Chapter 30:
The Wall, Black Castle.
The night was as black as ink. The howling cold wind whipped up swirling ice crystals that stung the face like knives. Yet even this wind could not drown out the hair-raising roars coming from below the Wall.
"Roar——!!!"
These were not wildlings.
These were the dead.
Lord Commander Jon Snow was covered in blood (black corpse blood). His Valyrian steel sword Longclaw had grown somewhat dull from constant hacking. He stood before the iron grate of the elevator, staring down in despair.
Countless pairs of glowing blue eyes flickered in the darkness.
Hordes of wights, as numerous as ants, formed human ladders and frantically climbed the Wall. They knew no fatigue, no pain. As long as a head remained, they would keep biting and tearing.
"Fire! Use the wildfire!"
Ser Alliser Thorne roared from the other side, but his voice was quickly swallowed.
"We're out of oil! All the barrels have been thrown!" Edd the Doleful shouted. "There are too many! We can't kill them all!"
Boom!
A loud crash echoed as the massive oak gates at the base of the Wall groaned in agony.
A dead giant, its body covered in rotting flesh, was swinging enormous icicles and madly slamming against the final barrier.
"The gate won't hold!"
Samwell Tarly clutched several dragonglass daggers, collapsing into the snow in tears. "We're going to die… Jon, we're all going to die…"
Jon took a deep breath and gripped his sword tighter.
He glanced at Ghost beside him. Even the loyal direwolf showed fear — animals instinctively dreaded these abominations against nature.
"Brothers of the Night's Watch!"
Jon's voice was hoarse but resolute. "If we die here, the South is finished! For the realm! For humanity!"
"Our vows are until death!"
"Until death!!!"
The remaining hundred or so brothers let out a final, mournful cry and raised their swords, preparing to meet death.
Just as the corpse giant was about to smash through the gate, just as the first wight's hand clawed onto the top of the Wall —
Thump! Thump! Thump!
A strange, highly penetrating drumbeat suddenly came from the Kingsroad to the south.
It didn't sound like war drums — more like the precise mechanical heartbeat of some machine.
Then the ground began to tremble slightly.
Jon whipped his head around.
Through the wind and snow, he saw a sight he would never forget in his lifetime.
In the darkness, countless torches lit up at once, forming a winding fire dragon.
Under this firelight, an army dressed in black uniforms and marching in terrifyingly precise formation advanced through the snow with heavy steps.
There were no battle cries — only the synchronized sound of footsteps.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
At the front of the column, a huge banner fluttered wildly in the wind.
Black background, golden lion, and… a sword pointing straight at the sky.
The battle flag of House Pompey.
"Is that… reinforcements?" Edd froze. "But what are they holding? Fire pokers?"
"All units — halt!"
Victor Pompey rode a black warhorse and stopped three hundred paces from the wight horde. He drew his command saber, his voice amplified by a speaking trumpet and cutting through the battlefield.
"First rank! Kneel!"
"Second rank! Stand!"
Clatter!
The five hundred musketeer grenadiers instantly assumed battle formation. Five hundred black muzzles aimed at the still-roaring wights.
Jon Snow stared in shock. "What are they doing? At that distance, even arrows can't reach…"
Victor's lips curled into a cold, cruel smile.
He looked at the monsters still gnashing their teeth as if they were nothing more than moving targets.
"Let these rotten meats witness what human wisdom looks like."
"Fire!"
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
At that moment, the night sky above Black Castle was completely illuminated by orange muzzle flashes!
The staccato gunfire merged into one continuous roar, like the descent of the Thunder God!
Jon instinctively covered his ears.
Then he witnessed a horrifying scene.
The wights that had been ferociously advancing, fearless of blades, were suddenly slapped back by an invisible giant hand the moment the white smoke rose!
The first few hundred wights in the front were instantly torn apart!
The massive kinetic energy of the lead bullets shredded rotting flesh, snapped bones, and blew off skulls.
This wasn't a battle.
This was an execution.
This was the art of line firing.
"Reload!"
"Second volley — fire!"
Another thunderous roar.
The wight assault was brutally halted. The unknown power called "gunpowder" forced even these pain-immune monsters to stagger backward.
But it wasn't enough.
The corpse giant still slamming the gate remained a massive threat.
Victor turned and looked toward the artillery position behind him.
And at Melisandre standing beside the cannons.
"Red Woman, give these 'God's Fury' cannons a little extra spice," Victor shouted. "I want that giant turned to ash!"
Melisandre gazed at the cold bronze cannons, her eyes shining with fanatical light. She ran her hands over the barrels and chanted in High Valyrian.
"Lord of Light, bestow flame upon this steel…"
A faint red glow appeared on the cannon barrels.
"Target: the giant!"
"Fire!!!"
BOOM——!!!
A roar a hundred times louder than the gunfire shook the snow off the Wall in massive sheets!
Several magically enchanted solid iron cannonballs, wrapped in dark red flames, screamed through the air!
They struck with perfect accuracy!
Thud!
The first shot blew off the corpse giant's right shoulder, sending the entire arm flying.
Boom!
The second shot hit it square in the chest!
Under the terrifying kinetic energy and magical flames, the several-ton monster exploded!
Countless chunks of flesh scattered with flames, like a blooming flower of blood and meat!
"Roar——!!!"
The giant let out one final agonized cry before its massive body collapsed, turning into a pile of burning sludge.
The battlefield fell into deathly silence.
Whether the Night's Watch or the remaining wights, everyone stopped moving.
Even the White Walker riding a dead horse far away in the woods showed a rare expression of confusion on its eternally frozen face.
What kind of magic was this?
Why was there no magical fluctuation, yet such terrifying destructive power?
Victor blew on the nonexistent smoke from his saber and sheathed it.
He rode forward to the base of the Wall and looked up at the stunned Lord Commander.
"Jon Snow!"
Victor's voice carried a hint of mockery.
"Is this how the Night's Watch welcomes guests? Making them clean up the garbage themselves?"
Jon swallowed hard, looking at the scattered corpse remains and then at the god-like man before him.
"You are… Lord Pompey?"
"Yes."
Victor pointed at the still-smoking cannons behind him.
"Open the gate."
"Winter may have come, but I brought something even more temperamental than winter."
"From today onward, this Wall…"
Victor drew the greatsword King's Landing and pointed it north.
"…belongs to House Pompey."
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