They just stared blankly at the sky.
As if silently narrating some ancient horror.
Lynn's heart sank.
In his mind, the original owner's sealed memories of fear resurfaced.
That bone-chilling cold.
That suffocating silence.
That indescribable evil from ancient times!
It's the Others!
No.
More precisely, it's wights, wildlings killed by the Others and reanimated.
The Guards around them had clearly also sensed that something was wrong.
"Lord, these bodies... are so strange."
A young Guard's voice trembled slightly.
"Their eyes..."
"I've never seen eyes so terrifyingly blue," another Guard interjected, instinctively tightening his grip on his sword.
Toren squatted down, wanting to poke one of the bodies with his sword sheath.
"Don't touch it!" Lynn sharply yelled, stopping him.
Toren jumped in fright and quickly pulled his hand back.
Everyone looked at Lynn in confusion.
Lynn's expression was graver than ever.
He stared intently at the several bodies.
"Lord, what's wrong?" Toren asked cautiously.
Lynn didn't answer.
He just slowly drew the longsword from his waist.
"Everyone, step back, keep your distance from the bodies."
Although the Guards were puzzled, they still obeyed the order and stepped back a few paces, cautiously encircling Lynn and the bodies.
Lynn took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
He knew that these almost-wights were currently just corpses.
But given the right conditions, they could "wake up" at any moment.
And the only way to deal with them was fire.
"Toren," Lynn's voice regained its composure.
"Bring torches."
"Burn this place, along with all these bodies, completely clean."
"Don't leave a single speck of ash."
Though Toren was full of questions, he immediately went to carry out the order.
Soon, dozens of torches were lit.
The raging flames were thrown into the ruins.
The dry animal hides and wood instantly ignited.
The fire spread with astonishing speed.
The charred bodies crackled and emitted plumes of black smoke as they were consumed by the inferno.
An indescribable stench filled the air.
The Guards covered their mouths and noses, their faces showing expressions of disgust.
Lynn, however, remained motionless.
He just stood there, silently watching the sea of fire.
The dancing flames were reflected in his eyes.
Only when the bodies were completely reduced to ash did he slowly avert his gaze.
"Lord, what... what exactly were those things?" Toren finally couldn't help but ask.
Lynn was silent for a moment.
He knew that some things could no longer be kept secret.
Moreover, this group of men were his most loyal subordinates, so telling them wouldn't hurt.
"They are what I spoke of to Lord Stark in Winterfell," Lynn's voice was low.
"Wights."
These two words plunged the entire valley into a deathly silence.
Only the crackling of the burning flames could be heard.
The Guards' faces were filled with shock and fear.
The Others?
Weren't those just monsters from Old Nan's bedtime stories?
Weren't they legends that First Men of the Age of Heroes drove back to the Lands of Always Winter thousands of years ago?
How could... how could it be?
They've appeared again now?
"Lord, are you... are you serious?" A Guard's voice was terribly shaky.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Lynn retorted.
His gaze swept across each man's face.
"Beyond the Wall, something has awakened."
"Winter is coming."
These words, spoken by Lynn, carried a chilling sense of fate.
The Guards looked at each other, the color drained from their faces.
They were all Northmen.
They understood the profound meaning behind the words "Winter is coming" better than any outsider.
It wasn't just a family motto.
It was an ancient warning.
"We... what should we do now?" Toren's voice held a hint of bewilderment.
"Let's go back first," Lynn's answer was simple and firm.
"Send a scout to report everything we saw here, exactly as it happened, to Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon."
Lynn's gaze once again turned north.
In that endless darkness, countless pairs of icy blue eyes seemed to be spying on them... The party set off for Castle Black the next morning.
The atmosphere was terribly heavy.
No one spoke.
Every soldier's face bore the solemnity of those who had narrowly escaped disaster.
The shadow of the Others weighed on everyone's hearts, making it hard to breathe.
The party continued south.
Halfway there, the scout responsible for reconnoitering ahead galloped back again.
"Lord!" The scout's face held a strange expression.
"Something's... something's up ahead."
"What is it this time? Wildlings?" Toren immediately became alert.
"No... not wildlings." The scout shook his head.
"It's a battlefield."
"Very brutal."
"But... very strange."
When Lynn and his men arrived, they understood what the scout meant by "strange."
It was a snowfield stained red with blood.
Several warhorse carcasses lay on the ground, their entrails spilled everywhere.
Broken weapons and shattered armor were scattered all over.
The heavy scent of blood permeated the air.
This was clearly a brutal battle that had just taken place.
But the strange thing was, apart from the horse carcasses, there wasn't a single human body to be seen on the entire battlefield.
Only long drag marks were left on the snow, extending deep into the forest.
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