Chapter 427

Perception is mutual.

When White Walkers expend magic, human sorcerers can sense the ripples of energy to pinpoint their location. It’s a fair exchange—just as Makiro’s continuous spellcasting during his approach had revealed his presence, the Frost God’s priests had likewise detected him.

(A squad of humans is crossing the battlefield toward us, including a powerful sorcerer.)

The two Frost God priests—more accurately, the "Eastern Commanders of the Undead Army"—had already assessed the situation minutes earlier. Yet they neither fled nor concealed themselves. They stayed for a mix of practical and instinctive reasons.

Practically, they had recently expended vast amounts of magic to breach Eastwatch’s fire defenses and enable the wights to storm the fortress. Now, they were painstakingly micromanaging the thousands of undead to assault the stairway to the Wall. With their magic reserves drained and the Wall’s magic suppression field slowing their recovery, they needed to remain closer to the fortress to maintain precise control over their forces.

Subjectively, as servants of their respective gods, both the priests of the Frost God and the priests of R’hllor were driven by an inherent duty and instinct to annihilate one another.

Makiro, a highly skilled Red Priest, posed a tremendous threat to the wights, especially with the Wall’s fire-magic-friendly environment. Against an adequately prepared sorcerer like him, the wights stood no chance—if he chose to engage in street fighting or defend the stairway, he could hold the undead at bay until his magic ran dry. Capturing the Wall’s summit would be impossible.

But instead of retreating or protecting the stairs, Makiro was marching straight toward them, seemingly eager to court death. To the White Walkers, this was a golden opportunity.

If he’s come to die, let us finish this here and now.
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Though White Walkers possess magical reserves dozens of times greater than the most gifted human sorcerers, much of that magic is consumed merely to sustain their physical forms. Only a fraction is available for active use. Moments earlier, they had spent nearly all of it on the battlefield. With the Wall’s suppression still active, recovery was excruciatingly slow.

But even without magic, the White Walkers retained the Frost God’s most formidable gift: their bodies. Far surpassing humans in strength, speed, stamina, and resilience—practically immune to most forms of magic—they were devastating warriors, even without spells.

Unlike the servants of R’hllor, Frost God priests didn’t need magic to dominate. They were killing machines by nature.
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The heat radiating from Makiro and his squad was unmistakable, even after he ceased casting spells to mask his presence. The White Walkers, aided by the warm breaths of the humans, quickly pinpointed their position. The moment a soldier peeked over the parapet, a stone hurled with supernatural force struck its target.

A direct hit!

Unfortunately for the White Walkers, their prey, the Red Priest, remained hidden behind the battlements. Makiro, drenched in the blood of his fallen companion, did not flinch. Instead, he tossed a torch over the wall and chanted a spell. The torch ignited mid-air, transforming into a brilliant flare that illuminated the battlefield below like daylight.

"Unsullied, attack!" Makiro bellowed.

Without hesitation, the disciplined Unsullied rose from cover, inspiring the accompanying Night’s Watch soldiers to follow suit. In the flare’s light, two pale, humanoid figures astride undead horses came into view, standing a mere dozen meters from the wall. The defenders unleashed a hail of spears, arrows, and grenades, praying that one of their attacks would find its mark.
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The White Walkers’ crystalline skin, hardened before their approach, absorbed the full brunt of the assault. Their armor, a fusion of ice and magic, was tougher than any natural material. Dragonglass-tipped weapons shattered on impact, and grenades filled with dragonglass shrapnel failed to penetrate their reinforced bodies. Only their undead mounts succumbed, collapsing into heaps of flesh and bone.

Unscathed, the White Walkers rose from the wreckage, scanning the wall for the Red Priest. When they couldn’t spot him, they raised their arms and hurled another volley of stones with deadly precision.

Makiro, still crouched behind the battlements, calmly pressed a hand on Eddyn Emmet’s shoulder. “Wait for my signal. Aim carefully. This will decide everything.”
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The soldiers’ attacks had failed, but the White Walkers’ defense came at a cost. Their crystallized armor, while nearly impenetrable, restricted their movement and halted the flow of magic within their bodies. Vulnerable moments like these were rare, and Makiro knew it.

Just as one White Walker prepared to throw another stone, a single arrow whistled through the air. Fired a second later than the others, it was a flawless shot. The “Eastern Commander of the Undead Army” instinctively raised an arm to block, but the arrow tore through its defenses.

The projectile—a Valyrian steel arrow imbued with fire-aspected magic—pierced its arm, chest, and crystalline armor in one devastating strike. The concentrated energy flooded the White Walker’s core, disrupting its magic completely.

In an instant, the White Walker disintegrated into a cloud of frosty vapor, leaving no trace behind except the arrow itself.
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The remaining White Walker blinked, stunned by its comrade’s annihilation. It took mere moments to grasp the truth: the Red Priest and his soldiers weren’t the real threat. Their confidence stemmed from a weapon it had never encountered before—a weapon capable of erasing a White Walker from existence.

The Frost God’s servants didn’t know fear, but their mission mandated survival above all else. Breaking its connection to the majority of the wights, the surviving White Walker absorbed its fallen comrade’s residual magic and fled, leaping onto the back of an undead bear. The beast bounded into the darkness, carrying its master away.
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“Eddyn, now! Finish it!” Makiro roared, standing tall for the first time. His hands glowed with concentrated magic as he targeted the fleeing White Walker’s mount.

The undead bear stumbled, its connection severed by Makiro’s spell. It burst into flames, tossing the White Walker into the snow.

Eddyn nocked the second Valyrian steel arrow, drawing his bowstring with deliberate precision. He exhaled, then loosed the shot. The arrow arced gracefully through the air, striking the fallen White Walker square in the back.

With a faint pop, the creature dissolved into nothingness, taking the remaining eastern undead army with it.
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The defenders stared in stunned silence, watching as the thousands of wights outside Eastwatch crumbled into lifeless heaps. The Eastern Commanders of the Undead Army were no more, and the tide had turned.

Makiro turned to Eddyn, his expression unreadable. Finally, he smirked. “Well done, ranger. The Wall holds… for now.”