Trophy #43

The battle unfolded in a blur of movement and fury. Gale, his obsidian dagger gleaming with a malevolent intensity, lunged at the white walker with a lightning-fast stab. He aimed for the creature's heart, but the white walker was no ordinary foe. In a graceful sidestep, it gracefully evaded Gale's thrust.

After deftly dodging Gale's initial attack, the white walker retaliated with a swift, precise swing of its iceblade. The obsidian dagger whistled through the air as Gale was forced to retreat, losing valuable ground to the white walker's longer weapon. 

Each swing of the white walker's iceblade seemed to command an aura of menace, threatening to close the distance and end Gale's defiance.

Gale was keen to get in close and launch another assault, but the relentless strikes from the white walker's formidable weapon continued to drive him back. 

The reach advantage the white walker enjoyed became evident as Gale was repeatedly pushed into a defensive posture, fighting to fend off the relentless assault.

Realizing it had the advantage, the white walker took the initiative with blinding speed, slashing its iceblade through the air. Gale parried the attack with his obsidian dagger, sparks flying as the two blades clashed. 

The white walker's strength and speed were evident as every time the young managed to block, he'd be forced to take several steps back. 

Meanwhile, Threya and Tormund struggled to keep the relentless wights at bay, fighting off the relentless tide of undead. It was a desperate battle that required all their strength and determination.

Looking at them, Gale couldn't help but sigh, inwardly wishing he had Qhorin and the others with him instead of these unreliable wildlings. He firmed his resolve with a deep breath and charged the white walker, intent on closing the distance. 

In a blur of motion and fearlessness, Gale dashed toward the white walker, ducking underneath the menacing arc of its iceblade. He scooped up a handful of snow from the frozen ground and flung it at the white walker's face, obscuring its vision. 

His unexpected maneuver forced the white walker to raise its hand to shield its icy visage. Seizing the opportunity, Gale launched an aggressive stab at the creature's torso, his obsidian dagger gleaming with determination.

Yet, the white walker's reaction was swift and well-practiced. Despite the snowy distraction, it quickly shifted to protect itself. It dispersed the snow with a wave of its free hand and retaliated with a powerful downward swing of its iceblade, intent on crushing the young man beneath the force of its attack.

Unable to dodge, Gale braced himself as the obsidian dagger met the white walker's iceblade with a resounding clash. 

The impact sent shivers down his arms, causing his boots to sink deeper into the snow with each passing moment. Despite his extraordinary strength and endurance, when compared to regular humans, Gale was keenly aware of the difference between him and the supernatural entity before him. 

The white walker, with its superior strength and the advantage of leverage, exerted tremendous pressure on Gale, making it increasingly challenging for him to maintain his defensive stance.

Gale gritted his teeth and prepared to disengage and try again, but he had to halt as he heard a loud roar and noticed something in the corner of his vision. 

Seemingly realizing Gale's plight, the giant roared fiercely as if to get his attention. It seized one of the fallen wights, its massive strength making the creature seem like a mere doll in its grasp. With a mighty heave, it hurled the wight at the white walker.

Not one to let such an opportunity slip, Gale prepared to take action. He waited for the wight's corpse to hit the white walker and promptly made his move once the ancient undead lost its balance. 

Gale shifted his feet and slipped aside, allowing the white walker's iceblade to cleave the snow. Then, without hesitation, he drove his dagger toward his foe's heart. 

Again, the white walker proved its resourcefulness as it let go of the ice blade and gripped Gale's wrist with both hands to stop his attack. The ancient undead attempted to leverage its superior strength to wrestle the obsidian dagger out of the young man's hand, but the latter merely smirked as he called on his power. 

The obsidian dagger morphed and twisted, materializing into an iceblade that fused seamlessly with the obsidian core. And with a grunt of effort, Gale drove the icy tip into the white walker's chest with a swift, decisive thrust.

A chilling scream echoed from the white walker as the obsidian iceblade pierced its heart. In an explosive burst, the white walker disintegrated into a cloud of mist and countless shards of ice, vanquished by the unique properties of dragon glass.

As the white walker shattered, the wights surrounding it crumbled into heaps of lifeless, brittle bones. Gale spared no second glance for the defeated creatures. 

Instead, he turned his gaze to the white walker's discarded iceblade, its once-imposing icy blade now cracked and perilously close to shattering alongside its master.

Arching an intrigued eyebrow, he knelt to retrieve the iceblade. Almost immediately, the ominous cracks ceased, and from the weapon emanated a frigid chill, strangely comforting and evoking an inexplicable familiarity in Gale. 

His eyes widened with amazement as the cracks seamlessly mended, and he promptly scrutinized the iceblade in his grasp. The weapon appeared as a fusion of a spear and a greatsword, boasting a lengthy hilt that extended beneath the long, slender iceblade at its peak.

This icy blade seemed to be attached to the handle with delicate strands of hemp rope, which also dangled from the base of the hilt, swaying gently in the wintry breeze in several strands.

Tormund, his grizzled face breaking into a wide grin, couldn't help but notice Gale's actions as he approached the young man. "What you got there, lad?" he inquired, genuine curiosity lacing his rough voice.

Gale turned to face Tormund, his expression blank. "A souvenir and proof... can't have you lying about this when we get back to Rayder," he calmly explained, his words carrying a subtle weight.

Tormund chuckled heartily at Gale's response, though he feigned an affronted expression. "You don't seem to think highly of us, do you? You wound me, ser crow," he said in a mocking tone, shaking his head.

Gale's expression remained blank as he retorted, "No, I don't think highly of you two... the big guy's alright, though," he said, nodding toward the giant who had already returned to his stoic vigil, gazing off into the distant horizon.

Gale added, gesturing toward an old, rusty blade that belonged to one of the now-vanquished wights, "Make yourself useful for once and throw me that blade beneath you... there's something I want to try."

Tormund raised a bushy eyebrow at Gale's request but complied, bending to pick up the discarded blade. "Only if you say please," he remarked, his grin widening as he held the weapon aloft.

Gale couldn't help but roll his eyes at Tormund. "Please, make yourself useful for once and throw me the damned blade," he replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice. 

Eager to see what the young man had in mind, Tormund promptly tossed the rusty blade in Gale's direction, his large hand sending it spinning through the cold, wintry air.

The rusty blade embedded itself into the snow, its tarnished surface glistening with flecks of ice. Gale picked it up with his left hand, his right still tightly gripping the white walker's iceblade. He calmly raised the rusty sword, holding it in the air as he gently tapped it against the icy blade.

Much to his, Threya's, and Tormund's shock, the rusty sword was instantly seized by the frigid touch of the iceblade. A brittle chill raced through the blade, causing it to freeze and shatter into countless pieces upon contact with the supernatural cold. 

The shards scattered on the snow-covered ground, twinkling like deadly stars.

Tormund couldn't help but mutter under his breath, his voice tinged with amazement, "Well, that's a fancy trinket..." 

With a sly grin, he pried off a rusted helmet from wight's head and presented it to Gale. "Care to make a trade?"

Gale scoffed, his eyes narrowing in amusement. "Nah," he said firmly, his grip on the iceblade firm and resolute. 

"I reckon you might struggle with this one," he added, his free hand brandishing the impressive iceblade with an air of quiet superiority. "By struggle, I mean you'll be frozen solid..." 

...

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