Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 465 The Battle of the Long Night (Part 9)

Brinden was already at his breaking point.

The few ice mage lords who remained on the ground each possessed the magical skill of a Green Prophet Master. Their combined ice magic gradually suppressed the magic that Brynden maintained at the cost of sacrificing himself.

Bloodshot scales trembled beneath his feet. The pale dragon was already battered and frost covered its wings, but its crimson eyes still burned with fighting spirit.

Brynden's hollow eyes swept across the battlefield. He no longer possessed mortal eyesight; he could still see thanks to his connection with the Blood Eye and his Green Vision. Beneath the dragons, even with the aid of Brynden's magic, the tide of ghouls remained endless. The human infantry struggled to hold on behind their shield wall, gaps were torn in the Westerlands Standing Army's spear phalanx, and even Robert Baratheon's warhammer swings slowed noticeably.

He touched his now-stopped eye socket with his remaining arm. The stinging pain of depleted magic spread from the depths of his bone marrow, like countless ice needles wandering through his veins.

"The time has come."

Brynden laughed. Blood Eye seemed to sense its master's resolve and let out a low, mournful cry.

“Don’t be sad, old friend.” He stroked the dragon’s neck as if it were something insignificant: “This is my destiny.”

Brinden gently pressed his empty eyes.

excruciating pain.

It felt like someone had plunged a red-hot iron into his skull, or like his entire left side had been thrown into a furnace. Brinden's screams were drowned out by the dragon's roar, but his right hand gripped the saddle tightly, preventing himself from falling.

Blood Eye seemed to understand something. The dragon roared to the sky, spewing out its most intense dragon flame, and at that moment, Brynden leaped into the fire.

The body of the last great Green Prophet burned fiercely in the dragonfire until it turned into brilliant starlight, completely merging into that dragonfire.

The originally orange-red dragon flames suddenly turned blood-red, and the pillar of fire twisted and expanded as if alive, forming a huge crown of fire in the air. Immediately afterwards, thousands of fire meteors shot out from the crown, falling like rain.

The wights, doused in the fire rain, did not burn, but burned silently, then fell silently. The ghostly blue resurrection magic screamed and dissipated in the blood and fire, and the unawakened corpses could no longer stand. The White Walker mages casting ice magic wailed, as if the interruption of their magic had also caused them considerable injury.

"They can't stand up anymore—now, kill the rest!"

The dragon swept over the human army, pouring flames onto the heads of the ghouls.

A deafening roar erupted from the human ranks. The shield wall closed again, and even the most ordinary peasant soldiers found themselves easily cleaving through the ghouls' joints. The ghouls had weakened.

The aerial battle remained intense. Although the dragon knights were not at a disadvantage, the inexperienced dragon knights began to suffer casualties. The remaining White Walker lords became incredibly frenzied. They seemed to sense the anger and weakness of the Song of Ice. Suddenly, the magical power of the White Walker lords who were still fighting in the air seemed to increase several times, catching the dragon knights off guard.

Little Valar heard the piercing whistle of the ice spear cutting through the air, but it was too late.

"Turn! Holdens! Turn—!"

The rainbow-winged dragon jerked to the side, but the lance formed from solidified ice still pierced its chest with pinpoint accuracy. The ice spear, crafted by the two ice mage lords together, was powerful enough to penetrate Holdens' scales. Holdens let out a piercing wail, its dragon blood raining down, scorching black marks on the snow.

Little Valar did not jump over the dragon.

He gripped the dragon saddle tightly, his fingers turning white from the force, his silver hair flying wildly in the wind.

“Don’t be afraid, old friend,” he whispered, his purple eyes reflecting the approaching ground. “We’ll take as much as we can together.”

Little Valar ripped off the protective amulet from his chest and plunged a sharp blade into his own chest, drawing out silvery blood as if activating a powerful blood spell.

The dragon exploded in its final moments before crashing to the ground, preventing its remains from being used by the White Walkers, and taking with it countless corpses and White Walkers beneath it.

boom!
"Little Valar—!"

Gaelin Targaryen's black hair danced wildly in the wind as Galesos, under his control, hurtled forward at breakneck speed.

"Faster!" Galin gritted his teeth, his obsidian spear already in his hand.

But the Ice Mage Lord's spells are faster than dragon wings.

A streak of eerie blue light grazed Gelesos' right wing, instantly freezing its scales. The dragon writhed in agony, and Gelin was thrown from its saddle, still trying to regain his footing mid-air.

