Chapter 58

The arrival of the two hundred Northern lances upended the bleak routine of Castle Black. By midday, the courtyard was a crowded, tense mixture of hardened Stark men and sullen, black-clad recruits.

I rested near the armory, my sheer size and radiating heat kept a wide, empty circle of melting slush around me. Ghost, the silent albino, sat perfectly still at my side, his red eyes watching the yard. Like his brothers he did not pick a fight with me.

The tension in the yard finally snapped when Ser Alliser Thorne stalked out of the armory.

Thorne had his pride humiliated at the gate, his broken pride demanded retribution. He didn't have the guts to attack me, and he couldn't move against Robb, who was currently an acting lord. So, his retribution was targeted at the one person he could, Jon Snow.

Jon was speaking quietly with a few of his fellow recruits when Thorne's biting voice cut through the noise.

"Look at them," Thorne sneered, pacing in front of the recruits, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "Lord Snow and his Northern mutts. You think because your trueborn brother rode up here with an escort, it changes what you are? You're still a bastard playing at being a ranger. And now you've brought a traveling circus with you."

Jon stiffened, his hand dropping to the hilt of his training sword. Several Stark guardsmen nearby turned, their faces darkening as they reached for their steel. The entire courtyard went completely still.

Thorne smirked, reveling in the sudden edge. "What? Does the bastard want to try his toy against a real knight?"

I opened my eyes.

I rose slowly, that drew every eye in the yard. The low, rumbling growl that started in my chest vibrated through the wet cobblestones before anyone even heard it.

I walked straight toward Ser Alliser.

Thorne's smirk vanished. The color drained from his face as the crushing wave of my heat washed over him. He drew his castle-forged longsword in a panic, holding it out with trembling hands. "Keep back! Call off this beast!"

I didn't stop. I closed the distance until the tip of his shaking sword was mere inches from my nose. Then, I unhinged my jaws and unleashed a roar so deafening, that it felt like the sky itself was tearing open. The sheer force of the sound wave hit Thorne like a battering ram. The Master at Arms was blown off his feet, tumbling backward into the frozen mud. His sword clattered uselessly across the yard.

All around the courtyard, seasoned men and green recruits alike dropped their weapons, slapping their hands over their ears in absolute agony. Horses whinnied in terror. The sound echoed off the seven-hundred-foot monolith of the Wall, shaking the loose ice from the battlements.

I snapped my jaws shut, the silence that followed ringing heavier than the roar.

I stepped over Thorne's discarded sword, looking down at the Master at Arms. He was trembling violently in the mud, his eyes wide with terror, completely stripped of his arrogant cruelty. I gave him a single, dismissive snort of hot smoke and turned my back, walking over to sit firmly beside the covering Jon.

The memory of Thorne's humiliation was short-lived. An hour later, the horn atop the Wall blew a single, long blast. Rangers returning.

The heavy tunnel gates opened, and a scouting party dragged two sledges into the courtyard. The mood in the castle shifted instantly from tense to sorry. Lying on the sledges were the pale, frozen corpses of Othor and Jafer Flowers, two rangers who had gone ranging with Benjen Stark.

Lord Commander Mormont, Robb, and Jon gathered around the bodies.

I stayed back, but my System flared instantly. The interface shifted from its usual warm gold to a chilling, jagged blue.

[Alert: Undead Energy Detected.]

[Target Status: Dormant. Hostile.]

As a transmigrator, I knew exactly what these bodies were. They were Trojan horses. I pushed my way through the ring of men, ignoring their startled shouts, and loomed over the corpse of Othor.

"Easy, Red," Robb warned, reaching out.

I ignored him. I opened my jaws and let a tiny, controlled spark of [Ember] drop onto Othor's frozen tunic.

The fabric didn't catch fire normally. It sizzled loudly, smelling intensely of old rot and unnatural magic. The flesh beneath didn't bleed; it blackened like frozen meat thrown onto a hot skillet.

"Gods! Get the beast back!" Mormont shouted, swatting at the smoke. "They are brothers of the Watch! They deserve a proper burning, but Maester Aemon must examine them first. Lock them in the storeroom!"

I let out a frustrated huff but stepped back. I couldn't speak, and human stubbornness could not be cured in an afternoon. But I knew the plot. I didn't need to argue with the Lord Commander; I just needed to wait for the sun to go down.

Midnight descended on Castle Black. The temperature plummeted to extremes, but inside Jon's sparse quarters, the air was as warm as a summer hearth. Ghost was curled on the floor, while I rested near the heavy oak door.

At the exact stroke of the witching hour, the System flashed violently in my peripheral vision.

[Event Triggered: Reanimation.]

I was already awake. I stood up, nudging Jon forcefully with my snout. Jon groaned, blinking sleepily in the dark.

I didn't wait for him to fully wake. I forced [Empathic Link] into his mind, projecting an urgent sensation of extreme danger, directing it straight up toward the Lord Commander's tower.

Jon gasped, wide awake. He grabbed his sword from the foot of his bed, throwing his cloak over his shoulders. "Ghost, to me. Red, lead!"

We sprinted through the freezing courtyard. The castle was dead quiet, save for the howling wind. But as we reached the stairs of Mormont's tower, we found a Night's Watch guard lying on the stone, his throat torn out.

Jon's eyes went wide. The real war was here.

We burst through the heavy wooden door of the Lord Commander's solar.

In the dim moonlight, Othor stood over Mormont's bed. His skin was pale blue, and his eyes burned with an unnatural, terrifying sapphire light. He held a rusted dagger, preparing to plunge it into the sleeping old bear.

"Hey!" Jon shouted, charging forward.

Othor spun with horrifying speed. Jon swung his castle-forged steel, burying the blade deep into Othor's shoulder. Just as I knew it would, the sword lodged tight in the dead, frozen muscle. Othor didn't even flinch. The wight backhanded Jon with inhuman strength, sending the young ranger crashing into the wooden desk.

Othor lunged for Jon's throat.

He never made it.

I launched myself across the room. My jaw unhinged, my throat glowing blindingly white. I clamped my jaws directly onto Othor's outstretched arm, triggering [Fire Fang].

The heat transferred directly into the wight's frozen magic. Othor let out a terrifying, unnatural screech as the magical frost binding his dead flesh ignited.

I ripped my head back, tearing the burning arm completely off his body, and instantly followed up with a pinpoint burst of [Flamethrower] straight into the wight's chest.

The fire clung aggressively to the undead energy. Othor thrashed wildly, crashing into the stone walls as the flames rapidly consumed him, reducing to a pile of smoldering, foul-smelling ash in less than ten seconds.

Jeor Mormont scrambled out of his bed, holding a lantern up with trembling hands. He stared at the shattered desk, at Jon picking himself off the floor, and finally at the massive pile of ash smoking at my paws.

[Target Eliminated: Wight.]

[Massive XP Awarded. Level Up!]

The Old Bear slowly lowered his lantern, his chest heaving as he looked directly into my glowing amber eyes. The denial was completely gone from the Lord Commander's face. The true enemy had finally crossed the Wall, and beast was the only reason he was still breathing.

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