They talked about how to distribute food, how to survive the winter, and even how to counterattack the Flatlanders.
Kopi just kept silently smiling, nodding. Each nod was like cutting his own flesh with a knife.
Several times he wanted to roar out the truth, but as soon as he closed his eyes, he could see Arthur's emotionless eyes, the dark, cold crossbow bolts on the mountain wall, and the smiling faces of his tribesmen.
He repeatedly whispered to himself in his heart: "For survival."
"For the Shuren Tribe."
At dusk, they finally arrived at Drywind Gorge. Over six hundred warriors from the Stonefist and Moonho tribes entered in single file.
The wildlings completely lowered their guard, just as Kopi, son of Gern, had said.
Indeed, large quantities of wood and dry grass were piled in the gorge, and there were several large sacks of grain in the corner. Everything was as Kopi had described, a perfect temporary refuge. The wildlings completely lowered their guard. They lit bonfires, and huge flames shot into the sky.
They celebrated around the bonfires, dancing, drinking, roaring in celebration for the good days to come, for the impending recapture of their homeland.
Kopi and his tribesmen, however, sat silently closest to the exit, drinking clear water.
As night deepened, most of the reveling wildlings were either drunk or sound asleep. Kopi stood up, and facing his tribesmen, facing the noisy depths of the gorge, he silently moved his lips.
Then, he led all his Shuren Tribe warriors, without alarming anyone, quietly left Drywind Gorge.
"Ming!"
Just as they had climbed to the top of the gorge, a sharp horn blast pierced the night sky, shaking heaven and earth.
Immediately after, countless flaming arrows, like a meteor shower falling from the high heavens, whistled down from the dark mountain walls on both sides of the gorge.
Boom!! The entire gorge was illuminated, the dark night turning to day.
Kopi looked back with tears, watching the bottom of the gorge instantly ignite, the entire Drywind Gorge transforming into a giant, bright incinerator.
Arthur had buried not only grain but also large quantities of lamp oil beneath the wood and ground. The flames, like a greedy dragon, devoured everything. Desperate, agonizing screams rose into the sky, heart-wrenching, but quickly drowned out by the roar of the fire.
Those lives that had just been celebrating were now struggling in the sea of fire, running like human torches, ultimately collapsing powerlessly.
Kopi stood in the cold wind on the high ground, the firelight flickering on his face. He had no expression.
But he knew that from tonight onwards, there would be no High Mountain Clan alliance in the Brightmoon Mountains, and no place for the Shuren Tribe.
There would only be cursed traitors, only the kneeling Shuren Tribe loyal to the Black Lion, Arthur.
On the high ground on the other side of the gorge, Rosso Brun's face was pale. He looked at the hellish scene in the sea of fire, his stomach churning.
He lowered his head, clutching the seven-pointed star pendant on his chest, his lips moving as he silently recited prayers to the Seven Gods. Although he didn't truly believe in the Seven Gods, it was more about integrating into the Westeros noble system.
But at this moment, he still chose to lower his head, not to witness it all.
He had experienced countless battles, killed countless people, and severed countless limbs, but such an efficient destruction by flames, such a terrible sight, still made him tremble to the depths of his soul.
However, the soldiers beside him, especially those who had first followed Arthur, whose families had been killed and homes destroyed by wildlings, had expressions of vengeful satisfaction. The reason they followed Arthur was precisely to await this moment.
They roared, cursed, and laughed wildly, snatching crossbows from the hands of the new settlers who were stunned and motionless by the sight before them. They shot arrow after arrow at the figures who had miraculously escaped from the edge of the inferno, accurately pinning them to the ground and rock walls, forcing them back into the flames to be scorched.
Arthur stood at the forefront, expressionless, the firelight dancing in his dark pupils. The flames had once again given him a premonition; he had once again seen an image in the fire.
But this time, he calmly watched it all, trying to discern the content of the premonition. Yet in the eyes of Rosso Brun and the soldiers, their lord seemed to be appreciating a painting composed of wildling death and fire.
This once again refreshed Rosso Brun's understanding of this lord. He swallowed, thinking that even the great lords might not be as composed as this young lord.
The next morning, when the thick fog dispersed and the first rays of sunlight shone into the gorge, it had already become scorched earth. A pungent smell of burning permeated the air. The charred bodies of wildlings were piled together in various twisted postures, and smoke still rose from the piles.
Some wildlings with extremely tenacious vitality crawled out from under the piles of bodies, from collapsed caves, and from cracks in the rocks. They were covered in burns, barely clothed, their eyes hollow, like devils crawling out of hell.
They looked at everything before them with desperate wails.
Arthur's cold voice rang out, devoid of emotion, even though the horrific scene before him shocked even him:
"Gather them all in the middle."
The soldiers rushed down like wolves and tigers, roughly herding these survivors into an open space in the center of the gorge. Men, women, old, and young were brutally separated. There were not many survivors, only about a hundred.
A soldier came to report: "Sir, counting is complete. Forty-three male wildlings, fifty-two female wildlings, and some children."
Arthur slowly walked down the high ground. His shoes crunched on the hot ashes, making a rustling sound. Everyone watched him. He tried to detach himself from the current environment and calm down.
He walked to the surviving wildlings, his gaze sweeping over their faces, which were filled with fear or numbness, yet all bore hatred.
He walked up to a female wildling warrior who was holding a male wildling warrior and crying uncontrollably, then glanced at a male wildling warrior nearby who tried to stand up but fell because his leg was pierced by a crossbow bolt.
Arthur turned his head and gave the final order to all the soldiers around him: "Anyone taller than a wagon wheel, leave none."
As soon as he finished speaking, he paused, pondering for a moment.
"Anyone who can speak, leave none."
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