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Chapter 162: The Others' Hunt
🕑 Added 2025-02-20 13:21:11 +0000 UTCBelow the Fist of the First Men, a mixed group of wildling tribes and giants were running for their lives. Behind them, a relentless horde of wights pursued, their movements unnatural and unyielding. Among them, five or six human White Walkers stood, commanding the undead to drive the fleeing wildlings forward.
It seemed that the White Walkers were not merely chasing them to kill them outright. Instead, they were methodically exhausting the strength of the hundreds of wildlings and dozens of giants, forcing them to flee until their bodies could no longer sustain them. Then, when the last reserves of their strength were drained, the White Walkers would strike, ensuring they claimed fresh, intact wights.
"You, sound the horn immediately and meet them on the mountain. I will deal with the White Walkers," Lynd ordered without hesitation.
"I'll go with you!" Mance Rayder responded at once. "The people down there are the Thenns who came to help us."
"No need. You'll only be a burden to me." Lynd shook his head, rejecting Mance Rayder's offer outright. Instead, he instructed him to guard his horse and belongings. Then, before the stunned eyes of everyone present, he drew his Banished Knight greatsword, and leapt from the summit of the Fist of the First Men.
The moment he left the cliff’s edge, he did not plummet to the ground as gravity would demand. Instead, he soared through the air like a bird, his form cutting through the storm with unnatural grace. Lightning erupted from his body, illuminating the sky with fierce, crackling energy. It was as if a thunder god himself had descended from the heavens.
The spectacle was so astonishing that it did not go unnoticed. The wildlings and giants fleeing below turned their heads in shock, their eyes widening at the radiant figure hurtling toward them. Even the White Walkers took notice, their inhuman eyes locking onto the source of this sudden, unknown threat.
Though they did not know what was falling toward them, they sensed the danger. Without hesitation, they formed ice spears in their hands and hurled them at the descending figure.
But Lynd, now fully enveloped in lightning, was faster than the ice spears. With supernatural agility, he dodged each projectile effortlessly, weaving through the air before finally landing in the midst of the wights.
The moment his feet touched the frozen ground, the Storm Dragon rune absorbed the impact, dispersing the force entirely. At the same time, the Lightning Dragon rune unleashed a surge of lightning in all directions, a crackling explosion of energy that incinerated the surrounding wights in an instant. The air filled with the stench of burning flesh and scorched ice. One of the human White Walkers, caught in the blast, shattered into a spray of ice crystals.
Lynd wasted no time. Channeling the power of the Storm Dragon rune, he propelled himself forward like a raging tempest, hurtling toward the next White Walker with murderous intent.
The White Walker sensed the lethal force approaching and, atop its deathly pale horse, swung its ice-crystal sword without hesitation. The gleaming blade cut through the frigid air, aiming to cleave through its attacker.
But as the ice-crystal sword met the Banished Knight sword, it shattered instantly upon impact with the Valyrian steel. A single, fluid stroke followed, cutting through the White Walker’s ice armor and slicing its body in half.
Lynd did not pause. His focus remained locked onto the next White Walker as he surged forward, carving his way through the battlefield with lethal efficiency.
The Thenns and their giant allies, who had moments ago been running for their lives, watched as a figure of light descended from the sky and burned a vast swath of wights to ash.
They quickly realized that this luminous warrior was no enemy. He was their savior.
But as they watched him cut down the wights and White Walkers with terrifying ease, a feeling of shame rose among them. This one man was fighting alone against an entire army, while they had been running in fear.
Fueled by their wounded pride, they abandoned their retreat. At the commands of their leaders, they picked up their weapons and turned to face the wights. In their determination to fight, they did not even register the sound of the horn being blown from the Fist of the First Men.
Just as they were about to charge, roaring their defiance, something strange happened.
The wights that had moments ago been snarling and brandishing their weapons suddenly collapsed to the ground, as if their strings had been cut. The corpses lay still, lifeless once more.
It was not only the ones before them—every wight in sight crumpled to the snow, their animation gone. The battlefield that had been filled with the shrieks and clattering of the undead was now eerily silent.
The Thenns then noticed something else—the White Walkers, with their eerie silvery-blue glow, had vanished entirely.
Only one figure remained standing amidst the sea of corpses.
The light-bringer, still crackling with residual lightning, stood alone.
“Gowah! Gowah!” A thunderous cry broke the silence. One of the giants dropped to his knees before the luminous warrior, his voice booming in reverence.
The Thenns who understood the ancient language of the giants knew at once what the word meant. Gowah—god.
The giants had already made up their minds. The one who had just obliterated the White Walkers and their wights was not just a warrior. He was a god.
It wasn’t only the giants. Many of the Thenns also knelt, echoing the cry of Gowah! Though the Free Folk prided themselves on never kneeling, bowing before a deity was not something they found difficult to accept.
