Chapter 178 — A Frenzied Assault
At the Night King's piercing roar, the battered army of the dead trembled—then surged forward once more toward The Wall.
The moment their hands or bodies touched the Wall, faint smoke rose again. The wights let out shrill, agonized screams. Even their usually blank faces twisted with pain.
Instinctively, they tried to recoil—
But the Night King's furious command rang out again.
Forced onward, they climbed while screaming, their bodies visibly disintegrating—flesh crumbling into ash as they pressed against the Wall's magic.
Some managed only a dozen meters before losing half their bodies to the burning force and tumbling back down. Yet the ones behind immediately filled the gap.
The first wave had barely begun its ascent when the second wave climbed over their own kind—using corpses as ladders. Their speed was more than double the first.
Soon they overtook them.
Only when they touched the Wall did they slow—yet even then, half-burned wights, reduced to mangled remains, clawed upward with teeth, fingers, anything left.
Wave after wave followed.
Relentless.
Within moments, they had reached heights of over fifty meters.
On the Wall, Jon Snow and the others turned pale.
This wasn't an assault—it was annihilation warfare.
The Night King was simply feeding bodies into the Wall.
Without waiting for orders, Meera pushed Bran Stark toward the lift.
Jon and Stannis Baratheon split up, shouting commands, preparing the defenders for close combat.
When the wights climbed to about 150 meters, the defenders launched their first counterattack.
Dragonglass-tipped arrows rained down.
Boulders and rolling logs followed.
Wights fell in droves—like dumplings dropped into boiling water.
Yet as one wave fell, another instantly replaced it, climbing over the fallen and continuing upward.
Even as many burned away into nothingness, the sheer numbers pushed them higher and higher.
Some were already nearing the top.
Jon ordered oil to be poured.
Torches followed.
Flames engulfed the climbing wights—
But the effect was far weaker than the Wall's magic.
Many continued climbing while burning, their bodies aflame until they finally collapsed.
The defenders stared in horror.
They had heard stories of wights before—but reality was worse.
Much worse.
Even with fire and falling logs, a few wights made it onto the Wall.
They were quickly cut down—
At first.
But as the assault continued, more and more climbed up, and soon the Wall became a battlefield.
Steel clashed against dead flesh.
A soldier split a wight in half—then turned to fight another—
Only to have the still-moving lower half clamp its jaws onto his leg.
He realized too late—his dragonglass weapon had broken earlier.
Ordinary steel couldn't finish them.
He hacked desperately—but the wight wouldn't release him.
Only when a comrade drove a dragonglass dagger into it did the creature finally shatter.
Nearby, Jon wielded his Valyrian steel sword, Longclaw.
With his skill—and a weapon that was the bane of the dead—he cut through wights like slicing vegetables.
Wherever the fighting was fiercest, he charged in, clearing space and rallying the men.
His presence reignited morale.
Fear gave way to fury.
Stannis, though less aggressive, stood firm on the Wall—issuing orders while cutting down any wight that came close with a dragonglass blade forged for him.
The battle raged for nearly an hour.
More wights climbed.
More defenders fell.
Just as Jon was deep in the slaughter—
He suddenly noticed something strange.
The number of wights around him… was dropping.
He cut down the last one nearby and looked around.
It wasn't just his section—
Across the Wall, the tide of the dead was receding.
Jon stepped to the edge of The Wall and looked down. Only scattered wights were still clawing their way upward. At the base, the mass of the dead had begun to withdraw, as if answering a silent command.
Watching the army pull back, Jon Snow frowned. He couldn't understand why the Night King would halt the assault at such a moment.
Nearby, Stannis lowered his weapon and stared into the distance, equally puzzled. The dead felt no fatigue, no pain—so why retreat?
Only when the wights had fallen back more than two hundred meters and showed no sign of advancing again did Stannis order the battlefield cleared and supplies replenished—boulders, logs, oil.
Even so, no one relaxed.
The wounded were carried down for treatment, but the rest remained at their posts.
Hours passed.
The army of the dead stood motionless beyond the Wall. The Night King himself was nowhere to be seen.
At last, Stannis ordered rotations—men had to descend and warm themselves, or the cold alone would claim them.
That night, after strengthening the watch, both he and Jon returned to Castle Black, lying down fully clothed.
The night passed in tense silence.
Beyond the Wall, the dead stood just as still.
At dawn, Jon and Stannis stood side by side atop the Wall, staring out at the unmoving host, trying to divine the Night King's intent.
Another day passed.
Still no attack.
Instead of easing their vigilance, they tightened it further.
On the third day, Jon walked along the Wall to a section some distance from Castle Black. There, beneath a crenel, Ygritte crouched, sheltering from the wind.
He knelt beside her and pulled a warm piece of flatbread from his coat, handing it over.
She took it without ceremony and began eating.
"Be careful when they attack again," Jon said quietly. "Something doesn't feel right."
"I kno—"
A long, mournful horn cut her off.
Jon shot to his feet. "Stay safe," he said, already moving.
"I'm coming with you!" Ygritte gulped down the last of the bread and followed.
Jon hesitated. As Lord Commander, bound by his vows, he shouldn't openly keep a wildling by his side—
But the thought of the coming battle made him relent.
"...Come on," he said at last.
Back atop the Wall, the assault had begun again.
The wights attacked much as before—most consumed by the Wall's magic, only a fraction making it up.
But this time, the pressure was far greater.
Especially around the central defenses near Castle Black, nearly twice as many wights reached the top compared to the last assault.
The strain on the defenders surged instantly.
The real attack… had begun.