Dawn was approaching.

Inside and outside the city, early risers preparing to enter or leave King’s Landing began to gather. Situated across from bustling Blackwater Port, the River Gate saw the highest volume of daily cargo and foot traffic among the seven gates of the capital. Though the gates closed at sunset, ships that arrived at the mouth of the Blackwater River after nightfall didn’t wait for sunrise to dock. By morning, several more ships had unloaded cargo and passengers, forming a long line outside the River Gate, all ready to enter the city.

The eastern sky began to pale, washing out the blood-red tint cast by the comet. The comet’s brilliance was no match for the sun, and its crimson hue quickly faded, leaving only the main body visible as a blot of color in a light pink sky. As the sun neared the horizon, pink gave way to an array of vibrant dawn shades. With the comet, the clouds, and the rippling waters of Blackwater Bay working together, the horizon became a spectacle of shifting colors—gold, red, purple, black, white, blue.

The brilliance transformed by the second, the edge of the world like a canvas painted anew with every breath. Then came the sun—leaping from the sea like a fiery god. Its flames wiped out the other colors and bathed the bay in golden light, turning the waters into molten mirrors. For a moment, it was as if there were two suns in the sky.

But no one watched this masterpiece. Those who had worked through the night were now sleeping. Those just waking had no time to admire the sunrise. Reality left no room for wonder.

Outside the River Gate, the crowd thickened. Carts and people waiting to enter the city clogged the road. Laborers itched to begin their day’s work, merchants urged the guards to let them through so they could sell their goods. Complaints and shouts echoed through the gathering crowd.

The River Gate, typically opened at dawn, remained shut even after sunrise. The line outside grew longer, and the twenty-odd gold cloaks assigned to the port could do little beyond maintaining order. Though part of the River Gate garrison, they couldn’t open the gate from the outside. They had to wait too.

…

“There are so many people,” Domi muttered. “But these southerners are lazy. The sun’s up and the gate’s still shut.”

“King’s Landing is warm. Not like the Wall, where the cold wakes you every morning. Maybe the gatekeepers are still in bed.”

“No blankets needed here. I could sleep on the street and not freeze. Being a beggar here is better than being a ranger up north.”

“Enough chatter. We’re on duty, not a pleasure trip,” Ser Alliser Thorne growled. “Form up around the wagon. It’s too crowded. Don’t let anyone near the cage.”

There was no need to force space. The surrounding crowd instinctively gave the Night’s Watch a wide berth. This group of escorting rangers and Eastwatch sailors had just arrived in King’s Landing the night before and hadn’t changed into warmer southern clothes. They stood shirtless or sweating in heavy black uniforms. Not even the background stench of the capital could mask their wild aura. Armed and hardened, they were not to be approached.

“Ser, looks like there’s a group ahead dressed in black. More than us. I thought only the Night’s Watch wore black?”

Alliser frowned. Were all Eastwatch men this talkative? “Maybe someone died. Get back in line and stop asking dumb questions like some backwater yokel.”

“But I am a yokel, Ser. First time in the big city,” Domi said with a grin. “Unlike you, who used to serve in King’s Landing, drinking wine and chasing skirts.”

“Shut up. No one will think you’re mute if you stay quiet.”

Alliser’s authority still carried weight. The Black Castle men fell silent and held their formation.

…

The group of “men in black” ahead had also noticed them. After a brief discussion, several pushed through the crowd toward the wight escort.

Black met black. One group looked like laborers, conmen, and street thugs. The other stood upright and disciplined. The former were the logistics security team of the Night’s Watch. The latter were true brothers of the Watch, guarding the Wall. Among the “imposters” stood a dwarf and a red-cloaked Lannister guard, making for an odd sight indeed.

“Ser Alliser Thorne? What brings you here?” Tyrion Lannister blinked in surprise. “Did Lord Commander Mormont send you to inspect Aegor’s work? What’s in the wagon?”

The master-at-arms of Castle Black looked down at the dwarf and snorted. “A wight. Lord Mormont ordered us to bring it to King’s Landing, to present it to His Grace and request support for the Wall.”

“A wight?” Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “The Night’s Watch has been given plenty of supplies. And now you’re resorting to tales from Old Nan? His Grace enjoys wine, but he’s not an idiot.”

Alliser didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his head. “Uncover it. Let our Lannister ‘giant’ see for himself.”

“My lord, easy to pull off, hard to cover again…”

“Do as I said.”

Tyrion and the fake Night’s Watchmen from the logistics team circled around the wagon. The tarp was thick and black, double-layered. Two men untied the ropes, pulled back the corners, and revealed the cargo underneath.

It was a cage. Reinforced with iron, its bars were spaced tightly. Inside, a filthy, rag-covered man was chained to the floor, lying motionless.

The moment sunlight touched his skin, the man stirred. Then he lunged, crashing against the bars and reaching for Tyrion with a guttural roar. “Raargh!”

…

Though still at a safe distance, Tyrion stumbled back. His squire, Jack, caught him before he fell. His short, malformed legs trembled, and he would have collapsed without help.

The crowd gasped and surged back, creating an empty circle ten yards wide around the wagon.

Alliser grinned, and his brothers chuckled. Tyrion swallowed his fear and stepped closer, peering at the creature. The man wore shredded animal hides. His hands were blackened, his skin pale and pocked with rot. He was clearly not alive in any conventional sense.

“There are illnesses that do this. Greyscale. Rabies. Brain fevers,” Tyrion muttered. “I don’t know medicine, but locking up sick men and calling them wights? That’s a low trick, Ser Alliser.”

“That’s right. What if it’s contagious?”

“Have a heart, don’t frighten people.”

“Mercy?” Alliser barked, stepping forward with a clang as he drew his steel sword. The crowd recoiled again. “I’ll show you mercy.”

He walked to the cage, staying just beyond the creature’s reach. Before everyone’s eyes, he thrust his blade into the creature’s chest. The tip came out the other side. Then he pulled it out and stabbed again. Then a third time.

A woman screamed on the first strike. Men muttered on the second. By the third, all eyes at the River Gate were on the small, shabby cart. It had become a stage.

Alliser withdrew the sword and held it toward Tyrion. “Want to check if it’s real?”

Tyrion stepped back, frowning at the gleaming blade. Three fatal wounds. No blood. No cries of pain. The thing hadn’t flinched. It simply switched targets, reaching past the bars for Alliser with blackened claws.

“North of the Wall, there are tens of thousands more like this. Ghosts, dead things, enemies of mankind,” Alliser declared. “While you sit safe in the South, dreaming of golden ages, we fight for your survival.”

These were Mormont’s orders. Show the wight if needed. Alliser had no patience for secrecy. This wasn’t myth. This was war. With steel in hand, he called out loud for all to hear, “The cold winds blow. Winter is coming. We must hold the Wall. We need support!”

…

The shut River Gate had created a captive audience. Alliser Thorne, with his sword and the creature in the cage, had become the center of attention for hundreds.

And just inside the River Gate, behind the wall, another performance, starring a different brother of the Night’s Watch, was coming to an end.

(To be continued.)

***

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep