Dragons are not considered intelligent life forms, but they do have brains and the capacity for thought. Although they were unable to maintain altitude after being injured by a group of White Walkers, they were certainly not foolish enough to fall into the swarm of wights below. Rhaegal instinctively glided closer to Daenerys, who was riding Drogon. Eventually, the two dragons were forced to land not far apart on the northern edge of the wight army, splashing large amounts of snow with a dull thud as they touched down, avoiding being directly surrounded.

The Northern Army’s formation had long since broken and scattered. Soldiers retreated in disarray toward the camp in groups of dozens or hundreds, relying on bonfires for small-scale, brutal, and chaotic close-quarters combat. If the dragons had not appeared in time to boost morale, they would have collapsed and fled south long ago. But the Northmen, who had already been pushed to their limit, were soon shocked to discover that the dead, who had just moments ago been swarming, tearing, and killing, were now retreating like a receding tide, completely abandoning frontal combat. They turned north without looking back, crossing the ruined fences and dimming firewalls once more as they withdrew from the battlefield.

No, they were not retreating from the battlefield. The Northmen who had survived the disaster, still shaken and confused, hesitantly gathered by the fence and looked north. They were immediately stunned to find that the enemy was not fleeing, but rather gathering their last strength to pursue the two dragons that had landed but not died.

The suppressive effect of dragonflame on dense formations was staggering. Within just a few minutes of entering the battlefield, the number of wights killed exceeded what the seven thousand Northern soldiers had managed to kill in nearly half an hour of bloody battle. After one and a half rounds of area clearing, the number of wights finally dropped below five digits. They could no longer create the overwhelming sight of a sea of bodies. Although the dead surrounding the two grounded dragons were still a large dark mass, the white snow between them and the outline of the wight horde could now be seen. It was no longer the boundless black tide it had been.

It is true that wings without scale protection are easily injured, but a grounded dragon is still a terrifying and invincible beast. Rhaegal and Drogon covered each other from a distance, still fiercely and relentlessly breathing fire and lashing their powerful tails at the wights attempting to approach. Wherever they moved, the wights were either reduced to ash or had their bodies and bones shattered. If not for having only one head and one tail each, the wights would never have been able to get close to them, even if they charged until their strength was exhausted and bile poured from their mouths.

However, the White Walkers mixed in with the wight horde, though their magic was exhausted, were still powerful warriors with astonishing divine strength. They continued to attack the two grounded dragons, now easy targets, with projectiles. Amid the continuous whooshing of missiles, sharp-edged stones moving at terrifying speeds cracked and dislodged the thick scales on the dragons’ bodies. Several times, they narrowly missed the dragons’ eyes and Daenerys on Drogon’s back, successfully disrupting their rhythm of fire attacks and forcing them to close their eyes to protect vital points and their rider, giving the wights the chance to approach from all sides.

The green dragon Rhaegal was bleeding from the head after being hit by stones. After enduring the pain for a moment, he could bear it no longer. With a roar, he flapped his injured wings and forcibly ascended, flying out of danger, leaving only Drogon carrying Daenerys behind. Due to a hole in his wing and the weight of the saddle and rider exceeding a hundred pounds, he couldn’t take off again. He could only fend off the harassing projectiles from the White Walkers while trying his best to keep the encirclement from closing in. Unfortunately, among the hundreds of thousands of wights, some inevitably slipped through the defensive circle of dragonflame and tail sweeps, surging toward him. Physical attacks from fangs, claws, and broken swords were only pinpricks to a dragon, but the few wights who climbed onto Drogon’s legs and back, ignoring everything else, posed a direct threat to the dragonrider atop him. The situation was critical.

Just as the Dragon Queen and her mount were in unprecedented danger, the Gift Army, which had been charging across the snow from a mile away, finally arrived, running at full speed. Amidst cries of battle, they approached the grounded dragons and began to provide support.

The first to reach the battlefield were the mountain clans’ cavalry riding the dwarf horses unique to the North. Unlike cavalry elsewhere, they did not lower lances or draw swords to crash into the wight horde. Instead, they swept past the edges of the battle at a speed that, while slow for cavalry, was still impossible for ordinary wights to catch. They took Dragon Crystal Bombs from cloth bags beside their saddles, lit the fuses with torches, and hurled them at the wights before riding off without looking back, leaving the killing to the powder, dragonglass fragments, and the following infantry.

Amidst the thunderous explosions, the already dwindling wight numbers took another devastating blow. At that moment, the Gift Lands Army infantry, shouting and wielding various weapons, rushed forward. After a slight pause to let their comrades form a support line, they charged into the now disordered wight horde without hesitation.

As puppets without emotion or thought, the wights are the army least afraid of tactics such as encirclement and flanking. No matter how many directions they are attacked from, the outermost wights can instantly change direction at the moment of engagement under the micromanagement of their controllers, forming the front of a new formation. Their fearless assault makes any enemy feel like they’ve slammed into a wall of iron.

But this time, facing the furious, fire-breathing dragons and the charging Gift Army, the wight formation began to show unprecedented disarray.

This was not due to any command error from the White Walkers, nor a drop in wight combat effectiveness. For the first time in this war, they were falling into a predicament where they lacked a numerical advantage and couldn’t form overwhelming pressure in key areas.

