Seventh Moon of 269
Old Wyk - Outskirts of Redhall
The Hour of the Hound (2 P.M.)
"I don't intend to. I don't need to." Immense confidence carried his words.
And he truly believed them. It was what he expected to happen. He had come to war to level up and unlock spells that would help him move up in life. And now that he had done exactly that by acquiring a certain level 3 spell upon reaching level 5, he just wanted to end it all and return to Bear Island.
He could turn into an eagle again and fly back, but leaving so many Northmen to die would only weaken the people of his nation, the nation he would one day have to fight for, or that would one day fight for him. Leaving so many nobles to die there would only destabilize the North.
Still, when he learned several hours ago that they would advance against the Ironborn today, he grew worried about the possibility that everything might go wrong and he would actually have to flee.
As they had said during the meeting, they didn't even know how many men the enemy had. With the only concrete information about enemy numbers being that the call to Old Wyk had resulted in over sixty thousand people, the possibility that just half of them had already been transformed into fish-men in peak physical condition or nearly immortal soldiers made it certain to Alaric that this was a suicide mission.
Of course, now knowing that the success rate for the transformation was extremely low, to the point of leaving what looked like over twenty thousand bodies strewn across Old Wyk, only to end up with fewer than ten thousand Deep Ones, he understood that the danger was not as great as he had previously predicted.
But knowing that now didn't change the fact that he didn't know it before, which was what motivated him to contact 'Arryk,' the knight whose true identity he had discovered using his GM Eyes during a moment of curiosity while sailing with him on the Dromond, well before the attack of the Drowneds.
"But since you have a Valyrian steel sword, it would be a waste for me to stay behind you," Alaric explained to his father between breaths as he continued to run. "Since I'm the only one here with experience against them, I think I should stay..."
"No," Jeor cut him off in an irritated tone.
"Maege." He announced the name of his aunt, who was running near them, and turned her head when she heard her name called. "I was going to say it's better if I stay behind Aunt Maege. I usually pair up with Jorah..." who also turned his head upon hearing his name, "but he has a Valyrian steel sword now too... so I think I should stay with her. I'll just assist her from a distance with my halberd... as I did on the Dromond."
"No."
"I won't be putting myself in danger... Father," he tried to appeal.
"But she will, and she'll take you with her. No. Behind me."
Maege snorted at his words.
"By the old gods. If he's survived this far on his own, he'll manage with me too."
"This is not a discussion. My words are final. Now get ready, they're coming."
They really were.
When the Northern forces finally reached the tip of the left flank, hundreds of Drowneds who had managed to retreat in time were about to attack them from behind. Crashing into them before it was too late, the Northmen managed to prevent the formation from breaking.
Now fighting against forces capable of defending themselves, the way the Drowneds fought was mixed. Those caught under one of the sparse beams of light fought with caution, while those immersed in darkness fought like madmen, totally reckless regarding the damage they took due to their sloppy styles.
Behind Jeor, Alaric had warned him not to waste time with those under the beams, to use Longclaw against those who thought they were immortal. Responding that he didn't need to be warned, Jeor began killing the arrogant Drowneds left and right.
Jorah, standing beside his father, did the same, but at a slower speed. Rickard did the same a few meters away from them, in the center of the Northern forces. Seeing their allies scream in pain and fall never to return, the Drowneds around the three noticed something was wrong, regained their fear of death, and began to retreat from them, which only made them easier prey for the wolf and the bears.
Those who possessed no Valyrian steel, like Maege, Harren, Galbarth, Benfred Manderly, and Hullem Umber, fought against those in a mortal state under the beams of light.
On the other side, protecting the rear of the right flank, the eight hundred men of the Reach also faced hundreds of Drowneds, immortal or otherwise. Since they were heavily outnumbered, one might expect them to be unable to hold the line, but despite being few, those were elite knights, far more capable than the average soldier in the other forces, especially when compared to the Ironborn, who, even having gained the blessing of their god, remained mediocre on dry land.
Even fighting an army with individuals who didn't die when their throats were slit or didn't even feel pain, the hardest part wasn't bringing them down once and for all. At least not yet.
The greatest challenge faced by both sides was fighting while moving, constantly positioning themselves between the Drowneds and the rear of those forming the siege. Several men died when it was time to relocate because they didn't notice an incoming attack. The men of the Reach, being covered from head to toe in armor, weren't victims as often, but the Northmen, usually wearing only a brigandine, lost dozens.
The worst part was that, after moving, the Drowneds under the sunlight would change, and those without Valyrian steel ended up fighting the immortals, at least until the Tully and Arryn flanks managed to force an advance and start moving again.
The only positive to this change was that it also forced the previously immortal ones into the light, where they died as their accumulated wounds finally took effect.
Alaric, with his halberd raised and struggling to find a moment to attack since the Drowneds tried to keep their distance from his father and his sword, looked to his right upon hearing a familiar female scream.
Looking toward the source of the cry, he found his aunt fighting an immortal Drowned while clutching her belly with a bloody left hand.
'Shit...'
