Inside the walls of Shadow Tower, fires were burning everywhere. With the hidden sections of the defense plan already enacted, the final step of the publicly known plan had begun: street fighting and evacuation.

As the rhythmic alarm bells signaling the fall of the gate rang out, the soldiers atop the Wall also began to abandon their positions, descending in order and retreating into the fortress. They lit fires to consume the buildings and barricades they had stacked since the first half of the night. Relying on the great blazes and familiar terrain, they fought while falling back, slowly contracting their defensive line in a semicircle toward the stairs leading up the Wall.

The outcome was set. The White Walkers did not enter the fortress alongside the flood of wights. Bane, holding two Lightbringers, never got the chance to become a White Walker slayer. But this also meant that the strange phenomenon of extinguished fire would not occur again within the walls. In this situation where “no abnormalities occurred,” the advantage of a well-trained force with a pre-planned strategy became immediately clear. Though everyone knew the fortress was doomed and they would need to retreat up the Wall to other strongholds, the black-clad Commanders of the Night’s Watch did not panic. The mountain clansmen and New Gift soldiers under their command followed their example, gritting their teeth and buying time for the evacuation of women, children, and support personnel.

Ordering the soldiers to move every flammable item they could find—lamp oil, pitch, even cloth and firewood—to the base of the stairs, Denys Mallister sighed deeply and looked toward the heart of the fortress, which had already become a sea of flames. The non-combatants had almost all evacuated. What he worried about now was whether the materials he had prepared would truly be enough to destroy the stairs.

…

There were nineteen fortresses along the Wall. Only the original Night’s Watch headquarters, Nightfort, had been planned during the construction of the Wall itself. Brandon the Builder had already left a path to the top of the Wall in its design—a staircase carved of ice.

The other fortresses did not receive such preferential treatment. The eighteen strongholds, including Shadow Tower and Castle Black, had all been built by Night’s Watch Artisans later on. The staircases were constructed by driving immense logs into the Wall itself. After enduring countless years of wind, frost, rain, snow, and constant repairs, they had become nearly one with the Wall. Though made of wood, they had grown so cold and dense it was incredibly difficult to ignite them. If the wight army reached the base of the Wall before the Night’s Watch could destroy the stairs, what then?

As Denys Mallister and his guards racked their brains wondering if any remaining supplies within the fortress could be used, fortune finally smiled upon them: the second wave of reinforcements from Stone Door Fortress had arrived, and they brought Wildfire, descending one after another via the stairs and rope cages.

“Ser Mallister!” The leader of the Stone Door reinforcements was a man who had once served at Shadow Tower and been promoted from within. He recognized his old superior at a glance. “We brought two crates of explosive bombs, ten crates of Wildfire, and one hundred men. Where do you need us? Give the order!”

“You’ve come just in time. Stack everything around the base of the stairs. Once you’ve done that, head back up to the top of the Wall. Tell the men up there to prepare to burn the stairs too. Use Wildfire!”

“Huh?” The reinforcement leader widened his eyes and looked toward the blazing Shadow Tower, a place where he had served for more than a decade. “Are you sure you don’t need support?”

“Back to the Wall, now! That’s an order!” Denys shouted with all his strength, turning to his guards as well. “You too! Your new orders are to defend the top of the Wall. Prevent any enemy from climbing the stairs or scaling the ice. This is a direct order, and it must be carried out at once. As for covering the retreat of the remaining brothers and lighting the fire down here, I can handle it alone!”

“But—”

“What’s wrong with you? Which ear didn’t hear me say this is a direct order? Get out of here. Don’t block the stairs and cut off the brothers behind!”

Denys Mallister never used foul language. The fact that he did now revealed the firmness of his resolve. The reinforcements, some anxious and others fired up and ready to charge into the fight, froze at the foot of the stairs. They exchanged glances with Denys’s few guards. They probably understood the Shadow Tower Commander’s plan: the respected old man intended to perish with the fortress.