Losing numerical superiority not only affected direct confrontations, but also meant that each White Walker could no longer be covered and concealed by enough wights. Without enough magic to reinforce their bodies with ice armor or lower their temperatures to resist heat, dragonflame, dragonglass, and even Wildfire bombs now posed real threats to them.

Since they were threatened, they naturally had to retreat. This retreat inevitably disrupted their formation. But with a dragon on one side and the charging Gift Lands Army on the other, the Cold God Priests were forced to admit that they had nowhere left to run and could only fight head-on.

“White Walkers!”

“Be careful!”

At close range, the pale bodies of the White Walkers stood out starkly against the wights. Human soldiers who spotted them panicked, calling for support from archers carrying Lightbringers while attacking wildly. But to their surprise, they discovered that these beings, once invulnerable to swords and spears at the Wall and in Crown Town, could now be killed with ordinary weapons.

“I think I just killed a White Walker with a dragonglass arrow!”

“The bombs work too!”

“Then what are we waiting for? Kill! Kill them all!”

The discovery spread quickly across the battlefield through shouts. Gift Lands soldiers, now filled with new courage, wielded dragonglass arrows, spears, bombs, and Wildfire, carving out a path through the wights surrounding Drogon and rescuing the Queen from danger. The Northern Army, having survived the earlier disaster, also regrouped under the commands of their officers and nobles, launching a pincer attack on the enemy from the south.

With each White Walker that was eliminated, hundreds or even thousands of wights lost their vitality. Rhaegal, who had flown away earlier, circled back and quickly returned to protect his mother. The battlefield was now filled with human and wight bodies and limbs, with smoke and fire swirling overhead. It seemed that victory for the living was only a matter of time. But not far south of the fiercest fighting, the Chief Cold God Priest paid no attention to his side’s losses. He led a small group of wights away from the main force and approached Viserion, who had been killed by an ice spear. As the battle raged nearby, he stood before the white dragon.

Very good. Since it was killed at low altitude, the dragon hadn’t injured its wings in the fall and should still be able to fly after transformation. Placing his pale hand on the dragon’s head, the First Cold Priest began examining the magical state within the white dragon’s body.

Excellent. The carefully calculated force of the throw ensured that the ice spear did not pass through the dragon’s body after entering, releasing all the cold magic it contained. Now, there was almost no fire-attribute power left in the dragon’s body. As long as cold magic was poured in…

The situation was urgent, and he did not wait. He immediately began to infuse magic through physical contact.

Rolling power surged from the Chief Cold God Priest’s small body into the dead white dragon. It quickly spread through its muscles and blood, transforming its bodily fluids into corpse oil, which was more conducive to conducting cold magic. If he only needed it to move, about half of his magic would suffice. But the First Cold Priest also wanted it to fly, to carry him away from the hopeless battlefield. That would require more magic. The Priests had no wings, and they could not control a wight dragon’s flight by empathy. Thus, he had to additionally activate the part of the dragon’s brain that controlled flight, turning it into a “smart wight” with a degree of autonomous activity.

Fortunately, I chose a smaller dragon, the First Cold Priest thought with relief. After consuming seventy to eighty percent of his magic, the transformation was finally complete. The body was reactivated, and the magical connection was quickly established. After giving the first command, the white dragon’s massive eyes suddenly opened, glowing with a beautiful, captivating blue light, and focused on its controller.

Excellent. Now, should I take advantage of their weakness to eliminate the two remaining wounded dragons, attack the humans first, or retreat from the battlefield and return to the Wall to destroy the Ice Wall’s magic?

Before he could finish thinking or climb onto the dragon’s back, a whooshing sound came from behind. Remembering the previous incident, the Chief Cold God Priest dared not rely on his ice armor to take the hit. He made the right decision immediately, relying on his far superior reaction speed. At the last moment, he shifted half a step and dodged the Dragonsteel arrow that would have killed him.

However, the Lightbringer did not strike the Chief Cold God Priest. Instead, it hit the reawakened white dragon behind him. The razor-sharp arrowhead pierced through the yellowish scales on the dragon’s neck and embedded itself deep in the flesh. Dense fire-attribute energy spread from the wound, undoing all the Cold God Priest’s efforts.

No, no, no… the Chief Cold God Priest roared in the ancient tongue as he watched the dragon’s glowing eyes fade and close once more. He quickly pulled out the Dragonsteel arrow and cast it aside, continuing to pour magic into the body. Dragons were physical beings, not purely magical creatures. A freshly-killed dragon would not disintegrate upon being struck by a Dragonsteel arrow and could still be used. As long as he poured the remaining twenty percent of his magic into repairing the damage from the fire magic, it might wake again.

But the humans crushed that hope. A second Lightbringer followed immediately. This time, it was not aimed at the Chief Cold God Priest, leaving him no chance to block it. With a squelch, the arrow struck the white dragon’s shoulder. The fire-attribute magic rapidly flooded in, causing the Chief Cold God Priest to lose the final chance of reactivating the dragon.

He turned, staring in fury and despair in the direction the arrows had come from. A small group of a few dozen human soldiers was approaching. He ordered the surrounding wights to charge and picked up stones from the ground, swearing to make the archer pay.

(To be continued.)

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep