Chapter 102 – The Sea
A desolate, horn-like wail—like the roar of some abyssal sea beast—suddenly echoed through the stronghold, abruptly interrupting the movements of the man and woman entwined within the main keep.
They froze at once, ears pricked.
Then came the second blast of the horn.
The two scrambled upright, hastily grabbing for their clothes.
"Something's wrong!"
"What could possibly go wrong?" the clean-shaven man snapped as he dressed, irritation clear in his voice. "The Drowned God watches over us. The northerners can't break through. If this is just some trivial nonsense, I'll make Lorren suffer for disturbing me!"
Before his words could fade, the third horn sounded.
They exchanged a glance.
No more time for proper attire.
They bolted for the door.
Four guards were already waiting outside and immediately fell in behind them as the group rushed out of the wooden keep.
Deepwood Motte lacked wide stone battlements, but it did possess watchtowers. Sprinting across the courtyard, they climbed one of the towers and looked out.
Chaos greeted them.
The outer courtyard—normally noisy—had descended into utter madness. Near the inner keep, one group of soldiers was desperately fighting another group of "soldiers."
But the attackers were not soldiers alone.
Cooks from the kitchens. Servants. Blacksmiths. Stable boys.
All manner of castle personnel—people who should never have been combatants—were charging the Ironborn soldiers in a frenzy, their faces twisted and movements unnatural.
An uprising among the staff might have suggested rebellion.
But Ironborn soldiers turning on their own comrades?
That was something else entirely.
"We're going down," Asha said after a quick glance.
From the tower, it was impossible to understand what was happening. Standing idle would accomplish nothing.
At least this wasn't an enemy assault from outside.
The group hurried down the stairs and soon reached the courtyard—but what they saw there made their blood run cold.
The attacking force had grown.
As the Ironborn defenders cut them down, the fallen bodies rose again moments later—only to turn and attack their former allies.
"This…" Fear crept into the group's voices.
This was no simple mutiny.
"How many are left?" Asha barked, grabbing a retreating soldier by the collar.
"Victarion took over half our men to attack the northerners!" the soldier shouted back in panic. "Less than fifty are left inside! But we still have over three hundred stationed at the outer walls!"
"To the outer ward," Asha ordered sharply. "Rally the troops!"
"And here?" someone asked.
No answer came.
Even the one who asked fell silent and followed after her.
The grotesque spectacle had rattled everyone. All they wanted now was to regroup and suppress whatever nightmare had been unleashed.
As they ran, two reanimated corpses noticed them and charged.
A guard loosed an arrow, punching straight through one creature's forehead.
It didn't slow down.
The corpse kept coming, an arrow protruding from its eye socket as it lunged forward.
Panic erupted.
"Run! Weapons don't work!"
"Anyone who runs, I'll kill myself!"
"Cut off their heads!"
The female leader roared and charged first, her guards moving in close to cover her. Seizing the opening, she swung with all her strength. The axe in her hands struck cleanly into the enemy's neck—its edge sharp enough to bite straight into bone.
Yet the foe, half its neck severed, merely tilted its head unnaturally, its hands still clawing toward Asha.
Luckily, Qarl kicked the creature away at the last moment, narrowly preventing the leader from being taken down in a fatal misstep.
Elsewhere, seeing their leader charge, the guards finally found their courage and moved to engage another female "zombie."
The enemy's complete disregard for injury threw them into chaos. One guard was knocked down and had an ear bitten clean off.
Instead of breaking him, the pain ignited the Ironborn savagery in his blood. The wounded guard clung to the creature with a death grip while his comrades hacked at its head, chopping it into a mess of shattered flesh.
The immediate danger was resolved, and the group finally had a moment to steady themselves.
Only by destroying the head completely could these things be killed.
Staring at the two now-motionless corpses, a heavy dread settled over them.
But under the leader's orders, there was no time to linger. They pushed on.
Deepwood Motte wasn't large, but running from the main keep to the walls still took several minutes.
Along the way, scattered "enemies" kept appearing, charging at them in frenzied bursts. One or two at a time could still be managed.
Three or more—and they were overwhelmed.
That was only because the creatures were unarmed. Had they carried weapons, these fearless corpses would have been nearly impossible to handle.
They fought their way forward, struggling every step, but as time dragged on, hope of rallying the castle's soldiers faded into despair.
The familiar faces among the attackers told the story clearly. They even saw Longaxe Lorren—the very man who should have been commanding the wall guards—tearing into another corpse by the roadside.
Had everyone turned into enemies?
As they hesitated—whether to keep pushing for the walls or attempt escape—the path behind them suddenly erupted with a massive wave of pursuers.
At the sight of living prey, the creatures' twisted faces grew even more grotesque, their pace visibly quickening.
Panic broke loose. They fled—but the monsters followed relentlessly, never tiring, steadily closing the distance.
"Run, Asha! I'll hold them off!" Qarl bellowed. With only a handful of guards left, he drew his weapon and charged straight into the horde.
Asha didn't hesitate. She cast one last look at her lover, then gritted her teeth and ran.
Balon Greyjoy had raised her like a son. Courage was never her weakness—but courage was not the same as suicide.
These horrors ignored blades and multiplied like leeches feeding on blood. The outcome was already decided. There was no victory to be had here.
Staying meant death.
This was no time for hesitation!
She would reunite with her father's fleet, strike back, hunt down the one behind all this—avenge her soldiers, avenge Qarl, avenge herself!
She sprinted past warehouses, stables, the outer bailey. Just as she reached the corridor, her clothes were suddenly yanked from behind.
She turned—
And saw her lover, who had moments ago sacrificed himself for her, staring at her with naked hunger. His left eye was gone, leaving a hollow, black void. From this close, the stench of blood was overpowering, torn vessels clearly visible.
…
The scepter swept through the air.
The soul of the fallen female leader was ripped free and absorbed into it.
Charles looked out across Deepwood Motte. Corpses roamed wildly, hunting every living being in the castle, as though they would not stop until all life was extinguished.
What had begun as barely a dozen dead had, through relentless effort, grown into a massive horde.
Death fell again and again. Corpses rose endlessly. Like a rolling avalanche, they ignored all damage, never stopping unless their heads were completely destroyed.
The invaders were utterly unprepared. Faced with the familiar faces of comrades—and leaderless besides—they couldn't form any effective resistance.
What should have been a place of noise and revelry had become a living hell.
Amid the ceaseless chanting, time slipped by. As the number of "zombies" surged and the Ironborn dwindled—until none remained alive—a muffled roar echoed in his ears.
It sounded like a shriek from the depths of the sea, or the low bellow of some ancient sea monster.
The scepter trembled violently.
At the same time, the deep-blue mass in the sky streaked downward like a falling star, flowing into the crystal at the scepter's tip.
A notification appeared before his eyes.
[You have obtained a small portion of Ocean-related Authority.
While within oceanic territory, you may generate a limited area of sea fog.]
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