Then, he plunged into the sea of ​​ghouls. The obsidian spear pierced one of them who was casting a spell before he hit the ground, but more eerie blue hands had already grabbed his legs, his arms, and his hair.
Galesus stumbled and fell toward Winterfell, seven or eight ice spears embedded in its chest and abdomen. This was Galesus's last command: even in its fall, Galesus should fall on human territory.

The ice mages unleashed their ice spears one after another in the direction where Galesos had fallen. The White Walkers were even willing to sacrifice their own people to increase the power of their ice spears and bring down the dragon as quickly as possible.

If they could turn a zombie into a giant dragon, they would have a chance to turn the tide today.

"Stop them!"

Sebastian's roar came from high above, while Vasoliar's breath swept down like a waterfall.

But it's too late.

The wandering dragon knights, who were fighting in separate areas on the battlefield, all flew towards the place where the ice mages had gathered.

Hagen's Voidfire spewed forth blazing blue dragonfire, Demion's Shayel unleashed poisonous flames, and Sebastian's Vasolial crashed directly into the ice tower constructed by the Ice Mage Lord, attempting to disrupt their aim.

The Ice Mage Lord's fortress crumbled amidst the wrath of the three dragon knights.

The dying enemy grinned maliciously, and the Ice Crystal Staff unleashed its final burst of light.

Having just arrived, Sereria, who was intercepting the ice spears, was the first to be hit. Ice spikes rained down on its chest, and Seneo lunged at his dragon at the last moment, trying to shield it from the fatal blow with his body.

But they still fell together. Star Song, arriving late, caught the falling red dragon with a claw, and the dragon flames, shimmering with starlight, engulfed the oncoming ice.

However, Hargen's Skyfire was hit by the aftershock. Jonial and Hoffa, riding Sunfire and Starsong, swooped down and rescued the still-shouting Hargen before the ghouls could pounce on him.

Jonial gripped the dragon lance passed down from his grandfather tightly in his right hand.

"Two left!" he roared, the black scales of the Sunbeam bristling with rage. He watched as Kong Yi, aided by the Sunbeam, regained his footing and Xing Ge, clutching the red dragon.

“Father has arrived.” Hofa looked up at the sky.

At the highest point in the sky, Vomisor's bronze body finally tore through the clouds.

The old dragon is too slow. It is almost invincible on this battlefield, but it is too slow.

It simply couldn't keep up on many battlefields.

Igor did not roar, nor did he proclaim; he simply calmly delivered his judgment.

That dragon flame was more dazzling than the sun, and hotter than the lava deep within the seven layers of hell. The two ice mage lords didn't even have time to scream before they turned into scattered ice crystal dust.

At the foot of Winterfell.

Tywin Lannister stood at the front of the battle, his steed mounted, his eyes burning with an unusual battle intent. His gilded armor was covered in frost, and his cloak was already frozen solid by the cold. He ripped it off, and the cloak fell to the ground, revealing the lion's markings on his back, scratched by wights.

“If we don’t charge now, Prince Arthur, Duke Jon,” his voice was as cold and hard as iron, “we’ll never have another chance! The Dragon King and His Majesty have secured our victory. Now the dead are too busy to care about the living, and this is our opportunity.”

Robert Baratheon stood beside him, his warhammer Stormbringer slamming into the frozen earth, spiderweb-like cracks spreading outwards. His eyes blazed with fury, his voice booming:
"Tywin is right."

Brandon Stark didn't speak, but Duke Adler silently handed the greatsword "Frost" to his grandson with both hands.

“The North will never forget. Gentlemen, whether you agree or not, the army of the North will be the first to charge. I can do nothing more. Rickard is no warrior. Brandon, do not disgrace the First Men.”

Seeing that they received no response from their commanders, the three young men stopped waiting and turned to leave. The knights behind them, ignited by their fury, neighed their warhorses and drew their swords.

Just as they were about to charge off on horseback, a silver light swept across them, and Prince Arthur Dayne's greatsword "Dawn" blocked their way, the cold gleam of its blade blinding them.

"You're courting death!" The voice of the Dawn Sword was as cold as ice. "Without the cover of dragonfire, charging into the White Walkers is suicide! The Dragon Kings don't have time to worry about us right now; maintaining our line is the greatest help we can give them."

(End of this chapter)