Chapter 433

The Others could never have guessed that the fire-based magic within the fallen defenders’ bodies—rendering them immune to reanimation—was neither a miracle of R’hllor nor the work of a greenseer. It was the result of an impromptu, desperate measure, conceived and implemented by Crown’s Rest on the very day of the battle, with no certainty of its effectiveness.

After receiving reports from the frontlines in the early hours, the command center convened to revise and expand the town’s defense plans. During the tense meeting, Cobin, a maester who was neither a commander nor a true strategist, raised an outlandish idea: since dragonglass could kill wights, what if it were placed inside the body beforehand? Could a person, upon death and subsequent reanimation, be killed again by the dragonglass within?

This strange, almost absurd suggestion might have been dismissed as idle speculation during quieter times. But in the high-stakes environment of the command room, Aegor found the idea intriguing. Against an enemy that defied logic, why cling to conventional methods?

Surgically implanting dragonglass into every soldier and civilian was impractical, but there was a simpler method to introduce it into the body: ingestion.

The forges of Crown’s Rest, already working overtime to produce dragonsteel bombs, quickly shifted to creating small, pearl-sized spheres of obsidian. These smooth, harmless beads were distributed during dinner, and every individual—soldiers, civilians, and even giants—was ordered to swallow one before battle. The beads would pass harmlessly through the digestive system, emerging intact after a single cycle. Though this meant they wouldn’t remain in the body permanently, the Others’ rapid assaults typically left little time for nature to take its course.

The result, however, was not what Cobin had envisioned. Instead of killing wights post-reanimation, the ingested dragonglass actively disrupted the magic of the Others, hindering their ability to reanimate the dead. The solution to this obstacle was straightforward in theory—either cut open the fallen to remove the beads or expend significant magical energy to neutralize the fire-aligned magic within the dragonglass before continuing the reanimation process. But both options required resources the Others lacked: time and magic, precious commodities with the Wall still standing and dragons en route to the battlefield.

Shocked and frustrated, the Others reported this baffling phenomenon to the Night King. Meanwhile, the distant sounds of human reinforcements—soldiers armed with dragonsteel bombs and arrows—echoed just a street away.
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What the Night King had assumed would be an easy victory turned out to be a well-fortified and resilient foe, a warrior clad in layers of impenetrable armor. Crown’s Rest was no feast; it was a battleground of unrelenting resistance.

Even after unleashing their trump card—the cold magic that nullified wildfire—the wights’ casualties quickly soared into the thousands, far exceeding the Night King’s initial estimates. Still, as long as the losses didn’t surpass the town’s potential for replenishing the undead ranks, the battle could be justified. The giants alone made Crown’s Rest a lucrative target, each one a potential weapon worth a dozen wights.

The Night King, as the mastermind behind the invasion, mirrored Aegor’s role among the Night’s Watch. Both were leaders, strategists, and problem solvers. For every human countermeasure—dragonglass weapons, dragonsteel bombs, wildfire, trebuchets—the Night King devised responses and solutions. But against the newly revealed dragonsteel arrows—an unparalleled blend of destruction and magic—he had found only one foolproof strategy: remain hidden, beyond their range.

Adhering to this strategy, the Night King had stayed in the depths of the wight horde, unperturbed even when Melisandre enchanted Aegor’s dragonsteel arrow with a powerful light spell to reveal his position. The first luminous arrow arced through the sky and struck the ground near the Night King’s forces, yet he remained motionless, observing from afar with a cold smile.

A second radiant arrow followed, accompanied by reports from the Others within the town of their inexplicable difficulties reanimating the dead. The Night King’s confidence began to waver. The battle’s purpose was now unclear: they needed magic to capture Crown’s Rest with minimal losses, yet that same magic was failing to turn the town’s defenders into wights. Without reanimation, attacking the town was a costly endeavor that undermined their ultimate goal of breaching the Wall and invading the realms beyond.

Suddenly, the Night King realized the true intent behind the seemingly wasteful use of dragonsteel arrows. It wasn’t merely an attempt to draw him out but a demonstration of strength, a psychological ploy. The humans were sending a message: they possessed an abundance of these weapons, enough to waste on displays of power. The Others within the walls had walked into a trap and were now isolated, surrounded, and doomed.

The Night King’s instinct was to cut his losses and retreat. However, recalling the eight Others already inside the town, he hesitated. Each was a valuable resource, critical to his ability to command vast numbers of wights. Losing them would cripple his forces, even if the larger battle were won.

For the first time, frustration overcame the Night King’s icy composure. He gripped his ice spear and aimed it toward the walls, only to stop himself. If he wasted such a powerful weapon on mere mortals, it might not be available when he faced dragons. Grinding his teeth, he handed the spear to one of his subordinates and instead picked up a fist-sized stone.

Hurling the rock required no magic, but as a being composed entirely of magical energy, even this simple act released a faint trace of power. That trace was enough for Melisandre to sense.

“Get down!” she screamed.

Unlike their first encounter with the Night King, Aegor needed no prompting to follow the warning. He crouched behind a line of shield-bearers as the projectile struck. The impact shattered a section of the stone parapet, sending shards flying in all directions and knocking over soldiers. The devastation was akin to a small cannon blast. Aegor didn’t doubt that, without the parapet, the attack would have obliterated him.

“Where is he?” Aegor demanded.

Melisandre’s voice trembled with urgency. “North of where the second arrow fell—over a thousand feet away!”

Aegor’s mind raced. That distance exceeded the range of any bow. But it was well within the capabilities of his trebuchets. Designed specifically for scenarios where arrows couldn’t reach, the trebuchets had been equipped with dragonsteel bombs as their payloads. This was the moment they had been prepared for.

“Trebuchets! Load dragonsteel bombs! Distance: eleven hundred feet. Shorten the fuses!”

The crew moved with practiced precision, igniting the fuses and releasing the counterweights in near-perfect unison. Two dragonsteel bombs arced into the sky, chasing the path of the luminous arrow Aegor had fired moments earlier.