Chapter 495: The First Appearance of the White Walkers

Samwell rushed out of the tent, only to find that darkness had completely fallen.

It was only 3 o clock in the afternoon. — how could it already be night?

The snowstorm continued, intensifying by the second.

Campfires across the wildling encampment were extinguished one after another by the frigid wind, leaving pale smoke billowing into the air.

In the darkness, the eerie wailing of war horns mingled with chaotic, panicked shouts.

The enemy is coming from the north, Samwell judged.

For a moment, he had suspected betrayal from the Night's Watch—perhaps they had attacked the wildlings while he was away from the Wall. But this enemy from the north seemed far more terrifying.

"White Walkers are here! White Walkers!"

"Don't panic!" Samwell bellowed.

He quickly located a man wearing black ringmail with a gold armband etched with runes of the First Men—clearly a leader—and ordered him:

"Rally the warriors, light torches, and form ranks to face the enemy!"

"Form ranks?" The wildling leader sneered. "To hell with that! Just kill them!"

With that, he led a group of spear-wielding wildlings northward, shouting as they ran.

Samwell immediately gave up trying to command the wildlings. They were utterly undisciplined.

"Mance!" The tent flap was flung open as Val burst in. "Dalla is about to give birth!"

Samwell had no time to concern himself with Mance Rayder's wife.

"Childbirth is a woman's war, and you are her only ally. I have my own battle to fight."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and charged into the storm.

---

The sharp blare of sentry horns echoed from all directions, punctuated by frantic chaos. Wildlings ran in every direction—some rushing into battle, others fleeing as far as possible.

Samwell saw a mammoth crush a flock of sheep underfoot while several wildling women tried to control it and herd the sheep away.

In the darkness, countless figures moved swiftly, their icy blue eyes glowing with a chilling light.

Wights!

Samwell recognized them immediately.

These wights moved faster and seemed deadlier than the ones Euron Greyjoy had summoned at King's Landing. Was it the freezing northern cold? The enveloping night? Perhaps both.

Among the wights were not just humans but also bears, wolves, giant stags, and even towering ice spiders the size of three men.

Though disorganized, the wildlings fought with unmatched ferocity. But their opponents were anything but ordinary.

A wildling warrior with tribal paint on his face thrust his spear into a wight's soft, pale belly, the blade punching through its back. Yet the creature didn't falter. Staggering forward along the shaft of the spear, it grabbed the warrior's head with icy black hands, crushing his skull.

This was no fair fight.

No matter how brave the wildlings were, they were pushed back repeatedly by the wights.

"Fire!" Samwell shouted. "They fear fire!"

The wights were most vulnerable to Valyrian steel and dragonglass weapons, but these were treasures the wildlings didn't have. Luckily, they had fire.

"Fire arrows! Shoot fire arrows!" a wildling leader yelled to the archers.

Thwip, thwip, thwip—

Hundreds of flaming arrows arced into the mass of wights. Those struck erupted in spasms, screeches, and unnatural contortions, the fire clearly causing immense damage. Creatures that had ignored fatal spear wounds earlier now burned, collapsing into heaps of ash.

Seeing the flames work, the wildlings cheered with renewed vigor.

"Burn them! Burn those monsters to hell!"

Swords and axes were replaced by torches as wildlings realized fire was more effective than steel.

Yet the campfires were too few to arm everyone.

"More fire! We need more fire!" a wildling leader shouted. Just then, a tent in front of him erupted into flames, blazing brightly.

The fire spread rapidly, engulfing the northern section of the camp in moments.

The flames roared like a dragon in the snowstorm, casting light and heat that halted the wights' advance.

Wildlings cheered and lit more torches, though some cursed—likely those whose property was now ablaze.

---

Samwell's golden eyes glowed in the firelight. Though he still wore Mance Rayder's appearance, his demeanor had entirely changed. But in the chaos, no wildling noticed.

"Drive them out of the camp!" Wildlings shouted as they waved their torches.

Suddenly, the wind howled sharply, and an icy chill spread from the northern darkness. Even the wildlings, long accustomed to the frozen wastes, shivered.

The roaring flames dimmed as if cowed by the cold.

Samwell felt a suffocating sense of dread. His golden pupils narrowed into slits as he stared intently into the shadows.

From the storm emerged a horse covered in frost, its black, frozen intestines hanging from its split belly.

Upon the horse sat a rider—slender and elegant, with a knight's bearing. His pale skin glistened like ice, and his armor shifted colors like mirrored ice crystals. His piercing blue eyes glowed like stars.

The freezing cold emanated from him, seeming to freeze even the air itself.

"A White Walker?" Samwell instinctively reached for his back, only to remember he hadn't brought his greatsword, Dawn, to maintain his disguise as Mance Rayder.

The White Walker tilted its head as if understanding him. Opening its mouth, it let out a sound like cracking ice—sharp, eerie, and incomprehensible.

Samwell couldn't understand its words, but the Walker's gaze suggested familiarity, as if it recognized him.

"Take your minions and leave!" Samwell tried to negotiate.

The White Walker slowly shook its head. Drawing a sword that glowed faintly with icy blue light, it pointed toward the Wall and spoke again in its alien tongue.

A wildling, losing patience, waved his torch and shouted, "Get out, monster, or I'll burn you alive!"

The Walker's icy gaze silenced him. Dismounting gracefully, the Walker landed on the burning ground with a sharp, crystalline sound.

White Walkers don't fear fire.

The thought struck Samwell as the Walker moved. Unlike the clumsy wights, it was as fluid as drifting snow, its blue-lit blade extinguishing the flames it passed through.

