GOT: Chapter 242/243

Chapter 242: Bloody Battle Behind the Wall

"Ser Jaime... the portcullis... it's down!"

"I see it!" Jaime snapped irritably, turning to look at the thousands of Wildlings crowded at the gate. He understood why Jeor Mormont had given this order: Castle Black, after its renovations and reinforced walls, was indeed much sturdier, but at the cost of reducing its area to a fraction of what it once was. Stationing over a thousand members of the Night's Watch and the Grey Area Citizens' militia already pushed it to capacity... If these Wildlings were allowed through the Wall without being disarmed, even if they somehow didn't bring anything from outside the fence in with them, they would still pose a massive threat to Castle Black itself.

What's more, those inhuman creatures beyond the Wall had already begun ramming the gate and climbing the wooden barricades. If the portcullis were raised to allow people in, there would be no one left to hold them off…

Rather than opening the gate and letting a panicked mob surge through—only to be attacked from behind while facing away from the enemy—it was better not to let anyone through at all, forcing everyone to pick up weapons and fight back.

Jaime, born of a noble house, could understand this from a strategic perspective. But that didn't mean the other Night's Watch brothers who accompanied him outside the Wall to enforce the order—or the refugees who had just fled in terror from the Haunted Forest—could understand as well. Large groups of Wildlings gathered before the lowered gate, shouting, protesting, and calling for the gate to be lifted, speaking in the Common Tongue, the Old Tongue, and other languages Jaime didn't understand at all.

"Silence!" The Kingslayer stood before the gate and shouted, "Even if we lift the gate, at most only one-tenth of us would escape! Pick up your weapons and drive back the creatures chasing you! Only then do we stand a chance!"

"Who are you to command us?"

"Just a bloody crow! Get out of the way!"

With the sharp sound of a weapon being drawn and a flash of steel, the Wildling who had raised a wooden club at Jaime fell, blood gushing from his neck. Jaime cut him down with a single blow, realizing he couldn't reason with the Wildlings in front of him. Holding his bloodied sword, he took a deep breath, gathered his words, and bellowed, "You sons of bitches! You've got two choices: pick up your weapons and push those things outside the Wall back, then pass through safely—or I'll cut down every last one of you like this bastard here!"

Jaime had never imagined he'd shout such vulgarities one day, but the insults and threats proved highly effective. Seeing his bloodied sword, and the other black-cloaked soldiers around him watching grimly, the tribesmen who understood the Common Tongue were the first to go quiet. They quickly translated Jaime's words into the Old Tongue for the rest—those from deeper Beyond the Wall and the remaining Giants... Slowly, the crowd began turning around, picking up weapons and facing the wooden wall that was already on the verge of collapse under the assault of the wights.

They weren't swayed by Jaime's words or suddenly enlightened. The truth was simple and brutal: the reinforced gate of Castle Black, now wrapped in layers of iron and bars, was too heavy to open quickly. Behind them, the wights were about to break through. This fight wasn't about obeying a golden-haired crow or protecting the realm—it was a battle for their own lives and the survival of the kin beside them.

In the freezing snow, the Wildlings and dozens of Night's Watch brothers huddled within the wooden palisade, arming themselves with whatever weapons they could find, lighting as many bonfires and torches as they could...

But before their preparations were complete, the main gate of the wooden palisade collapsed under the pressure of hundreds of wights. With a thunderous crash, the gate fell, and the dead swarmed in.


---

"Jaime's trapped outside the Wall?" Aegor gasped when he heard the news. "Why him?"

The soldier being questioned shook his head helplessly. "There's no 'why'... It was just his turn on duty today."

That was bad. Very bad. Aegor's expression tightened. Jaime was a Ranger Captain, and he seemed perfectly content with the role—dutiful, loyal, and strictly obedient to orders from above. It made sense that it was his turn to go beyond the Wall to disarm Wildlings.

He might see himself as just an ordinary Ranger Captain, but if anything happened to him, it wouldn't just be the loss of a mid-level Night's Watch officer. It would shake the entire realm. The Westerlands might never again consider aiding the Night's Watch... What if Tywin Lannister believed this was a Northern plot to murder his son? Then all Seven Kingdoms would fall into deeper chaos.

Jeor Mormont also realized how serious this was. "We must find a way to rescue him."

"He won't come up alone. Bring up all the oil drums from the warehouse. We have to push this wave of wights back at all costs." Aegor understood Jaime's character and shook his head. If only that batch of solidified Wildfire from King's Landing were here... Nina had arranged for ships to deliver it to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, but the legion had been too busy receiving Wildlings lately to spare the manpower needed to transport such dangerous cargo. "Try to surround the wooden palisade with fire and use this chance to cover the brothers below as they retreat through the Wall!"


---

As the designated spot for confiscating Wildling weapons, the wooden palisade had all sorts of tools and supplies on hand. The few remaining Giants, the Wildling warriors, and spearwives quickly armed themselves, shielding the non-combatants—young boys and girls—in the inner circle... Most didn't hold blades, but rather torches drawn from the bonfires, preparing to fight with fire.

The wights surged through the collapsed gate, staggering forward toward the huddled survivors inside.

"Don't bunch up!" Jaime roared. "Spread out and charge!"

If they continued to huddle together, even if the wights were set ablaze, those in the center would still be in danger. The more clear-headed Wildlings quickly reacted and let out battle cries, charging alongside him.

"Kill!"

"Burn them to ashes!"

"@#￥%&!"

Roars erupted in a jumble of tongues and accents, the whinnying of shaggy ponies, barking hounds, the thunderous bellows of Giants—all mixed together into an indistinguishable clamor. A medium-sized wight Direwolf with matted fur was the first to leap toward the crowd. Its strength had grown as a wight, but its agility had waned. Jaime sidestepped it, his arm muscles flexing beneath his armor like steel. His sword sliced into the creature's neck, nearly decapitating it.

The Direwolf wight crashed to the ground, immediately swarmed by Wildlings stabbing at it with burning torches. It turned into a writhing fireball, knocking down several people before going still.

The Kingslayer's exceptional skill and fearless presence helped prevent the battle from collapsing immediately. The Wildling warriors and spearwives around him, emboldened by his example, fought alongside him. Survival instinct drove the Wildlings to cluster around him, gritting their teeth and battling the inhuman enemy with everything they had.

Their shouts and bravery began to stir those cowering behind them. One by one, young Wildlings hiding in the crowd found courage, roaring as they joined the fray.

A shout, followed by a sword, a hammer, or a torch—those who reacted fast could avoid a wight's strike and face the next foe. Those who moved too slowly were brought down, blood spraying... The losses were heavy, but that was the nature of battle among the untrained Wildlings.

More and more wights flooded in through the broken gate, and the battle spread from the palisade entrance into the heart of the camp. The few Giants who didn't know how to retreat were quickly surrounded, overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemies. Every few seconds, another person fell. Another wight turned into a blazing torch. Alongside the screams and shouts were the sounds of burning flesh, cracking bone, and steel slashing through corpses—a grotesque symphony of war.

Luckily, no White Walkers had joined the fight. With only wights attacking, the defenders' desperate stand—or perhaps more accurately, a cornered counterattack—was barely enough to stop the undead from turning the battlefield into a massacre.

But though their morale surged briefly, their situation hadn't changed. They still had nowhere to retreat. They couldn't carve out an escape path. They were stuck in a hopeless, bloody war of attrition, fighting with raw courage and the hope that Castle Black would open the gate.

As the wooden walls around them began to collapse, dark, massive figures emerged at the edge of the Haunted Forest—Corpse Giants had entered the fray.

And now, the tide of battle was about to turn.

(To be continued.)