The words “We’ll stay with you” were stuck in their throats, but in the end, none of them had the courage to say it. With tears in their eyes and backs straight, they saluted and said, “Yes, Commander!”

…

Perish with the fortress? Nonsense.

Though Denys had white hair and a beard and a face full of wrinkles, and though he looked like a stubborn old traditionalist, gods be his witness, he had never been a fool. The fortress might fall, but the men were still alive. Burying the living with the dead? Only a true idiot would think like that. Besides, lighting a fire—something that could be done with a single rocket—why would it need the Commander of Shadow Tower himself?

Staying alive and preserving combat strength, that was the true service to the war effort.

But, speaking of “combat strength,” right now, there were at least nine hundred soldiers at Shadow Tower who had not yet evacuated. According to their long-laid plans, they were falling back step by step toward his position, some in panic, others in order. Compared to himself, this old man, they were the true combat strength.

But they would never make it out.

Denys had realized that the moment the wight vanguard breached the gate. The soldiers already grappling with wights, already bitten and overwhelmed, could not simply crowd around the stairs and evacuate in time. It would cause chaos at the stair base. Who knew how many might escape? If the wights used the panic to mix in and charge up the stairs, reaching the top of the Wall, then he would be remembered as the greatest sinner in Night’s Watch history.

They weren’t dead yet. They were still fighting. Not even half had fallen. But they had already become “sunk costs” in the war for survival. No matter how hard they fought, they could not be saved. Trying to pull them out would only trap more soldiers—and might even doom the entire Wall.

But to abandon hundreds, even thousands of brothers and escape alone? He, who had lived over seventy years and carried a lifetime’s worth of honor, could not bear that disgrace. If he committed such a shameful act at the very end of his life, he might come back from the dead just to regret it.

Denys wasn’t planning to die with Shadow Tower. He was planning to die with the brothers who followed him, trusted him, and would ultimately have their retreat cut off by his own hand. If destroying the stairs was like a warrior cutting off his own arm, then he, the blade, would be buried with that severed arm.

—

He drew his longsword and used both trembling hands to pry open one tightly nailed wooden crate after another. He placed the explosive bombs, packed in shock-absorbing straw, next to the combustible piles prepared earlier. He opened the lids of the Wildfire jars one by one, dousing the wooden stairs and platform beneath them. During that time, there were still scattered logistics personnel, delayed by various matters, running through the fortress. Some paused to ask if he needed help. Denys shouted at all of them to get to the top of the Wall immediately.

It took over ten minutes to complete all the preparations. Panting, he leaned on the wooden railing, grabbed the torch fastened to the side, and finally turned to look down the main road that led from the fortress to the base of the stairs.

He still hoped to save a few more. Even if they were deserters, as long as they weren’t being chased by wights, he wanted to give them a chance. But the last living creature to pass him was the dog from the Shadow Tower kitchens. The poor mutt sensed the presence of cold magic and dashed past Denys with its tail between its legs, not even sparing its master a glance, just sprinting up the stairs with all four legs, whining.

And then, emerging from the darkness, came the wight wolves and wight bears. This vanguard of the dead, which had broken through the front gate first, did something no human force could manage. Under the Night King’s command, they achieved true “non-engagement.” They ignored the nearby soldiers, didn’t bother to slaughter the fleeing men who crossed their path, didn’t try to block retreating Night’s Watchmen. Like blades through butter, they charged directly toward the Wall’s stairs with perfect coordination. Even though most of the fortress hadn’t fallen yet, and the gate defenders were still resisting, these creatures were the first to appear in Denys’s line of sight.

So fast. So precise.

Denys gave a silent nod, acknowledging the enemy’s ruthless efficiency—and feeling even more admiration for the “Defense Plan” that had foreseen every possibility. Though the plan hadn’t been written by him, at that moment, his chest swelled with pride. No matter how many tricks you try, in the end, you will be defeated by the will of mankind.

He let out a crooked grin, dropped the torch, and shouted a curse he had never uttered in his entire life.

“Come on, you sons of bitches!”

(To be continued.)

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep