The Frost Giant knelt on one knee.
Its head, composed of countless ice crystals, hung low, offering the most primal form of submission to Lynn on the watchtower.
What concept is a fifteen-meter Frost Giant?
About four stories high.
It could probably even push down a city wall.
The Gift is so close to The Wall. Lynn had long anticipated the consequences of blowing the horn of winter, but he wasn't worried at all.
The Night King was created by the Children of the Forest to fight the First Men. His southward march might still be executing this command; the Night King's existence is purely to eliminate the living.
However, this theory is unreliable.
Every action taken by the Night King has a strong purpose.
Whether it's forcibly taking infants without harming those who offer them, or deliberately letting enemies escape to spread fear so the world discovers his existence, luring dragons into an encirclement, and using the Ice Dragon's power to break through The Wall.
Or what Lynn learned when he previously visited Jeor Mormont: Jon is currently out searching for the Blessed Item for Lynn, and occasionally encounters Others and Wights.
But these dead men never actively attack them.
Jon has even walked right up to the Wights' faces, yet those dead men remain indifferent to him, a living person.
Considering the Night King's unwarranted generosity.
Therefore, Lynn can boldly judge that the Night King's motivation is definitely not that simple.
Because whether it is marching south or his various strange behaviors, he lacks a rational, deeper motive.
From the story told by Old Nan of Nightfort, it is known that the Night King was once the thirteenth Lord Commander of the Nights Watch.
He fell in love with a mysterious woman.
This woman had "skin as pale as the moon," "eyes like blue stars," and "skin as cold as ice."
The two "people" ruled for 13 years, eventually being defeated and killed by a coalition of his own brother, the king in the north, and Joramun, the king-beyond-the-wall.
After his death, people discovered that this Lord Commander had offered "sacrifices" to the Others.
Consequently, all records concerning him and his lover were destroyed.
Although there is disagreement over whether this woman was human, a Wight, or an Other, one thing is certain: this Nights Watch commander was the Night King.
From this perspective, the Night King's goal might be revenge against humanity, seeking vengeance for his lover.
However, this "Night King" is clearly not the current "Night King."
The Three-Eyed Raven achieves a form of immortality by constantly pulling victims back to the Night King's genesis, sealing their souls into the Night King's body, occupying his flesh, and then drawing sustenance from the weirwood.
Thus, whenever one "Night King" dies, another "Night King" is born in history, ensuring that the "Night King" can never be fully eradicated.
This also explains why, despite winning the war against the Night King so many times, humanity could only build The Wall to expel the Night King to the Land of Always Winter, rather than completely eliminating the "Night King."
Because the Three-Eyed Raven, that Schemer, wants to cling to life, the Night King will never be destroyed; he is merely created and born again whenever the previous host's lifespan is about to end.
Since the Night King also possesses the eternal memory of Westeros, he must kill the Three-Eyed Raven, which is indirectly equivalent to killing himself.
His fundamental purpose is to end his cycle of destiny that has repeated for thousands of years, allowing himself to rest eternally and grant peace to The Northlands.
Therefore, the Night King represents countless victims, and the true culprit has always been that damned Three-Eyed Raven.
In the show, the Three-Eyed Raven once said:
"The past is already written. The ink is dry."
This was meant to warn Bran, the victim, not to change the past.
But is that possible?
The Three-Eyed Raven said this specifically to remind Bran, intending for the naive Bran to travel back into the past.
Bran believed the Night King was the enemy of all living beings, and he felt compelled to go back to the past.
He wanted to see what happened at the Night King's genesis, hoping to find the Night King's weakness and a way to kill him.
The consequence of this action was plunging headfirst into the Three-Eyed Raven's trap, ultimately turning himself into the Night King.
Thus the cycle repeats.
Who killed me, or whom did I kill, or did I kill myself? That is the question.
Recalling the assassination attempt on Bran when he was paralyzed and unconscious, the assassin used a Dragon-Bone Hilted Dagger forged from valyrian steel.
And valyrian steel can kill the Night King and the Others.
The apparent culprit was Joffrey.
After Robert, in his drunken state, said, "The child would be better off dead," Joffrey, in order to prove his usefulness, specifically sent someone to kill Bran.
So, to stop someone suicidal from jumping off a building, you shoot the person attempting to jump, and that stops them from jumping?
What kind of logic is that?
