Upon this ancient land soaked in the passage of ages, legends endured that reached far beyond recorded history.
Long before the people of the Seven Kingdoms built their homes here, the earliest First Men explorers waged a long, earth-shattering war against the land’s ancient native inhabitants.
It was during that chaotic era that terrifying entities known as the White Walkers suddenly emerged from the eternal frozen wastes of the far north in Westeros, marching south toward the sunlit lands.
These cursed, sinister creations were neither favored by the gods nor accepted by humanity.
Wherever they set foot, Winter descended, and death followed like a shadow.
In the end, humanity and the Children of the Forest set aside their past grudges, joining forces to drive the dark power that brought endless winter back to the edges of the world.
The two races then used ancient, lost magic to construct the majestic Wall, establishing the Night’s Watch to stand guard for generations, ever vigilant for the day the White Walkers might return.
Yet as nearly a thousand years slipped by, the White Walkers never appeared again.
The apocalyptic threat that once made the entire continent tremble gradually faded into bedtime fairy tales grandmothers used to coax children to sleep.
In the warmer southern lands, people had long cast the words “White Walkers” to the back of their minds.
Only the Night’s Watch rangers atop the Wall still held fast to the memory of these legendary monsters amidst dust-covered logs and freezing winds.
Of course, to Will at this moment, the legend had turned into a cold, hard reality.
Even with its limbs severed, the White Walker continued to squirm frantically on the wooden table.
Its eerie, pale-blue skin radiated an ominous chill, making Will fear to stare at it for too long, terrified his soul might be dragged into whatever hellish abyss might exist.
By contrast, Shen Mo and the others examined the worm-like writhing creature on the table with the curiosity of researchers.
“A creation of Nurgle?” Guan Zimo muttered, arms crossed.
“No, doesn’t seem like it.” Qiao Xiao stroked his beard and shook his head.
“This thing is far too ‘clean’—it lacks that…
decaying vitality.” “Looking at this color, could it be related to Tzeentch?” Xin Qi guessed.
“Hard to say.
But didn’t this kid say this place is called Westeros?
Could the power of the Four Gods have spread here as well?” As soon as Xin Qi finished speaking, several pairs of eyes turned in unison toward Will in the corner.
“W-what?” Will stood there in utter confusion.
Just moments ago, these people had been speaking rapidly in a language he couldn’t understand at all, but now they were all staring at him.
A chill ran down his spine, and he unconsciously took half a step back.
“What is your faith?” Guan Zimo spoke, her fluent Common Tongue startling Will.
This female general in silver armor actually spoke his language.
“We…
believe in the Old Gods, and The Seven…” “Their specific names?” Guan Zimo took a step forward, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.
“Let me think…
the Father, the Mother, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Smith, and…
and…” Will slapped his forehead hard, scrambling through his memory.
“Enough,” Shen Mo interrupted.
“It seems this land has not yet been tainted by the Four Gods.” Hearing this, Guan Zimo stepped back toward the table.
Meanwhile, Zhao Qi, who had been standing quietly aside with her staff, stepped forward to examine the endlessly writhing White Walker.
Magical energy flowed at her fingertips, sensing the power source driving this dead husk.
To her, while this magic driving dead flesh was strange, it was by no means subtle—in fact, it was rather crude.
“My Lord, this thing is indeed an abomination spawned by magic,” Zhao Qi turned to report.
“Is there a way to dispose of it completely?” Shen Mo stood up abruptly.
Before they could cross the Wall, if they could find a way to counter the White Walkers—or even neutralize the threat posed by the Night King and his army of White Walkers—their survival pressure outside the Wall would be greatly reduced.
“I shall give it a try…” Will’s eyes widened as he watched the charming, smiling woman thrust her slender fingers directly into the White Walker’s chest.
*Whoosh—* A surge of blue cold mist erupted from the White Walker’s chest, wrapping around Zhao Qi’s fingertips as if drawn by a spell, quickly condensing into a sphere of eerie blue light.
At the same time, the White Walker’s struggles ceased instantly, and its ruined corpse rapidly collapsed, turning into a pile of ice shavings on the floor.
“Phew…
achieving such an effect merely by infusing magical energy means ordinary blades indeed struggle to deal lethal damage.” Zhao Qi spoke calmly, as if she had merely completed a routine magical experiment.
Will watched with his heart pounding in terror.
The terrifying monster rumored to bring the Long Night had been reduced to nothing so casually?
It was all too hard to believe.
Zhao Qi naturally had no idea what Will was thinking.
To her, dispelling dead magic of this degree was far simpler than purifying Nurgle’s plague poisons.
“Mass purification spells might disperse such curses,” she paused slightly and emphasized, “however, the Winds of Magic are thin in this land, making many potent spells difficult to cast.
Opportunities will be limited.” “Does this mean ordinary soldiers still cannot fight White Walkers independently?” “If weapons are enchanted, they might stand a chance.
But as the sample is destroyed, we need to capture more live specimens for testing before reaching a definitive conclusion.” Shen Mo pondered for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the cowering Will like a sharp blade.
“I understand.
Tomorrow’s objective is now clear: capture more White Walkers for research, and…” He paused.
“Take him along, and find a few locals who know the terrain.” “Understood!” Guan Zimo and Xin Qi answered in unison.
As two of the few generals currently by Shen Mo’s side, they bore a heavy burden on their shoulders.
“By the way, Miss Zhao, how did that experiment turn out?” Hearing Shen Mo ask her, Zhao Qi nodded and pulled an object from her wide sleeve—a lush green stalk of rice.
“Thanks to My Lord, these cold-resistant rice seeds originally intended as aid for Kislev have managed to take root and sprout in this land.
They are growing quite well, and the same goes for the other crops.” “Oh?” The moment they saw the stalk of rice, Guan Zimo and the others crowded closer.
The instinct etched into the very bones of Cathayans meant that wherever they settled down, the first thing they did was find a plot of land to plant something.
At first, facing this land covered in snow everywhere, many old farmers from Cathay had felt quite desperate.
But Shen Mo had remembered that he had previously cultivated crops specifically designed to grow in frigid regions.
Although the yield still couldn’t match the wealthy southern provinces of Cathay, it would at least keep people from starving to death.
So Shen Mo had quickly ordered those seeds brought out and a patch of ground cleared for planting.
He hadn’t expected the results to turn out so well.
“In that case, I am relieved.
Remember not to stop the breeding work; I’m afraid we will have to take root in this land.” “Understood.” Everyone bowed in unison to Shen Mo once more, then exited the main tent one after another.