"Dracarys!" Rhaegar shouted.
Snowflakes drifted as the silver dragon arched its neck, then spat a blinding gold-and-silver fireball from its ferocious maw, which burst in the sky like a sun.
The fireball exploded, raining down a vast expanse of gold-and-silver fire that completely engulfed the wights on the land before them.
On the sea, the purple dragon and the black dragon also began to spew Dracarys, unleashing purple-copper and black-red fireballs to attack the wights emerging in the shallows.
To clear the way for the fleet to enter the harbor!
The wights were engulfed in flames after being struck.
The dragons began to roar excitedly, forming a triangular formation; double the fire, double the joy.
In the cold weather, the scales of the demon dragons shimmered, as if ignited by the flames, like glittering jade.
The silver of the Silver Emperor, the purple of Balerion, the black of Balerion.
"Dracarys!" Rhaegar steered the dragons toward the high sky and began a new round of diving.
Dracarys bombs were dropped again and again, and the wave of wights, battered by the flames, actually came to a standstill.
Although there were many wights, they were highly flammable; a wave of burning by the demon dragons was like lighting straw!
Wheat straw was the most flammable thing Rhaegar knew.
The brows of Rhaegar and the Silver Emperor began to glow simultaneously with the subtle light of runes; in fact, he didn't need to shout, as the demon dragons would bomb according to his will, but he had to shout to add a bit of the House Targaryen's sense of ritual!
"It looks just like a zombie world war!"
Rhaegar had the chance to look closely at the wights in Hardhome; the frenzy of wights was like a zombie invasion, but better than zombies in that they were very afraid of fire.
In the forests, in the shallows.
Most were dead wildlings, but there were also some brothers of the Night's Watch.
Then there were the dead animals: elk, wolves, snow bears.
There were fewer animals in the sea; it seemed they ran fast.
The wights wore tattered clothes, revealing pale, soft bellies; their movements were slow and stiff.
The moment they died, decomposition ceased.
All the wights' eyes were blue, like eternal blue stars, making one feel indifference and murderous intent.
"Loose arrows! Aim carefully, don't be afraid, lads! These dead men are nothing more than a pile of rotting meat!" Ser Barristan commanded from the ship.
Wights were clumsy and slow existences, like zombies.
They could be shot from a distance with fire arrows; the real trouble was the Others, who were as graceful and fast as snowflakes.
The soldiers of the allied forces, especially the southern knights, understood the wights before them.
Seeing them fall in large swathes under the flames, they felt much more at ease.
Fire—the wights were afraid of fire; they were the mortal enemies of fire.
"The scent of magic!" Rhaegar sensed a familiar smell in Hardhome.
"This is the apocalypse! A warrior riding a demon dragon will take us away from here; there are ships on the sea helping us! Ships have come to Hardhome to take us to the south, where salvation from disaster will descend," Mother Mole shouted loudly.
Mother Mole's followers hid in caves, protecting themselves with fire and wooden walls, which was, in reality, extremely difficult.
The wildlings were short on equipment and food.
The remaining wildlings fired a volley of fire arrows from behind the wooden walls, then were pulled onto the ships.
At least a third of the wildlings had already died, some from freezing or starving, others turned into wights.
"Get those wildlings on the ships quickly! There should be Others behind the wights!" Rhaegar commanded, his voice like steel.
The fleet began entering the harbor under the cover of the dragons; the demon dragons' flames sniped at the wights daring to surface on the sea, not to mention that the ships were also equipped with a luxurious force of archers!
A cold wind blew, snowflakes swirled and fell, and white mist poured into the cave, bringing an extraordinary cold.
The torches in the wildlings' hands were extinguished one by one.
The true servants and subjects of the god of cold had arrived.
"Get on the ships quickly! The masters of the wights are here!" Rhaegar urged the wildlings to hurry; the Others were coming.
Rhaegar jumped off the demon dragon and directed the wildlings to board the ships at a spot on the plains.
The demon dragons let out uneasy low roars; there was something strange about the change in the air.
"Illuminate with fire!" Rhaegar had the demon dragons gather in one place, and the Dracarys emitted a blazing light.
"Look, what is that!" The royal escort soldiers on the ships also saw it; in the distant white mist, four riders appeared, mounted on pale, dead horses.
The knights, like black ice, dismounted gracefully, then lunged toward Rhaegar's position from the snow.
The Others were as light as snowflakes in the wind.
"Prince, get out of here! They are the Others!" Ser Barristan shouted anxiously.
Everyone acknowledged that the Others were truly dangerous enemies.
The Others were as pale as milk, as withered as bone, and there were all sorts of strange rumors about them.
"Are they here to seek death?" Rhaegar smiled.
He wondered if the Others had their own consciousness, whether they were humanoid creatures.
But there was no time to say so much now.
Rhaegar pulled out a few short-handled obsidian javelins from his person, all crafted with obsidian arrowheads.
When the Others got very close, "swish," "swish," he threw two black javelins with great force; the Targaryen super-strength, the force on these javelins was as heavy as a thousand jun.
The speed of the Others was like a gale, but the Dragon King's speed was faster!