No matter how foolish Joffrey was, he wouldn't commit such a shocking act!
Don't forget, if he hadn't broken the Three-Eyed Raven's plan, making the timeline unpredictable, Bran would have also possessed Warg abilities!
That's because Bran, having learned he would be turned into the Night King by the Three-Eyed Raven, used his Warg ability to constantly repeat into the ear of the foolish Joffrey:
"You must relieve your father's worries."
Joffrey, who idolized Robert, eventually got carried away.
Consequently, Joffrey sent someone to assassinate the young Bran, which completed Bran's plan: to eliminate the future vessel of the Three-Eyed Raven in the cradle.
This was a bold attempt by Bran, but unfortunately, it ultimately failed.
Later, the Night King first killed the Three-Eyed Raven, but the Three-Eyed Raven showed no fear, appearing completely unconcerned.
That was because he had already occupied Bran's body; the old shell was useless to him. If it died, it died—he was still alive anyway.
The Night King was also aware of this.
Therefore, after killing the Three-Eyed Raven wearing the skin of Brynden Rivers, he didn't stop there. Instead, he went straight for Bran, attempting to kill him.
Just as he was about to kill Bran, the disruptive Arya stabbed him to death.
The Night King had planned so much, victory was in sight, yet he fell at Arya's hands and failed again... Therefore, Lynn boldly speculates.
Although he initially stole the Night King's Dragon Egg, establishing an adversarial relationship, the Night King later elevated his knowledge of Ice Magic to a new height and gave him the horn of winter, which can summon Frost Giants—all of this was an investment in him.
Because his enemy has always been the Three-Eyed Raven.
The Night King cannot enter his Magic Cave!
He can only rely on Lynn, a human unrestricted by magic, to personally kill the Three-Eyed Raven.
It is worth noting that if his lifespan hadn't been ending, the Three-Eyed Raven could have stayed hidden in that broken magical cave for his whole life without coming out. But with his lifespan waning and the power of magic constantly disappearing, the Three-Eyed Raven was finally forced to take a risk.
He also didn't want to face the terrifying Night King.
The Night King, or rather, the real Brynden Rivers, is his ally.
And the Three-Eyed Raven, the one wearing the skin of Brynden Rivers, is his true enemy!
Getting back to the main point, since the Night King is the ultimate beneficiary after the magic of The Wall is broken, and the Night King is his ally, then so what if The Wall breaks?
And since blowing the horn grants a high-level combat unit, why not blow it?
Not only will he blow it, Lynn will blow it hard, blow it boldly, blow it until the very end!
If the Night King truly isn't as he speculates, Lynn accepts that too!
At worst, he'll take the Wildlings and The Northlands, along with important people like Margaery, and head to Essos to find Daenerys, leaving Westeros as a mess for Others to clean up.
Lynn definitely doesn't care.
Now, the entire world was deadly silent; all the Wildlings were stunned by the Frost Giant.
The next second, the silence was completely shattered!
Lynn also snapped out of his chaotic thoughts.
"A God! It's a God!"
"The Old Gods have manifested!"
Someone was the first to shout.
Immediately afterward, a fervent, tsunami-like roar erupted from the chests of tens of thousands of Wildlings.
They were no longer cheering, but, in a state close to frenzy, slammed their foreheads heavily onto the cold snow.
Thousands upon thousands of Wildlings, from the most common warriors to the leaders of every tribe, prostrated themselves completely.
They offered the humblest and most fervent worship toward Lynn on the watchtower, the man who had created a miracle.
At this moment, in their hearts, Lynn was no longer just the king-beyond-the-wall who led them to survive.
He was a God walking among men!
He was the true God capable of summoning Ancient Spirits, master of ice, snow, and death!
Arya stood beside Lynn.
She felt the slight tremor of the fortress beneath her feet caused by the worship of tens of thousands of people, and watching the dense crowd below, her heart pounded incessantly.
She finally understood why Lynn was able to unite this group of unruly Wildlings.
Force can make people submit, and food can make people follow.
But only miracles can make people offer up their souls.
Amidst this fervent worship, only one person's demeanor seemed completely out of place.
Tormund Giantsbane.
He did not kneel; he just stood there dumbfounded.
His eyes were fixed intently on the Frost Giant kneeling on one knee, and he didn't even notice the drool running down his messy red beard.
His massive, bear-like body was actually trembling slightly.
Not from fear, but from an uncontrollable... excitement!
"Oh, my mother..."
Tormund muttered to himself, his voice thick with emotion.
"Tall, so incredibly tall... Strong, so incredibly strong..."
He abruptly wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, desperately pushed through the crowd, rushed to the base of Dragonstone, looked up, and shouted at Lynn on the watchtower with all his might.
"Lynn! My King! My good brother!"
Hearing the shout, Lynn looked down and saw the red-bearded strong man below, who looked like a madman, and was confused.
"That... that big fellow!"
Tormund pointed at the Frost Giant, his old face flushed crimson, and he stammered as he spoke.
"Is she... is she taken?"
Lynn's eyebrow twitched.
She?
"Tormund, that is a Combat Construct condensed from Ice Elements. It has no gender."
"Nonsense!"
Tormund grew anxious, stamping his feet in rebuttal.
"So tall! So majestic! This figure! These shoulders! How could it not have a gender!"
He stared raptly at the Frost Giant's "body," composed of ice and brimming with a sense of power, his eyes glazed over.
"I, Tormund, have wrestled with giants since I was a child!"
"This strength of mine was built up exactly this way!"
He slapped his rock-hard chest, spitting excitedly.
"I can tell at a glance! This is definitely a woman! And the fiercest kind among giants!"
Lynn looked at his lecherous expression, completely speechless.
This guy's obsession with tall women was deeply ingrained, an incurable disease.
Wrestled?
He's fooling no one.
"Lynn!"
Tormund's eyes became incredibly sincere, even holding a hint of pleading.
"Just give her to me!"
"I, Tormund, have never asked you for anything in my life! I only want her! Only her!"
"For her, I'm willing to charge into battle, even stab a dragon in the ass!"
Lynn shook his head on the watchtower.
Of course, he knew Tormund's background.
This old fellow was raised by a female giant, drank giant's milk, received good nutrition, and continued to drink it until he was over 20, which is why he grew much stronger than an average wildling.
But it wasn't at all like he boasted.
Wrestled with giants?
Stop the nonsense.
The truth was, when he got separated from his tribe as a child and was close to freezing to death, he was picked up by a female giant who had lost her cub and was lactating, and she raised him as a pet.
The female giant always thought Tormund was "frail," so she fed him milk for several years.
It wasn't until Tormund, at the age of twenty, started having normal reactions that she realized something was wrong.
As for wrestling... perhaps his struggles while the female giant fed him milk were unilaterally glorified by him into heroic combat.
After all, "conquering a female giant" always sounded far more impressive than "being nursed like a pet pig by a female giant."
Lynn rubbed his brow, deciding not to bother with this man whose head was full of the word "big."
He cleared his throat, and his voice once again echoed throughout the entire Military Town.
"Hear my command, all troops!"
The fanatical Wildlings immediately stopped their prostrations, lifted their heads, and waited for Lynn's decree with the utmost reverence.
"I shall select thirty thousand of the most elite tribal warriors from among you to march south with me!"
"To seize our grain! To punish our enemies!"
"The rest of you shall remain in the Gift, continue building our walls, and prepare for the coming Long Night!"
Lynn's voice was clear and forceful.
"Those Wildlings who stay behind should not be disappointed."
"I need you to continue collecting the several items I requested."
"I will use a special method to turn them into rations that will never spoil!"
"I want every member of our tribe to never go hungry during the Long Night ahead!"
"Your mission is just as important as theirs."
The Wildlings did not understand what "canned goods" were, but they understood "rations that will never spoil."
To them, this was yet another miracle!
Their god could not only summon giants but also make food last forever!
"Roar—!"
A more intense roar of cheers erupted again.
The Wildlings waved their weapons, venting their excitement and fighting spirit in the most primal way.
"The army gathers! Prepare weapons! Replenish supplies!"
"Tomorrow morning, we set off for Winterfell!"
Lynn's order brought this fervent assembly to a close... Night.
Dragonstone, Lynn's bedroom.
This place was completely different from the gray stone austerity of Winterfell.
The floor was covered with thick Snow Bear Hide Rugs, soft and silent underfoot.
The huge fireplace burned high-quality charcoal transported from King's Landing, emitting no smoke, only spreading warmth evenly throughout every corner of the room.
