Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 461 The Battle of the Long Night (Part 5)

The black wall collapsed.

Blue Maggot, the commander of the Unsullied, stood in the burning harbor. His spear phalanx of Unsullied had been routed. Before the elephants, their bodies corroded and covered in tentacles, even the Unsullied, renowned for their discipline and tenacity, and equipped with heavy armor like city walls, were as fragile as paper. The Tiger-Robed Army's fire chariots exploded in the streets, but the Shadow People, those twisted monsters woven as if from nightmares, paid no heed to the fleeing Valanthus. They swept through the city like a tide, their black tentacles writhing and piercing the rampant ghost grass north of Valanthus. These indescribable beings, invincible in battle against mortals, died like mortals before the ghost grass.

The corrupted giant elephant howled as it was devoured by the ghost grass, and even the ruthless shadow figures and demons vanished within it.

However, the surging tide of ghost grass also broke and stagnated as if it had been crashed against a reef.

"Aren't they attacking us?" the blue maggot whispered, its voice hoarse as if it had been smoking.

The officer in the tiger-patterned robe beside him sighed deeply.

“In their eyes, we have never been enemies,” he murmured. “Our target has never been us.”

Blue Maggot's body trembled slightly. He thought of the Dothraki who had been devoured by the ghost grass, the tragic march of the Lazarin herdsmen, and the priests who had been drained of their life force in the Temple of Kohor.

The shadow men and demons did not come to conquer the city-states.

They came to destroy the ghost grass.

The Valantians were merely obstacles in their path.

"My lord!" A wounded Black Goat cavalryman staggered in, "Longbridge has fallen, and the wildfire reserves have been detonated! We—"

The Grand Consul raised his hand to interrupt him.

“Abandon the Black Wall.” His voice was as cold and hard as iron. “Make way.”

The officer in the tiger-patterned robe suddenly looked up: "But..."

"No buts." The Grand Consul sneered, pointing to the ghost grass being torn apart by the shadow figures. "How many ghost grasses are there? How many are there? We can only pray that they can last a little longer."

The officer's face turned deathly pale instantly.

"Slave, let the Unsullied cover the retreat of the Tiger Robe Army and abandon the Black Wall." The Grand Consul ignored the officers. The nobles in the Black Wall who could leave had already left. As for where they left to, and whether the places they left to were corrupted by ghost grass or demons, that was not his business as "Varezes' dog". Now, even if the Black Wall was abandoned, no one could say anything.

Blue Maggot turned and loudly commanded the remaining Unsullied, Tiger-Robed Army, and Black Goat Cavalry:

"Gather all survivors! Take any weapons you can carry, and burn the food you can't take! We're not running away."

His gaze swept over the collapsed black walls, over the fugitives ignored by the shadow figures, and over the dying city.

"We are going to the final battlefield."

Melisandre stood beneath the Heart Tree, her red robes fluttering in the cold wind. Her fingertips were already burning, her skin peeling away inch by inch to reveal the flames flowing beneath. Yet, a relieved smile played on her lips.

"Flames!" Her voice was no longer hoarse, but clear as a young girl's, "Please let my life become their blade!"

She abruptly plunged her hands into the eyes of the face on the heart tree. In an instant, a crimson halo swept across the entire battlefield like a tidal wave.

Flames erupted from the great axes and spears of the Greybeard veterans who were leading the charge in the North, and the heavy cavalry of the Vale raised their flaming swords. Robert Baratheon, the fourteen-year-old eldest son of Stephen Baratheon, watched in astonishment as flames also swirled around his warhammer.

Even the most ordinary Night's Watch rangers had their obsidian daggers ignited with golden-red flames.

Jon Arryn looked up and saw a pillar of fire rising above the Godswood, with Melisandre's outstretched arms faintly visible. The next second, she vanished into countless sparks amidst the snowstorm.

Melisandre had accomplished her mission. Vormisor's roar shook the snow off Winterfell, and the wings of the greatest dragon in the world enveloped the entire castle.