Chapter 243: The First Battle of Ice and Fire

The wights tore down large sections of the wooden palisade and began charging into the camp from all directions. The living were forced to retreat step by step, soon finding themselves in a desperate situation, relying only on the debris within the enclosure, bonfires, and the flesh and blood of their comrades for cover.

The situation was dire, but the continuous explosions and bursts of fire still boosted morale. A single barrel of oil could inflict more damage on the wights than a dozen Kingslayers, but even more powerful than the explosions was the psychological comfort provided by the support coming from the top of the Wall: those above hadn't abandoned them.


---

From atop the Wall, two hundred meters high, the Night's Watch sentries worked tirelessly to hurl oil barrels and provide covering fire with fire arrows. A wall of fire would provide ideal cover for the survivors below, but the enormous height difference made accurate strikes nearly impossible. It was difficult to ensure that the barrels didn't land too far away or explode among the survivors. Due to these concerns, many oil barrels landed outside the wooden palisade, igniting only scattered flames around the perimeter. The wights simply skirted around them, unable to form a complete barrier.

Just as the Night's Watch looked down helplessly at the battlefield below, wanting to help but unable to do more, a soft, slightly languid female voice rose behind them.

"My friends of the Night's Watch, I hear... you've run into some trouble?"

...

Unbeknownst to them, Melisandre had arrived at the top via the cage lift.

"Thousands of lives are on the verge of being lost to the wights below." Upon seeing the Red Priestess, Aegor seemed to grasp a ray of hope. He explained, "We're trying to use oil barrels to form a ring of fire around the wooden palisade, but we can't throw them accurately enough, and... the fire isn't strong enough."

"I understand." The Red Priestess didn't waste any time discussing the fate of thousands of lives. She smiled and walked slowly and unhurriedly to the edge of the Wall, looking down.

The hastily built wooden palisade had already collapsed by nearly half under the wights' assault. The desperate defense held by courage alone had failed to make the undead and the wight-ified beasts retreat or even hesitate. The black-cloaked men and Wildlings who had taken shelter inside were being compressed into a semicircle by the enemy. The outermost warriors were constantly being wounded or killed, the formation shrinking like a ball of mud being washed away by the tide.

The situation was clear. Melisandre quickly looked up. "It seems the people below do need help."

Jeor Mormont spoke in a low voice, his face full of displeasure. "Priestess, if you and your so-called Red God have any useful tricks, use them now. Don't waste time with meaningless words."

"Thank you for the welcome. Since the Lord Commander has requested it, I shall, of course, offer assistance." Melisandre nodded, raising her hands, which had been folded before her, and displayed them for all to see. "I shall ask R'hllor for aid, though whether he will intervene is beyond my control."


---

The so-called "asking R'hllor for aid" was, of course, just a facade. How could a true god respond to every prayer, let alone intervene personally?

Melisandre had stayed at the Wall for some time now, always seeking an opportunity to demonstrate her power and gain influence. However, the men of the Night's Watch were unlike the nobles and common folk of the South. They were used to strange occurrences, and ordinary tricks and illusions wouldn't impress or fool them.

Instead of wasting away her days, she might as well expend some precious magic to make them revere the Lord of Light. Even if it didn't make the Night's Watch obey her commands, it would make it easier to spread the faith among the Grey Area Citizens... After all, for some unknown reason, her magic seemed to recover far more quickly here at the Wall than it ever did in the South.

...

The Red Priestess understood the stakes clearly. She lowered her head, gazing at the dying Wildlings and black-cloaked soldiers struggling below the Wall, and began to stir the magic within her.

There were already flames and combustibles on the ground below. Melisandre sifted through her memory and selected an enhancement spell. It was a simple fire spell, one that any magician with talent could learn through training. But casting it from a height of two hundred meters, and intensifying the flames enough to block the wights' tide... with those added conditions, even the simplest spell became a tremendous challenge.

However, as one of the most powerful Red Priests in the world, Melisandre was confident she could do it.

She focused, softly chanting an incantation. It had been too long since she'd cast a spell of this magnitude. The magic surging through her brought a sharp sting she hadn't felt in ages. She guided and shaped it, releasing invisible fire energy from her body, stretching like tendrils toward the battlefield below...

The officers of the Night's Watch watched her as if she were performing a play. Some even began to show anger at her apparent theatrics. But the soldiers along the edge of the Wall, who had been firing rockets downward, suddenly cried out in shock.

Below, the flames ignited by the scattered oil barrels around the wooden palisade suddenly surged several meters high. Not only did they grow several times brighter, but they also spread to the collapsed wooden walls and gate planks. The fire expanded rapidly, like a serpent slithering across the battlefield, igniting the entire wooden palisade and forming a ring of fire over two meters wide. It completely cut off the hundreds and thousands of wights outside from those in the inner circle, who were still fighting hand to hand with the living.

This was clearly no ordinary fire. Perhaps Wildfire could spread this quickly, but it certainly couldn't create such intense flames instantly...

Everyone turned to look at the Red Priestess in astonishment. This witch... she truly had power!

The roaring fire instantly devoured dozens of wights that had been standing atop the wooden planks, dividing the army of the dead into two groups—those trapped inside, and those outside. Fewer than a hundred wights remained within the circle. Under the fierce counterattack of the reinvigorated defenders, they quickly turned to charred flesh, crumbling bones, or flaming wreckage. It seemed the Wildlings might survive after all.

"Keep throwing oil barrels." Melisandre was using all her strength to maintain the spell but made sure to speak in a relaxed, effortless tone, encouraging those around her to feel awe and reverence. "Even R'hllor cannot conjure such fire from nothing. There must be fuel for it to continue."

Faced with the truth before him, Jeor Mormont had no choice but to believe her. The Lord Commander turned and shouted to the surrounding soldiers, "What are you staring at? Keep throwing!"

Aegor felt the wave of heat radiating from Melisandre and leaned out again to observe the situation below. The flames continued to blaze furiously, quickly engulfing the entire wooden wall. The sound of the palisade collapsing under the fire was clear and distinct. In terms of sheer intensity, not even dozens of jars of Wildfire could compare.

The wights had no minds of their own, but whatever controlled them clearly wasn't stupid. Seeing that none of their puppets could make it through the blaze, the wights at the edges of the battlefield all halted simultaneously. Some even took two steps back, loosening their formation to lessen the damage from the fire arrows.

"My Lord, open the gate now! We can still save them!" someone called out.

"But there are so many of them... more than all the people we have in Castle Black and the Mountain Clans combined. What if—"

"Pass on my order. Castle Black is at highest alert. Raise the gate one man high." Jeor Mormont issued the command with a grim face. "Tell the brothers at the gate, the moment they hear the horn later, they are to lower it immediately!"

...

The gate rose slightly—just over a meter. Excited shouts from below could be heard even at the top of the Wall. Though the Wildlings had suffered heavy casualties in the bloody battle, they were no longer the panicked, disorganized mob fleeing the Haunted Forest. Whether under the command of Jaime and other Night's Watch members, or acting on their own initiative, the warriors and spearwives now guarded the perimeter, allowing the children and injured to pass through first.

The crisis seemed to be easing with Melisandre's intervention. But the Red Priestess, who was still maintaining the towering wall of flame, suddenly changed her expression. She raised her head and looked toward the edge of the Haunted Forest. "They're here."

Jeor Mormont followed her gaze but saw nothing. "Who? What is it?"

A familiar chill suddenly prickled across his skin. Aegor, having felt this before, immediately understood what the witch meant. He turned his eyes toward the forest's edge and couldn't see the White Walkers, but he did catch a glint of pale, icy light at the edge of his vision. The fear returned instantly. And faced with that overwhelming danger, he didn't hesitate—he shoved the Red Priestess hard, using all his strength.

(To be continued.)