Lynd, standing amidst their worship, was still calming himself.
When he had been fighting, the moment he killed the White Walker, the power of Dragon’s Runes had activated. It had consumed the essence of the slain White Walker, transferring some of its power to him. But the Dragon’s Runes did more than just that—it had also awakened something else within him.
The memories of the Peacekeeper and Banished Knight resurfaced violently in his mind, turning him into little more than a killing machine. Even after slaying the last of the White Walkers, he had not felt satisfied. The bloodlust had lingered. If not for the intervention of his Dragon Rune necklace, he might have continued his slaughter, turning on the wildlings and giants as well.
The rune had acted just in time, dragging him out of the haze of battle before he lost all control.
Now, as he stood in silence, he consciously eliminated the lingering effects of the Dragon Runes, stabilizing his mind. He took a moment to analyze how the rune had changed after consuming the White Walker’s power, adjusting his consciousness accordingly to return to a normal state.
As he turned to look at the wildling tribes and giants, Lynd was surprised by their reaction, momentarily freezing in place. Although he didn’t understand what Gowah had meant, he could tell from the wildlings’ and giants’ actions that they regarded him as something akin to a deity.
Lynd sheathed the greatsword of the Banished Knight and walked toward the wildlings and giants. Stopping in front of them, he asked, “Does anyone here understand the common tongue?”
"Are you a crow?" a voice called out from the crowd, the words rough and unpracticed. A broad-shouldered wildling stepped forward, giving Lynd a once-over before shaking his head. "You're no crow. Crows wear black."
Lynd didn’t explain his identity. Instead, he asked, “You must be Grigg, the leader of the Thenns?”
The wildling shook his head. “No. Grigg is my father. He has joined the wights. I am Grenn. I lead the Thenns now.”
“I am a friend of Mance Rayder. He’s at the Fist of the First Men right now,” Lynd said, pointing in that direction. “Let’s go. Don’t keep him waiting.”
“Mance, good Crow. He is also Grenn’s friend.” Grenn nodded, then turned to the kneeling wildlings and spoke in their language, his voice carrying authority. From the tone and reactions, it was clear he was explaining the situation. The wildlings stood, though their expressions remained filled with reverence toward Lynd.
At that moment, one of the giants stepped forward—the tallest among them. He walked up to Lynd, then dropped to one knee and spoke in a deep, resonant voice: “Gowah, Gluk, Vargoat, Ka, N'Deva.”
Lynd stared at the giant in confusion. Beside him, Grenn translated, “The giants see you as a deity. They wish to follow you.”
Lynd studied the giants closely. They did not resemble the furry, ape-like beings described in the books of this world. Instead, they looked more like the giants depicted in the drama series. Using himself for reference, he estimated their height to be around four or five meters—taller than the three meters recorded in the books. Unlike those descriptions, they lacked thick hair and wore clothing. Their eyes were not particularly large, tucked beneath broad foreheads—likely an adaptation to prevent snow blindness. To an outsider unfamiliar with their physiology, their small eyes might give the impression of weak vision.
When Lynd didn’t immediately respond, Grenn quickly added, “The giants take their oaths seriously. If you do not accept their loyalty, they will sacrifice themselves to you.”
Lynd hadn’t expected to gain the allegiance of a group of giants, but it was certainly not a disadvantage. He turned to Grenn and asked, “What should I say to them?”
“You only need to say ‘Kabu-Kari, Gowa-Wakari,’” Grenn instructed.
Lynd stepped forward, removed his helmet, and held it under his arm before addressing the kneeling giant leader. “Kabu-Kari, Gowa-Wakari.”
The giant leader’s solemn face broke into a broad smile. He stood and called out to the others behind him, “Gowa-Wakari!”
The remaining twenty-five giants rose, lifting their tree trunk-sized wooden weapons and echoing in unison, “Gowa-Wakari!”
Watching them, Lynd remarked, “These giants are completely different from the ones I read about in books. I thought giants were supposed to be covered in hair…”
Grenn nodded. “Those are Gowen giants. These are Gowa giants. Different kinds. These twenty or so Gowa giants may be the last of their kind beyond the Wall.”
“You understand their language?” Lynd asked. “Can you teach me?”
“Of course,” Grenn replied with a nod.
At that moment, the horn from the Fist of the First Men sounded once more, and everyone at the foot of the mountain tensed. The sharp, echoing blast sent a wave of unease through the gathered wildlings and giants.
Lynd spotted a Night's Watchman standing at the edge of the cliff, his arm outstretched, pointing into the distance. Immediately, Lynd followed his gaze. Through the wind and snow, he saw it—a vast sea of wights stretching as far as the eye could see, densely packed and moving as one. Dozens of White Walkers were interspersed among them, their presence unmistakable. Among them, there were not only human White Walkers but also elf White Walkers.
