"Crack."
A faint sound, like bones twisting, abruptly echoed in the eerily silent room.
Mormont's eyes snapped open!
Though he was old, the vigilance honed by decades as a Ranger remained.
He was sure that was definitely not the sound of burning firewood!
He held his breath, trying to catch any movement in the dim room with his ears.
"Crack… crunch…"
The sound came again, clearer this time.
It was coming from the center of the room!
From the long table where Othor's corpse lay!
A chill ran through Mormont's heart.
This chill was more biting than the fiercest wind outside the window, shooting from the soles of his feet all the way to the crown of his head.
Impossible… This was absolutely impossible!
He must have been too tired and was hallucinating.
He tried to comfort himself this way, but the pounding of his heart betrayed his inner fear.
He quietly sat up, fumbling for the oil lamp and flint placed by his bedside.
His hands trembled with tension, and it took several tries before he managed to light the oil lamp.
The dim yellow light instantly dispelled the darkness in a corner of the room.
Mormont held the oil lamp, cautiously approaching the long table.
Each step felt like it was treading on his own heartbeat.
As the light drew closer, the scene on the table gradually became clear.
The cloak covering the corpse had slipped halfway down.
And that corpse, which should have been cold and stiff… Othor… he had suddenly sat up!
His stiff head, at an inhuman angle, slowly turned around.
Those sapphire-like eyes, in the dim lamplight, were staring straight at Mormont.
There was no human emotion in those eyes.
No anger, no sorrow.
Only a pure, cold, dead stillness from the Land of Always Winter.
The ropes on his body, weakened by the icy cold, were brittle.
As the ropes snapped one by one, Othor's body toppled off the table.
"Ah—!"
"Someone, quickly!"
Even Mormont, a veteran of countless battles, couldn't help but be shaken to his core at this moment.
The oil lamp in his hand clattered to the ground, shattering into pieces.
The lamp oil spilled out, and flames instantly shot up, igniting several parchments on the floor.
Mormont scrambled backward, trying to reach for the longsword hanging on the wall.
But the wight was faster than him!
It swiftly lunged at Mormont!
"Get away!"
Mormont grabbed a chair and threw it with all his might.
The wooden chair smashed against the wight's body, instantly splintering into pieces.
But the wight was unharmed.
It didn't even slow down a bit!
It pounced on Mormont, its cold, stiff hands gripping Mormont's throat tightly.
A suffocating chill instantly invaded Mormont's limbs and bones.
"Hoo… hoo…"
Mormont's face turned purple.
He struggled desperately, punching the wight's body.
But it felt like hitting a rock frozen for thousands of years.
No reaction.
It's over.
Only these two words remained in Mormont's mind.
Just as his vision blurred and he was about to suffocate.
"Bang!"
The door of the room was violently forced open from the outside by an irresistible force!
Amidst flying splinters, a black figure rushed in.
"Lord Commander!"
It was Lynn.
Following closely behind him was Jon Snow, holding a torch and looking horrified.
And his pure white Direwolf, Ghost!
"Roar!"
Almost the instant it rushed into the room, Ghost's agile body unhesitatingly pounced on the wight that was gripping Mormont's throat!
Sharp fangs bit fiercely into the wight's arm.
"Crunch!"
The sound wasn't like biting into flesh and blood.
It was more like biting into a hard, dry bone.
The wight's movements paused for a moment due to this sudden attack.
It was this instant!
"Cough… cough cough!"
Mormont's neck loosened, and he greedily inhaled fresh air.
He scrambled backward, his violent coughing making his aged face flush red.
"Jon! Use fire!"
Lynn's voice boomed again.
"Burn it with fire!"
Jon Snow's mind was blank.
Everything happening before his eyes completely overturned his understanding of the world for over a decade.
The dead… they truly had risen.
Those eyes burning with blue flames, that inhuman strength, the biting cold around him… the legends were all true!
Hearing Lynn's roar, he finally snapped out of his daze.
He instinctively raised the torch in his hand.
The wight shook off Ghost from its arm.
It turned around, its ice-blue eyes locking onto Lynn, who was charging at the front.
It seemed to be able to discern who posed the greatest threat.
"Come on!"
Lynn's right hand instinctively reached for the inside of his calf.
There, a dagger was strapped.
A dagger with a dragonglass hilt and a valyrian steel blade!
A fierce glint flashed in Lynn's eyes.
His hand suddenly gripped the cold dragonglass hilt!
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