The two Others, like ice, melted under the harsh sunlight; their pale bodies gradually shrank, began to turn into a puddle of liquid, and finally disappeared completely.
Within a few dozen heartbeats, the forms of the Others no longer existed, leaving only a thin wisp of swirling smoke.
Beneath were bones like milky glass, shining with a pale light, which then also melted.
Finally, only the obsidian javelins remained; amidst the swirling water vapor, it seemed to have life, as if it were sweating.
The people on the fleet watched in astonishment; this was the war of ice and fire.
Although they were anxious, they could not join the fight.
Barristan, King-Beyond-the-Wall Mance Rayder, the leaders of the Night's Watch, the lords of the North.
"There are two more Others!" In the gap, two more Others appeared, having already lunged close to Rhaegar.
The Others discovered the death of their companions and began to fight without honor.
The patterns on the pale armor of the Others rippled like waves, and the crystal swords hooked and flipped; there was a faint, eerie blue light on the Others' swords.
The Others wanted to slide into the weak points of the armor, to cut Rhaegar's bones and flesh.
That cold ice crystal longsword felt incredibly sharp, enough to cut through everything.
The two Others felt something was not quite right; Rhaegar's sword was a Valyrian steel sword.
The ripples on the black sword shimmered, sharp and light, completely unafraid of the cold ice of the Others' longsword.
The sound of the two swords clashing increased; the Others wanted to interfere with Rhaegar through noise.
But this had no effect.
Rhaegar killed to the left and parried to the right, retreating as he fought.
The Others pursued with their longswords; their swordsmanship was comparable to that of human sword masters, and their longswords also had enchanted attacks.
When the swords of the Others and Rhaegar's Orphan-Maker clashed, the sound produced was not that of metal colliding, but a high, thin sound at the edge of human hearing, like the painful wail of an animal.
Rhaegar felt this was an issue with the Others' weapons, a kind of magical noise.
The two Others became even crazier, slashing at Rhaegar with their longswords like fire.
They recognized it was a Valyrian steel sword, but the death of their companions made them go crazy.
The people on the ships also saw it; Prince Rhaegar was indeed the Others-slayer, the best in the Seven Kingdoms, handling everything with ease.
In the cold wind, three swordsmen were performing the most dangerous and deadly dance in the world.
The longswords danced, the figures of the Others and the Dragon King were both elegant and extraordinary; the cold wind of the blades was bone-chilling, and the rain of swords fell like heavy snow.
Every move and style was extremely dashing.
The longswords entangled, with no victor for a short time.
"Die!" Rhaegar spun and danced; he estimated the strength of the Others, and the game should be over!
The terror of the Others lay in their mysterious equipment, speed, magical noise, and swordsmanship; they were first-class warriors and had many underhanded tricks.
Using runes to counter the magical noise, one just needed to be faster and stronger than the Others!
This team of ice Others swordsmen, first-class masters, had no rivals Beyond the Wall.
"Is Valyrian steel dragonsteel?" The Valyrian steel sword danced wildly; of all martial arts in the world, strength was the first.
Rhaegar's fierce rain of swords surged; the Others were somewhat incredulous that this person was not affected by their magical noise.
Rhaegar first slashed and flipped the longsword of the Other on the left, shattering it like ice.
Then Rhaegar pulled out a dragonglass javelin with his left hand and viciously stabbed it into the throat of the Other on the left; pale blue blood sprayed from the wound, and it melted in an instant.
"And you!" Rhaegar looked at the last Other, whose blue pupils were expressionless, like black ice.
But its companions had indeed all died.
The Valyrian steel sword slashed against the flow, first cutting off the Other's ice sword, and the black ice shattered.
Then Rhaegar thoughtfully arranged an obsidian javelin for the Other.
"It seems that even if the Valyrian steel sword is not dragonsteel, it still has an effect on the Others!" Rhaegar thought, because the Valyrian steel sword came from magic and fire, while the weapons of the Others come from fire.
Ice and fire are enemies that cannot merge; to cut through cold ice, Valyrian steel will do.
Even if it is not dragonsteel, this kind of weapon has miraculous effects.
Against the Others.
I don't know how effective a pure obsidian longsword would be!
"The god of cold lives forever!" Before dying, the Other said a few words in a language Rhaegar could not quite understand; the voice was like a breaking ice lake, and the tone was full of mockery.
The Others, after all, were different from wights.
"The Others can speak?" Rhaegar's heart felt heavy; this was too terrifying.
They were intelligent or semi-intelligent.
But this was the language of the god of cold, and Rhaegar could only understand a general idea.
He could naturally adapt to the languages of human civilization very quickly, and his Valyrian was also quite proficient.
But for other magical languages, it was a bit stumbling.
Like the Old Tongue, like the language of the Others!
The Silver Emperor flew over, Rhaegar jumped onto the demon dragon, and launched another Dracarys bombardment on Hardhome!
Fighting out a dawn!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you like the story please give it some power stones and reviews. And if you want to read 40+ advance chapters or just want to support me please join my patreon at [email protected]/Translatingfanfics