they possessed avian wings, their bodies so immense it made the heart quail.
“What are those?” Logan frowned.
“I…
I don’t know…” Will murmured in response.
A flock of dark silhouettes swept overhead like storm clouds.
Suddenly, one of them turned in midair and plummeted straight down.
*Thud!* A black figure slammed onto the ground right in front of the two Jingsai soldiers.
Its size far exceeded any ordinary bird—and though its black feathers brought to mind domesticated ravens, what raven possessed arms?
Will and Logan widened their eyes in shock, while the two Wildlings froze atop their horses.
Any fleeting thought of slipping away during the chaos vanished into thin air.
Having just escaped the jaws of Wights, only to encounter such fantastical creatures, a bone-chilling dread surged from the soles of their feet straight up their spines.
The flapping of the crow flock faded into the distance, but before anyone could recover, the thunderous rumble of hooves echoed from the distant forest.
Snow lay a palm deep across the ground, yet the hoofbeats remained steady as war drums, without losing a cadence.
“That’s—” Logan yanked hard on his reins.
…
Guan Zimo swung her three-pointed, double-edged blade, her slender body leaning to the right in a graceful arc.
The keen edge sliced effortlessly through the Wights, bisecting them and leaving only their upper torsos to crawl slowly across the snow, dry bones scraping against the ground with a skin-crawling screech.
After nearly four hours of fierce combat, she was growing exhausted.
Her palm felt numb against the wooden shaft, her knuckles white from strain.
The Jingsai troopers were in no better shape; three had already lost their cavalry lances.
These Wights had almost no flesh, so striking them was less about cutting and more about smashing them down.
As blades repeatedly struck bone, they grew notched and chipped, frequently getting stuck in ribs and spines.
The surrounding trees grew sparse as Guan Zimo led the troopers into a vast, snow-covered wasteland.
The blizzard raged on, the freezing wind cutting like knives against exposed skin.
The half-dragon horse beneath her began to pant heavily, its hot breath dissolving instantly into the air, its hooves sinking deep into the snow with every step.
She had to slow her pace, her eyes frantically scanning her surroundings.
On a nearby slope, a protruding boulder loomed through the wind and snow, its top dusted with frost—a silent barrier.
“To the rock!” Guan Zimo barked, pulling her reins.
Her half-dragon steed neighed, lunging forward with all its might as its hooves carved deep gouges into the snow.
…
At the edge of the forest, the White Walker pinned to a tree by Guan Zimo’s lance slowly stepped out.
The bowl-sized hole in its chest made it look almost laughable, yet cold calculation gleamed in its icy-blue eye sockets.
The White Walker looked up at the boulder.
Its prey had fled there in panic—no, not blindly.
Their horses were exhausted and the humans spent, yet these warriors who had appeared out of nowhere possessed limits far beyond ordinary men.
If they could be turned into White Walkers as well…
A cruel curl touched the corner of its mouth as it raised its arm.
The surging wave of charging Wights came to a dead halt.
Guan Zimo and her men, taking refuge atop the rock, exchanged glances.
Though the Wights did not advance, they had surrounded the boulder so tightly not a drop of water could leak through.
Guan Zimo’s brows furrowed deeply as snow slid down her collar, cold as ice.
If only she were Dragon-blooded—she possessed little magical talent, which most Dragon-blooded excelled at.
She let out a soft sigh, tightening her grip on her polearm.
The White Walker surveyed the surrounding Wights and slowly lowered its arm.
The Wights began a slow forward press, the ring tightening bit by bit like a closing noose.
The White Walker intended to drown these prey in endless terror!
Yet right at that moment, a dark cloud swept across the gray sky, hurtling rapidly toward the wasteland.
A strange, uncanny sound of beating wings echoed through the air.
The White Walker looked up to see the black cloud descending at breakneck speed.
“Gawr—!” It was not that the Onyx Crowmen could not speak, but this primitive, guttural shriek sent an even deeper chill through the blood—even the White Walker felt a faint, ominous foreboding.
The dark cloud descended from the sky, revealing armored arms beneath paired wings.
The Onyx Crowmen swooped down, smashing the heads of Wights with heavy weapons before seizing their shoulder blades with razor talons, carrying them high into the sky and dropping them to shatter on the rocks below.
Some Wights attempted to strike back with their weapons, only to discover these “beasts” were clad in steel armor.
Unwearied, the Crowmen repeated their dive-bombs and ascents, the thunder of their wings deafening.
They slammed with precision into the undead horde, tearing a jagged breach straight through the encirclement.
Yet these Onyx Crowmen alone were not enough to help Guan Zimo and her forces break through the mass of undead completely.
And at that critical juncture, thunderous hoofbeats roared out from the nearby forest.