"Gentlemen!" Igor's voice echoed throughout the entire army, audible even to the furthest scouts, "Look behind you—"

He pointed south to the women and children, the kids huddled in the cellars of Winterfell, and the old men gripping their farm tools, ready to fight to the death.

"We may die today, but we will let future generations know that when the long night fell, mankind stood tall! Let the bards remember this day, dragon riders, prepare to take flight!"

Centaur roared, and the twelve tentacles of the Flaming Torch rose to their feet. All the dragons responded in unison, their roars blending together and temporarily drowning out the distant mournful wail of the Horn of Winter and the rumble of the collapsing Wall.

Hoffa stood in the center of the dragon arena. His icy blue eyes reflected the restless figures of the dragons.

Without hesitation, he drew his dagger and slashed his palm. The moment the blood dripped into the hot spring, the water boiled like lava.

"With the blood of Vareses!" he cried, his wound deep enough to expose bone, yet healing in the blink of an eye: "With the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, with the blood of Stark, King of the First Men!"

The dragons suddenly fell silent.

Shadow Nightmare was the first to bow his head and sip, followed by Vormisor. The dragons participating in the battle all drank the hot spring water mixed with Hofa's blood. When the last dragon completed the ritual, all the dragon riders felt a change. Their connection with the dragons became incredibly strong, and the dragons became more active.

Only Hofa looked completely exhausted and pale.

Looking at the light flowing between the sun's scales, Joniel suddenly smiled: "It seems we really have to win, otherwise we'll be letting down such an expensive blessing."

"Alright, Hoffa, are you alright?" Maggie asked, helping her son up with some concern.

“It’s alright, Mother.” Hoffa took the wine her uncle handed her—it was Lusris’s wine—and took a big gulp, her face becoming much rosier.

Igor nodded: "Very good, Dragon Knight, prepare for takeoff."

North of Winterfell, the army of White Walkers had arrived. The endless wights faced an army of hundreds of thousands from the south.

The earth trembled as the Confederate army launched its attack.

The allied forces were commanded by the dragon Rhaegal, who was rendered incapacitated, along with Lord Jon Arryn and Lord Leonor Baratheon. Lord Jon Arryn led the allied heavy cavalry in an attempt to tear through the wight lines, charging directly at the White Walker forces encircled in the middle. Lord Leonor Baratheon, along with the two princes of Dorne, Lord Adler Stark, commanded the infantry to hold off the wight attacks.

Every moment, someone dies, and then rises up to rush towards their former comrades.

Count Rowan's Reach cavalry slashed into the left flank of the ghouls like daggers, obsidian lances piercing the ice crystal armor of three Night Knights. The old count himself was impaled in the abdomen by an ice spider, but before he breathed his last, he set the battlefield ablaze with wildfire.

The Vale cavalry, mixed with the Reach, lived up to the reputation of "Land of Knights." Not a single corpse could stop the Vale knights' charge, and even the White Walkers suffered heavy losses in the charge.

Robert Baratheon, charging alongside the Stormtroopers, was a human storm. Even after his father, Ser Stephen, fell, he continued his charge, ensuring his father's body was charred. Each blow of his warhammer triggered a small explosion, smashing seven White Walkers to pieces in the flames. As an ice spear pierced his shoulder, the young knight laughed maniacally, snapping the spear shaft in two and using the broken stump to pierce the attacker's eye.

Tywin Lannister's tactics were ruthless and precise. Each volley of wildfire catapults cleared gaps in the horde of undead, paving the way for the heavy cavalry.

But the cold wave eventually arrived.

Human heavy cavalry nearly broke through the White Walker lines, but mortals ultimately could not resist the power of magic.

Of the knights and heavy cavalry who charged into the horde of zombies, less than one or two out of ten managed to escape alive. However, they did deliver a heavy blow to the White Walker army, making it difficult for the White Walkers to maintain their resurrection spells for a while, giving the infantry time to build a wall of fire.

Now, it is the time of the dragon.

(End of this chapter)