Chapter 462: Dragonfire

"What are these creatures? Can't they be killed?"

On the eastern walls of King's Landing, Ser Marvin Belmore stared in horror at an enemy he had cleaved in half. The creature, instead of dying, continued to thrash and howl, struggling on the ground.

"They can be killed," said Ser Lyn Corbray as he drove his ruby-encrusted longsword straight down into the skull of another creature, silencing it for good.

"What's going on? Why…?" Ser Marvin's eyes shifted to Lyn's weapon, realization dawning. "That's Lady Forlorn, the ancestral Valyrian steel sword of House Corbray. Does it take Valyrian steel to kill these monsters?"

"Yes," Lyn replied as he swung Lady Forlorn again, decapitating another creature scaling the walls. "Legend has it that when the Valyrians forged these swords, they infused them with fire magic, granting them special power to combat the mythical White Walkers."

"White Walkers?" Marvin gasped. "But aren't they supposed to be beyond the Wall? How did they end up in Blackwater Bay? Or… has the Wall been breached?"

"If the Wall had been breached, we would've heard by now. No, these aren't White Walkers. They're wights."

"Wights? What are those?"

"According to ancient texts, wights are dead bodies reanimated by the White Walkers through ice magic. They're relentless, impervious to pain, and can't truly die unless killed with Valyrian steel—or fire."

"Well, that's good news," Marvin said with bitter sarcasm. "All we need to do is arm everyone with Valyrian steel swords, and we'll win this war."

Both men knew how absurd this was. With the Doom of Valyria, the art of forging Valyrian steel had been lost, leaving only a few hundred such weapons across Westeros.

"Wights are also vulnerable to fire," a voice called from behind. Marvin turned to see Ser Robar Royce of Runestone, also armed with a Valyrian steel blade, joining them on the walls.

Jealousy flickered in Marvin's eyes as he noted Robar's weapon. "Fire? Great! Let's just light a few flames, and that'll solve everything."

Everyone knew how impossible it was to start a fire in the middle of this raging storm.

For now, their only option was to hold the walls with steel and courage, though it was a losing battle against the seemingly endless horde of wights.

While Valyrian steel could dispatch a wight with a single strike, such weapons were rare heirlooms reserved for noble houses.

Ordinary steel could injure wights but not destroy them. Severing limbs was effective in rendering them less dangerous, but it required precision and grit, making the battle grueling.

Even worse, fallen soldiers were rising again, animated by some dark magic. The more they killed, the more their enemies multiplied.

The situation on the walls grew increasingly dire.

The northern soldiers, already demoralized and eager to surrender, were now forced to face an enemy they couldn't fully understand or defeat.

Seeing the grotesque, undying wights charging relentlessly—and recognizing some as their own fallen comrades—shattered what little courage many had left.

Finally, the pressure proved too much for one soldier. Screaming in panic, he dropped his weapon and fled.

An arrow pierced his chest before he got far.

Lyn Corbray lowered his bow, stepped forward, and decapitated the deserter with Lady Forlorn to prevent him from rising as a wight.

"Cowards will die!" Lyn shouted, his bloodstained Valyrian steel sword held high.

His decisive action temporarily stabilized the line, but only temporarily.

More wights poured onto the walls, and the northern soldiers buckled under the relentless assault. In the tight confines, hand-to-hand combat turned into a desperate struggle for survival.

The wights, immune to fear, fought with unrelenting savagery, clawing, biting, and flailing even after sustaining mortal wounds.

"Hold the line! Do not retreat!" commanders roared, but their voices were drowned out by the storm and the chaos of battle.

No amount of yelling could stop the growing number of deserters. Even the threat of execution by the rear guard lost its effect in the face of such horror.

The walls were on the verge of collapse when a piercing roar split the sky.

All eyes turned upward, and through the storm clouds, a massive shape became visible.

A giant white dragon, its crimson eyes gleaming, streaked through the lightning-filled darkness.

"It's Caesar's dragon!" Robar Royce exclaimed, his voice filled with hope.

The dragon banked sharply, its enormous wings cutting through the storm as it dove toward the city walls.

With a thunderous roar, the dragon opened its jaws, unleashing a torrent of orange-red flames.

The fire engulfed the wights clambering up the walls, consuming them instantly.

Whoosh!

The dragon swooped low, its fiery breath sweeping across the battlements. Rows of wights ignited like dry tinder, their shrieks lost in the roar of the flames.

The intense heat of the dragonfire incinerated the creatures completely, leaving behind only piles of ash.

The northern soldiers, their burden suddenly lifted, erupted in cheers.

"Hahaha!" Marvin Belmore laughed, exhilarated. "You were right! These monsters fear fire! As long as we have fire, we'll win!"

Lyn Corbray, however, remained somber. Watching the wights writhe in the flames, he spoke calmly:

"Yes, dragonfire can kill wights. It burns even in this storm. But… Caesar only has one dragon. How much fire can it breathe?"

"Doesn't Caesar have three dragons?"

"Yes, but only two dragonriders," Lyn explained. "And one of them—Queen Daenerys Targaryen—is with a child. She won't be joining this battle."

"Who cares?" Robar Royce interrupted. "Even if Caesar is fighting alone, we still have a hundred thousands of troops in the city!"

"Exactly! Victory is ours!" Marvin shouted, trying to inspire the men.

"For the Vale!" Lyn Corbray joined the cry.

"For the Vale!"

"For Westeros!"

(End of Chapter)