Novel Boss
Chapter 411: Let’s Forget About Formalities
Chapter 411: Let’s Forget About Formalities
The Child of the Forest could merge with the First Men, enabling those with First Men blood to become Greenseers. This raised an unsettling question: could a White Walker one day meet similar conditions?n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om
Viserys bore the weight of countless lives and deaths on his shoulders. This was why the Bloodraven remained cautious. Extremely cautious, despite claiming to have prepared for this moment for over 3,000 years.
In response to Viserys’s probing, the Bloodraven, or Greenseer, answered directly:
“I also require faith to exist. You are relocating more than two million people from the North to the South. The faith in the Old Gods will undoubtedly be affected. You will find me weaker than before.”
His tone was neither pleased nor agitated—devoid of anger or any other discernible emotion.
Viserys chose, for the moment, to trust him. He sensed that the Three-Eyed Raven no longer possessed the power to whisper into people’s minds as he once had.
After the Greenseer revealed a vision of the Night King’s army advancing southward, Viserys asked,
“If they maintain this pace, how long will it take them to traverse the entirety of the North?”
“They must pause periodically after each stretch of their march. I estimate it will take the Night King about four years to occupy the whole of the North,” the Bloodraven replied.
Four years, Viserys calculated silently.
Shortly afterward, the man, the raven, and the dragon arrived at the Great Wall. Standing atop it, Viserys gazed down at the clusters of Icebone Towers and the countless wights and White Walkers below. Reaching out, he touched the Wall.
[Touching the Wall can absorb 3,041,716 Magic Points.]
His brow furrowed. The last time he had measured the Wall’s magic reserves, over 4 million points had remained. Yet in just the past 20 days, nearly a third had been depleted.
He had initially believed the Wall could hold back the White Walkers for at least six months. Now, it seemed even two more months might be optimistic. Worse still, he couldn’t be certain if the Wall’s magic was diminishing at a consistent rate.
What if it didn’t even last another month?
Their glowing blue eyes pierced the dim light like eerie lanterns. Gendry’s heart pounded as he strained to keep his composure. Behind them, he could make out the sprawling mass of the undead army stretching into the horizon, dotted with the ominous silhouettes of countless Icebone Towers.
Swallowing hard, Gendry cleared his throat and called out hoarsely, “Enter…”
His voice cracked under the weight of his nerves. Steeling himself, he shouted again, louder this time, “Enter!”
To his surprise, the wights seemed to understand. They began to move forward, their steps slow but deliberate. As they drew nearer, Gendry’s eyes focused on their frost-covered faces. It wasn’t just the appearance of frost—it was real. Thin layers of ice coated their pale, lifeless skin, gleaming faintly in the dim light.
With each step the wights took, the flames of Gendry’s torch sputtered, shrinking as though retreating from their presence. He instinctively stepped back, and behind him, the Night’s Watch soldiers closed ranks, their obsidian spears bristling in readiness.
The wights glanced at the spears with what could only be described as disdain.
Jaime Lannister shadowed them closely, his sword at the ready. The obsidian spears of the Night's Watch never wavered, staying trained on the wights as they entered Castle Black.
The castle itself was in a state of heightened alert. Armed Night’s Watchmen lined the walls, their weapons gleaming in the cold air. As the wights advanced deeper into the stronghold, they passed rank after rank of soldiers, each one standing tense and ready for battle.
After what felt like an eternity, the wights were brought before Viserys and his advisors. The emperor regarded them with a cool detachment, his mind already working through the implications.
The Night King can enter any corpse or White Walker at will, Viserys thought, observing the wights. It’s similar to how the three-eyed raven can move through the Weirwoods. This level of control allows him to carry out intricate manipulations.
Old Jeor Mormont, standing behind Viserys, stiffened as he recognized one of the wights. It was Waymar Royce, a former ranger of the Night's Watch. Though Jeor had long accepted that Waymar was dead, seeing him now, reanimated and lifeless, sent a pang through his chest.
The other veterans of the Night's Watch standing nearby shared his reaction. Each of them had held significant roles within the Watch for years, and they were all seasoned enough to stand at Viserys’ side. But as their eyes fell on the once-familiar face of Waymar, now twisted into something monstrous, a heaviness settled over them.
The Night King’s choice to send former brothers of the Night’s Watch was not a coincidence. It was calculated. He wasn’t some mindless beast; he was cunning. By sending the reanimated Watchmen, he sought to sow unease and disgust among the defenders. This tactic was meant to unnerve the Night’s Watch, not the free folk, whose bonds to these men were far weaker.
“Viser...”
The wight that had once been Waymar Royce, now a puppet of the Night King, began to speak. Before the words could fully form, Viserys reacted with lightning speed. A dagger left his hand, striking the wight squarely in the face. Its glowing blue eyes instantly dimmed as its body crumpled lifelessly to the ground.
The crowd stood stunned, confusion etched on their faces. Wasn’t this supposed to be a negotiation?
Ned, Jaime, and the others exchanged uncertain glances, unsure of how to respond. The three-eyed raven perched on the wall nearby remained silent, its feathers stirring lightly in the breeze but offering no commentary.
Before anyone could voice their questions, Viserys drew his sword. Without hesitation, he struck down three of the remaining ghouls in rapid succession. Only one was left, which he knocked to the ground with a forceful blow. Pinning the dead to the earth with his boot on its chest, he held his sword’s tip against its throat.
“I know you came here to negotiate,” Viserys said coldly, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “But I couldn’t help myself. Consider these wights your ticket to see me. Send a few more, and we’ll talk again.”
With that, he swung his blade and severed the dead’s head in one decisive motion.
The tension in the air eased visibly as Old Bear Jeor Mormont and the Night’s Watch observed the scene. The unease they had felt seeing their former brothers turned into abominations was replaced by a grim satisfaction. They felt relieved.
“It doesn’t matter whether these creatures are ruthless or polite,” Viserys addressed them, his voice resonating with conviction. “They are not like us. They want us all dead. No matter the means, kill every single one you can! Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Grace!”
The Night’s Watch shouted their response in unison, their confidence bolstered by Viserys’ actions.
Not long after, the Night King sent a second wave of wights. Again, five arrived at the gates. Viserys met them with the same ruthless efficiency, smiling as he dispatched each one.
For the third wave, the Night King sent only three. Once more, Viserys eliminated them without hesitation.
By the fourth wave, only a single wight approached the gates. Viserys paused. He knew that if he killed this one, the Night King might deem further negotiations impossible. Lowering his weapon slightly, Viserys signaled for the Night King, who was controlling the wight, to speak.