Exquisite tapestries from Essos hung on The Walls, depicting the doomfire of Valyria.
In one corner of the room, there was even a bathtub carved from a single block of obsidian.
It was connected to a simple piping system designed by the Dragonstone Maester.
Hot water could be introduced at any time for Lynn and his ladies to bathe.
It is worth mentioning that since the castle was completed, The Citadel had assigned two knowledgeable Maesters to Lynn, specifically responsible for serving Lord Lynn.
After learning that Lynn had quite a few women, they wisely replaced the small bed with a large one, which was incredibly thoughtful.
Dragonstone did not look like a fortress built in the North; it looked more like the luxurious sleeping chambers of a prince in King's Landing.
It was a little extravagant.
But that was fine; Lynn was unconcerned.
Crossing into a different world just to fight, kill, establish his great unified cause, and then what?
Ideals are lofty, but women are also indispensable.
After fighting all his life, shouldn't he be allowed to enjoy himself?
At the very least, he should balance work and rest, right?
Thinking this, Lynn felt perfectly justified.
Beside him, Arya was already fast asleep.
Everything that had happened today had been too overwhelming for her.
From the hasty and grand wedding, to the world-destroying wildling army, then to the Other kneeling before Lynn, and finally the miraculous Frost Giant... her small mind was completely overloaded, and the moment she touched the soft bed, she fell deeply asleep.
Now, she was curled up in Lynn's arm, like a docile kitten, a satisfied smile still playing on the corner of her lips.
Lynn was not asleep.
He leaned against the headboard, watching Arya's peaceful sleeping face by the fireplace light, his heart calm.
Just then, the door was gently pushed open a crack.
A fiery red head peered in.
It was Ygritte.
She was wearing only a thin leather garment, hugging her arms, looking like she was shivering from the cold.
"Lynn,"
Ygritte's voice carried a hint of subtle grievance.
"It's so cold outside, and my room doesn't even have a decent fire."
Lynn looked at her without speaking.
She's fooling no one.
The temperature in Dragonstone was definitely habitable.
That was because when the site was originally chosen, they specifically built it above Geothermal Hot Springs.
The seemingly ordinary stone walls internally contained crisscrossing stone pipes that continuously brought in hot spring water. Even without lighting a fire, it wouldn't feel too cold.
One could even sleep naked!
Seeing that Lynn didn't respond, Ygritte grew bolder.
She tiptoed in, closed the door behind her, and quickly ran to the side of the bed.
"It's really warm here."
"Hehehe."
Ygritte rubbed her hands together, her eyes constantly glancing at the wide, soft bed.
"Can I... stay here for a bit? Just for a moment, until my body warms up, then I'll leave."
"Please..."
Lynn still said nothing, only watching her.
Ygritte bit her lip, then hardened her resolve, immediately kicking off her leather boots and scrambling onto the bed using both hands and feet.
The bed was huge, more than enough for three or four people.
But Ygritte didn't go to the other side; instead, she squeezed directly between Lynn and Arya.
Arya, deep in sleep, frowned when she was squeezed and rolled over slightly, letting out a dissatisfied murmur.
Ygritte acted as if she hadn't noticed, settled contentedly between the two of them, snatched half of the bear hide blanket to cover herself, and let out a comfortable sigh.
"It's better here with you,"
Ygritte whispered.
She turned onto her side, resting her head on her arm, her bright eyes staring unblinkingly at Lynn in the dim firelight.
That look was exactly like a wild cat protecting its food.
Lynn finally sighed.
"Ygritte."
"Hm?"
"Are you cold?"
"Yes, I am."
Ygritte stated righteously.
"Then why aren't you wearing clothes?"
Ygritte paused, looked down at her naked body, and then looked at Arya, who she had squeezed to the edge of the bed.
She suddenly grinned, showing a mouthful of white teeth, her smile holding a mix of cunning and triumph.
"Because I know you are warmer than the fire."
After saying that, she deliberately rubbed against Lynn, carelessly draping one leg over him, showing no shyness toward Lynn.
Lynn moved Ygritte to the other side of the bed.
"Stop squeezing, you're going to push Arya right off the edge."
"Also, the spot where you were just lying is wet."
"You didn't pee the bed, did you!"
Ygritte felt her cheeks flush. She finally gave up and obediently lay down on Lynn's other side.
Lynn felt the two warm bo
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