The wildlings charged, but their weapons glanced off its armor, which rippled like water without a scratch. The Walker spun, its icy sword cutting through leather, wool, and flesh with surgical precision.

In moments, a dozen wildlings lay dead, their blood frozen before it could spill.

The White Walker continued to rush towards Samwell, holding the ice-blue sword..

"Protect Chief Mance!"

Several wildlings tried to intercept, but Samwell was faster. A golden blur, he shot forward like lightning.

Boom!

Flames erupted as he collided with the Walker. Though its ice-like armor remained intact under the attack of flames, Samwell could finally confirm that this thing was indeed not afraid of fire.

At least he wasn't afraid of the fire he created with Sorcery.

Samwell wasn't disheartened. Pulling a black dagger from his belt—a dragonglass blade—he prepared for the real fight.

Although he did not carry the greatsword Dawn, it was impossible for Samwell to come to the other side of the Wall without any preparation.

The Walker's glowing blue eyes flickered with fear as it recognized the weapon.

Samwell moved like a storm. The Walker roared silently, unleashing a blast of icy wind that extinguished all fire and plunged the camp into darkness.

Unfazed, Samwell did not dodge or evade. With an extremely determined light flashing in his golden eyes, Samwell surged forward.

Boom!

Flames exploded again, It was like a volcanic eruption, magma surging, countless burning rocks falling to the ground, and flames and meteors splashing everywhere.

The White Walker jerked back, trying to escape the flames. as his dragonglass dagger pierced the Walker's forehead. A sharp ding echoed as pale blue blood sprayed from the wound, hissing and steaming in the cold.

He stretched out two skeletal white hands to pull out the dagger.

But before he could touch the dagger, the White Walker's head began to melt like dew.

Everyone stared with wide eyes, watching this extremely terrifying White Walker gradually smoke and disintegrate after being stabbed by the black dagger, turning into a chaotic and blurry liquid, and finally disappearing completely in the winter.

Only a thin wisp of blue smoke was left, swirling and floating in the wind and snow.

The milky white glass-like bones, shining with pale light, also melted.

Samwell held the dragon crystal dagger and looked at the vapor surrounding it, as if it was sweating.

And just as the White Walkers disappeared into the wind, the howling snow and wind suddenly became much smaller.

---

The remaining wights fled in terror, leaving the wildlings stunned.

The savages finally woke up from their stupor and couldn't help but wonder the same question;

"How did you kill it, Chief Mance?" one asked.

"Obsidian," Samwell replied, holding up the dagger. "Some call it dragonglass."

He tossed the dagger to a wildling, who yelped as the cold blade bit his skin.

"This kind of dragon crystal weapon can restrain the White Walkers."

"Clear the battlefield," Samwell ordered as he headed back to the command tent. Though outwardly calm, he was deeply troubled.

"It's so cold!" The Wilding tried to catch the dragon crystal dagger in a hurry, but it fell out of his hand due to the cold.

The wildlings around naturally cursed this guy, and then gathered together to carefully study this strange weapon that could kill the White Walkers.

White Walkers were far deadlier than wights. Even though he seemed to have easily killed the White Walker with the dragonglass dagger just now, you have to know that with his current combat power, he can be said to be the best in Westeros.

And what if there were thousands? Or their fabled leader, the Night King?

The more Samwell thought about it, the heavier his heart felt.

When he entered the tent, he saw Dalla lying on the fur beside the brazier, holding a rosy baby in her arms.

"Is it born?" He tried to look surprised, but his eyes were looking towards the location of the Winter Horn.

Then his gaze froze.

Because, there was no trace of the huge horn in the tent!

"It's over?" Val asked nervously.

"Yes. Just one Walker. Not hard to deal with." Samwell's eyes flicked to where the Horn of Winter had been.

It was gone.

"Give me the child to see"

"You're not my husband," Dalla said suddenly, clutching her child tightly.

Hearing this, Samwell immediately stopped in his tracks.

Val, startled, quickly stepped in front of her sister, watching the man warily.

"Dalla, is this some kind of joke?" Samwell said with difficulty.

Dalla slowly shook her head:

"You can mimic my husband's appearance, but you cannot mimic the way he looks at me. There is no love in your gaze."

Samwell finally understood why the Horn of Winter was missing; it seemed this woman had hidden it away.

So, he shrugged, reverted to his original form, and said:

"You are very clever, Lady Dalla. Allow me to reintroduce myself: I am Samwell Caesar, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm."

"He is a guest within the Great Wall."

"You people south of the Wall are indeed all liars!" Val said indignantly.

"And from our perspective, you wildlings are all robbers, thieves, and savages," Samwell replied. "However, I do this to protect everyone. Yes, everyone, including you. Many of my subjects consider you a bunch of uncivilized, beast-like humans, but I still see you as human beings.

If you don't believe me, you can go outside and ask if I just repelled the Others and saved you."

Dalla's expression softened slightly and she said, "Alright, Your Majesty Caesar, I believe in your sincerity. So, can my husband be released?"

"As long as you agree to my conditions, Mance will be freed. And you all can enter the Wall," Samwell reiterated his conditions.

Dalla listened quietly and said, "Your Majesty, I can agree to your conditions. But I have one small request."

This somewhat delighted Samwell; he didn't expect the wild Queen to be so easy to talk to:

"Go ahead."

"The Horn of Winter must remain in our hands," Dalla said. "Only then can we wildlings ensure our safety is not compromised."

Samwell shrugged helplessly and said:

"It seems I have no choice but to agree."

Dalla showed a pleased smile:

"You will not regret gaining the friendship of the Wildlings. Your Majesty"

(End of Chapter)