Though the White Walkers all shared similar features, Lynd was able to recognize one in particular—the one he had beaten before. The subtle differences in its appearance made it stand out, even among its kind.
The wildlings and giants, lacking Lynd's keen eyesight, couldn’t see through the raging snowstorm as he could. But they knew the wights well enough to recognize the approaching threat. Weapons were lifted, grips tightened, and a tense readiness filled the air. The giants positioned themselves behind Lynd, gripping their massive wooden clubs and letting out deep, rumbling roars in defiance of the approaching enemy.
Lynd's expression hardened. There were simply too many White Walkers. Even at his full strength, he wasn’t sure if he could cut them all down. But there was no turning back now.
He placed his helmet back onto his head, unsheathed the greatsword of the Banished Knight once more, and activated the rune of the Lightning Dragon. Lightning crackled around his form, wrapping his body in flickering energy. His plan was simple—charge into the horde, strike fast, and kill at least one or two White Walkers in an instant.
Then, just as the tension reached its peak and the battle seemed inevitable, the storm in the sky suddenly stopped. It was as if someone had pressed pause on the howling blizzard. The sudden stillness left an eerie silence in its wake.
With the storm no longer obscuring their vision, the wildlings and giants could finally see the full scale of the army before them. Even the most fearless among them could not hide their fear as they took in the sight of the White Walkers and wights standing in the open.
Lynd, however, noticed something else—something that sent a ripple of unease through him. The White Walkers, too, seemed surprised. Even through their icy composure, he caught the flicker of confusion. Among them, the elf White Walker he had been watching wore an unmistakable expression of panic.
Then, one among them—adorned in the most intricate ice armor, with features that were eerily beautiful—raised his spear. He let out a sharp, piercing cry, like the sound of shattering glass. The effect was immediate. Every White Walker and wight turned away and began retreating toward the north, vanishing into the endless white of the Land of Always Winter.
A collective sigh of relief spread through the wildlings and giants. The immediate danger had passed, but Lynd did not lower his guard. His instincts warned him that the leader of the White Walkers had not left without lingering malice.
And sure enough, just as he had expected, the elf White Walker suddenly turned back. Without warning, he hurled his ice spear directly at Lynd. The projectile moved with terrifying speed, closing the distance between them in an instant.
Lynd had been ready. His greatsword moved with precision, crossing the two massive blades and thrusting them forward. The tip of the ice spear met the sharpened steel—and shattered upon impact.
Yet, despite the spear breaking, the force behind it did not vanish. The sheer power traveled through Lynd’s swords, slamming into him and sending him hurtling backward. He crashed into the giant leader behind him, the impact so strong that even the massive giant staggered several steps back. It took the combined effort of the surrounding giants to stop his momentum.
Once the giant leader regained his footing, Lynd immediately leaped from his body, landing back on the ground. His hands tingled with lingering numbness. If the White Walker had thrown another spear, he wasn’t sure he could have stopped it again.
That attack confirmed Lynd’s suspicions—what he had fought before were merely foot soldiers. The White Walker leader he faced now was something else entirely. The difference in strength was clear. The human and elf White Walkers he had dealt with before had been formidable, but this one was an elite.
Lynd was still confident that he could kill this White Walker leader—but it would no longer be as easy as before. He would have to fight with everything he had, or risk being the one to fall.
Yet, the White Walker leader did not attack again. Sitting atop his skeletal horse, he simply watched Lynd in silence. His icy gaze seemed intent on committing Lynd’s face to memory. When the last of his kind had passed him, he finally turned his horse and rode north, disappearing into the storm beyond the Wall.
“Phew! It’s over! It’s finally over!” Wildling chief Grenn exhaled heavily, relief washing over him as he slumped onto the ground without a second thought. The other wildlings followed suit, dropping where they stood and gasping for breath.
The giants, though they did not collapse as the wildlings did, could be heard breathing heavily from the exhaustion of their tension.
Lynd sheathed his sword before turning to Grenn. “Why were the White Walkers and wights this far south? Don’t they usually stay farther north in the Land of Always Winter?”
Grenn shook his head. “I don’t know. Ever since the Great Cold began a year ago, they’ve become more active. They’ve been hunting people, dragging them north. The wildling tribes that once lived beyond the Thenn are all gone—captured. Those who survived fled to the Frostfangs to hide.”
“But it’s fine now,” Grenn added, forcing a weak smile. “As long as there’s no blizzard, they’ll disappear.”
Lynd, however, wasn’t reassured. The White Walkers’ increased activity troubled him. He had a growing suspicion that it was tied to the injury of the Three-Eyed Crow. But if that was the case, then as the Three-Eyed Crow regained its strength, the influence of the Weirwood in the forests beyond the Wall would also return. And when that happened, the White Walkers would have no choice but to retreat once more to the far north.
At least, that was what he hoped.
