Chapter 441: A Cornered Beast Fighting On
Dragons soared through the sky on the edge of visibility.
Both their massive size and the intense waves of magical energy they radiated made them as conspicuous as lanterns in the dark; even as the night deepened, they remained clearly visible. They were tantalizingly close, yet for some reason, they refused to cross that final distance and fly into range.
While sensing the location and movements of the three dragons and gnashing his teeth at their cautious maneuvering, the High Priest of the Great Other felt a dense presence of life beginning to appear at the end of the road far to the southwest.
Either it was a fortress built alongside the Kingsroad, or it was a human army arriving after hearing the news. Whichever it was, the path south was now blocked!
This was the worst possible consequence of the plan's bankruptcy: the lightning strike on the Wall had failed, the contingency plans continued to meet frustration, and step by step, the situation had finally reached total defeat. Unknowingly, they—who were meant to be the natural enemies of mankind and the destroyers of the world—had fallen into a position where they were about to be pincered and eliminated by their prey. Despite being hundreds of miles from the Wall, that magical wall of ice standing beyond visual range remained a constant reminder to the priests of the Great Other of the meaning of despair.
Unable to use themselves as bait to lure the three dragons into an attack, they had no hope of victory in an engagement with the Night's Watch, who were equipped with all manner of counter-measures. Yet, to continue south meant moving closer to that vital threshold of magic concentration while simultaneously facing the obstruction of another human army of unknown status. Truly, death lay in either direction, making the choice agonizing.
From a god's eye or satellite perspective, the priests of the Great Other actually had a safer way to escape the crisis: leave the main road and retreat west into the Wolfswood, relying on the dense forests and the complex terrain of the mountain clans' lands to evade human pursuit. By staying north of the red line of magic concentration, they could slowly recover their mana and linger on, waiting for a turn of fortune.
However, this plan not only violated the Great Other's final command but also faced another, more practical and fatal difficulty: though the wights required no rest, controlling them was not as easy as imagined.
Aside from a small number of intelligent wights—such as those who feigned death to infiltrate Castle Black and assassinate the Lord Commander—who were converted immediately upon death and injected with extra mana to retain cognitive and central control functions, most wights were merely trunks forcibly awakened by mana. They were puppets, nothing more, capable only of acting according to the caster's will. Because their brains were long decayed or damaged, these pure-puppet desiccated wights lacked even animal-level reasoning. While this reduced the mana required for movement to a minimum, the downside was that every action had to be remotely commanded by the Others.
A simple comparison clarifies the difference: in this pursuit after the Night King's death, the command Egger gave the Gift's army was Follow the main body and pursue the enemy; do not fall behind. As for how to execute that order, every soldier could use their own brain to judge. The commands the priests of the Great Other gave the wights, however, had to be far more specific: "Left foot," "Right foot," "Maintain balance," "Left foot again," "Right foot again"...
Relying on magical thinking organs of super-low temperature composed of pure energy, the Others possessed a computational power far exceeding the human brain, allowing them to act as the cognitive center for a vast number of wights without issue... provided mana was sufficient. Once the complexity of the commands increased, the computational pressure on the Others spiked, causing mana consumption to accelerate—which naturally meant a rapid shortening of their lifespan in a low-magic environment.
When attacking the Night's Watch's defenses at the Great Gorge, backed by the support of infinite cold magic, the priests were like laptops plugged into a power source in High Performance Mode, able to micro-manage every wight to minimize casualties and maximize results. But once they crossed the Wall into the lands south, unplugged and relying only on their internal batteries, they had to switch to Power Saving Mode, using every spark of mana with cautious precision.
Leaving the main road for the forests and mountains would merely mean a more tiring journey and poorer visibility for the pursuing human army. With a greenseer and skinchangers in the fight, there was no fear of losing the enemy or walking into an ambush. But for the priests whose mana was already hitting rock bottom, micro-managing thousands of wights through complex terrain and navigating individual obstacles was like trying to run a high-demand game on 5% battery. It was a life-burning struggle that wouldn't actually lose the pursuers and would likely lead to them fading away from exhaustion before being caught. It simply wasn't a viable option.
With no way to break the deadlock and facing a pincer attack with no retreat, the High Priest, forced to continue his night march south, felt a strange sensation of combined helplessness and desolation ripple through his body and mind.
He did not fear death, but he was troubled and vexed that his purpose for existing could not be fulfilled.
However, after sensing the mana remaining in his body—still relatively plentiful due to his careful conservation—the discouragement that had nearly filled him was slowly replaced by a resolute sense of impending sacrifice: If using himself as bait wouldn't work, what about adding the lives of the enemies blocking the path ahead?
Tomorrow's battle would either be the end of the struggle between Ice and Fire after a thousand years, or it would become the turning point to snatch victory from defeat. Even if they lost, they would fall magnificently!
The sun rose again.
Following Egger's persuasion and the support of others, the coalition had camped around the Queen and her three dragons, enduring another night in the biting wind. According to the plan, they rose at the first light of dawn to eat and set out early, following the tracks of the wight army along the Kingsroad, which were nearly covered by fresh snow.
In just one night, the snow already trodden flat by the wights had regained a depth that covered the ankles, making every step of the soldiers and every rotation of the wagon wheels incredibly difficult. But no one complained. On the contrary, everyone was thankful; things could have been worse.
Thanks to the ample manpower after the Gift took in the freefolk and the comprehensive pre-war defense plans, maintenance crews had been clearing snow from this road up until the very day the war broke out.
Now, that seemingly wasted effort showed its immense value: the snow banks cleared and piled on either side were over a man's height, looking like two beautiful white levees guarding the passage. In the center was the significantly lower roadbed of the Kingsroad. This prominent feature made the path unmistakable even in a landscape of pure white; one could not get lost even without a guide.
The howling cold wind swept in from the west, carrying countless snowflakes; it was another ordinary, sunless day in the dead of winter. The five thousand men of the Gift, guarded by three dragons, marched south. By the end of the morning, they had seen no sign of the enemy. After half a day of marching in the afternoon, they still saw only the increasingly clear footprints on the ground. Finally, as if by magic—just as Egger had guessed—half an hour before dark, the gray mass of the wight army appeared in the vision of the birds controlled by the skinchangers.
After a whole day of exhausting forced marching that had left their legs numb, the distance between the pursuit force and the enemy had, quite conveniently, neither increased nor decreased. Could this be a coincidence?
Daenerys certainly didn't think so. Faced with the facts, the young Queen had no further doubts. When the army halted to prepare their meals, she silently and voluntarily called her three dragons back to the ground, never again mentioning a proactive sortie.
As columns of cookfire smoke rose into the snowy sky, the soldiers waiting for dinner and rest were met with news that made their hamstrings go weak: Egger ordered the Gift's army not to pitch tents or prepare for the night. After finishing dinner, they would continue the pursuit under the cover of darkness to end this damned war before dawn.
It wasn't that the Lord Commander had suddenly been struck by a burst of overconfidence, thinking five thousand soldiers could win a field engagement against over ten thousand wights in the dark. Rather, according to the location reported by Bran Stark, the first wave of Northern reinforcements led by Robb Stark had halted not far to the south after receiving the raven's message. Judging by the speed of the wight army, if they continued along the road, they would inevitably collide with the prepared Northern vanguard a few hours before dawn. The latter would pin the target down for an unknown duration, but they could never win alone. No matter how tired they were after a day of frantic marching, the army of the Gift had to grit their teeth and push forward to settle everything tonight!
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