Northwestern Area of the True North
POV of Orell the Warg
With some embarrassment, Orell remembered that this was the main reason why they came here in the first place. To capture the wights so that they have proof of the return of the White Walkers.
He was brought out of his thoughts when a sudden chill was in the air.
The fact that it could even fill it through the armor when he could easily cross a half-frozen stream without feeling anything at all was alarming.
"What is going on?" He asked one of the men, who simply moved aside and allowed him to look outside the circle of bodies.
He did and noticed that the circle of fire that the Chosen One had created around them had dimmed in intensity and was flickering with the wind as if a candle was about to go out at any moment.
The pillar of fire coming out of the Chosen One's hands also dimmed in intensity for a moment before the Chosen One lowered his hand and allowed the fire to die away.
Then there was silence for a moment. That silence was broken as hundreds of feet suddenly started moving in their direction, and he realized that even if the Chosen One had already killed hundreds of wights with the fire, there were still hundreds more remaining.
That was when he saw it.
The reason for all the cold around them.
It was tall and gaunt, with pale flesh devoid of any blood. Its cold blue eyes gazed back at them, and he felt the cold intensify around him.
It was beautiful in its own way. Elegant. Inhuman. Dangerous. And it was coming toward them.
He felt his grip on the sword tighten in response as the army of wights finally fell upon them again, and then there was chaos.
For the first few moments, the circle they had made held against the onslaught of the wights.
Then the circle broke, and it was every man for himself.
This might be a little disconcerting for the others, but for him, who had fought through a pile of wights trying to chew his face just a few moments before, this seemed like a walk in the park.
So, he swung his sword with one hand and the dagger with another. The wights disintegrated around him in droves as he moved forward like a war god fighting mortals.
He had never felt so powerful in his life before.
In his frenzy, he unknowingly separated from the group to kill more wights, showing that he was not just a warg who could do nothing besides control his birds.
He only became aware of that when he saw that he was standing all alone in an area devoid of any wights.
And in front of him was the White Walker himself.
Its icy gaze looked at him indifferently, and before he could get his wits together, the White Walker swung his sword.
Hundreds of hours of practice were the only thing that saved his life as he raised his sword in reflex and managed to block the ice sword from cleaving his head from his neck.
The resulting 'tinnngg' from the meeting of their blades could be heard throughout the battlefield, and for a moment, both the attacker and defender stood in shock.
The White Walker looked… confused. Not because he had blocked his attack, but because of something done by his own Ice Sword. As if the sword failed to do something it was meant to do.
He didn't think too much about it and took this moment of distraction to attack the White Walker.
He should have turned tail and run away.
That was what he would have done at any other time. Turned tail against a superior opponent and ran away.
But he could not run away now, for he had found an ambition in the middle of the battlefield.
He would be the one to kill the first White Walker and have his name carved in the annals of history.
The White Walker emerged from his shock before his blade could reach it, and it raised its own blade with contemptuous ease to meet his own.
Their sword clashed, and the unnaturally loud noise rang out once again.
He put more strength into his sword to put more pressure on the White Walker.
His efforts did not even budge it.
Then its icy cold hand was on his left shoulder.
The next moment, he was flying through the air, still feeling cold in the place where its icy hands had touched him as he fell on the ground and tumbled around a few times before coming to a stop.
Thankfully, he had not broken anything important, like his neck.
Disoriented, he got up with the help of his sword and looked up to find the White Walker swinging its sword at his neck.
This time, he was not able to raise his blade fast enough.
'Shit. Fuck!'
Those were his last thoughts before the icy sword cleaved through the magical armor like paper and separated his head from his neck. At least he thought it was.
But the White Walker's ice sword didn't reach his neck. Or rather, it couldn't.
Because before the ice sword reached his neck, the White Walker was strangely thrown backwards by the impact of several great swords that hit it.
Even more strangely, the great swords that caused the White Walker to be thrown backward twisted and changed shape into pieces of stone after they hit the ground.
When Orell turned his head to see where the swords that had saved his life had come from, he saw the Chosen One with a sword in one hand and a branch in the other, pointing in his direction. No, not towards him! The Chosen One was holding the branch towards the White Walker.
'Was this the Chosen One who threw the swords that later turned to stone?' he thought.
"Orell, step back and join the others." At the shout of the Chosen One, he came to his senses and ran to join the circle the others had formed.
He should have done it from the moment he saw the White Walker. It was not his place to fight the White Walker while the Chosen One was here. He would join the others and kill wights whenever he could. He would leave the honor of killing the White Walker and making history to the Chosen One.
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Next Chapters' Name:
Ch.144: First Contact of Leaders
Ch.145: Warlock