"Maege is wounded. You can reprimand me next to a living version of her later."
Without waiting for a response from his father, Alaric dashed toward Maege, shoving everyone in his path.
Jeor, a bit dazed by the sudden action, looked at his younger sister and saw her barely able to hold her mace, needing to be saved by Harren Glover at her side. Seeing that she truly needed help, Jeor set his face and stopped himself from saying anything.
When Alaric reached his aunt, she was kneeling on the ground pressing the wound in her belly, with Harren Glover in front of her fighting the Drowned who had injured her: a creature with the left side of its face crushed and a dislocated jaw that dangled from its face.
Seeing her nephew kneeling beside her, Maege flashed a smile as if the pain didn't bother her.
"I broke the bastard's face... but he got me too," she said in a strained voice, as if holding back a scream.
Saying nothing, Alaric placed his hand on the exposed skin of her neck and began making circles with his index finger while speaking druidic words, casting Cure Wounds with a level 2 slot.
With green particles flying toward her belly, the suppressed pain on her face flared up only to vanish the next instant, making her let out a long sigh.
The people around them, who knew the rumors started on Bear Island but hadn't believed them, were surprised by the scene, but they couldn't waste time and returned to the fight.
"I'll be behind you now."
Declaring his support, Alaric extended his hand to his aunt, who grabbed her fallen shield, took his hand, and was pulled up.
After stretching her arms and shoulders, Maege walked back to her position and told Harren to move. Hearing her, Glover stepped aside, and Maege reclaimed her spot, once again facing the Drowned responsible for taking her down, who had now lost his left eye and his previous confidence.
"Round two, you son of a bitch."
With those words, Maege swung her body and launched her mace toward the left side of the Drowned's face again. And since the undead man had sustained several other wounds to his arms, cutting his tendons, he couldn't raise his shield in time and was hit, spinning to the right along with Maege.
Before Maege could correct her posture and strike the Drowned once more, a halberd extended over her and slammed into the back of his neck, making him fall motionless.
Seeing the man still and unmoving, Maege wanted to take the chance to crush his head, but Alaric caught her by the shoulder, stopping her.
"He won't be able to move anymore. This is the end for him. Focus on the next one." He lets go of her shoulder and extends his hand in front of her, pointing at the Drowned walking toward them. "I'm going to use the halberd to pull them to the ground. Stay alert for my signal. When I say right, I'll bring it down on the right, so clear your right side. Same for the left. Once he's on the ground, crush the back of his neck. That's how we did it during the journey here."
Explaining the strategy, Maege bangs her mace against her shield and shouts excitedly.
"Let's put these bastards in their place!"
"Just like back home," he says, reminding her of when they worked together on Bear Island against the forces of House Drumm, who originated from this very same island.
Even without seeing her face, he knew she was smiling.
"Just like back home."
Plan formed, the duo begins breaking the necks of every Drowned that dares to face them.
After Maege smashes the neck of another with her mace, Harren, who was still by their side, asks Alaric a question.
"Don't you have some magic to deal with them? We're losing more men than we're killing!"
His anger, fueled by the fact that he had been fighting the same Drowned whose right hand he had chopped off with his axe five minutes ago, carried every word.
"I do! But using it now will only alert them. When the siege closes, it'll be the end of them!"
"I hope it's fas— You son of a bitch!"
Having had his cheek sliced by the enemy's sword, Harren curses him and cuts out his last remaining eye, blinding him and making him retreat.
"When are those southrons going to finish this fucking siege?"
It had been over forty minutes since the siege had begun to form, and it still wasn't finished.
Having to surround not only another three thousand Deep Ones but also thousands of immortal warriors who dispersed to prevent both flanks from touching and trapping thousands inside, the difficulty was much greater than before, even if they were still outnumbered.
The last advance made by the Tully flank had been nine minutes ago, and since then, they had been trying to continue without success. If things continued this way, Alaric had already decided to intervene and use one of the two Daylight spells earlier than planned.
The worst part was that, across the dozens of meters between the tips of the forming siege, the next advance could be the last.
But as if the gods had heard his words, a chain of shouts, coming straight from the forces commanded by Brynden Tully, reaches them.
"Move!"
The flank had managed to force a path and announced another advance.
Then, as if time had dilated, the next five minutes felt like hours, but by the end of it, the forces of the Riverlands and the Vale finally touched, closing the circle around six thousand Deep Ones and Drowneds, as did the forces of the North and the Reach, forming a protective wall against the four thousand Drowneds who managed to escape.
Knowing that the protective wall, which must have totaled only nearly three thousand men, wouldn't be able to hold back the immortal Drowneds, Alaric decided it was time.
Releasing his right hand from the halberd, the young bear begins to speak druidic, the sound of fire and rapid movement, while lifting his hand and closing it into a fist as if grabbing something. In the next moment, strong rays of light begin to escape between his fingers.
It was as if he had the sun in the palm of his hand.
Having finished the spell, all that was left was to launch the small sun.
'I hope Arryk and the "us" he mentioned also act.'
Thinking this, Alaric swings his right arm and throws the 'sun' over the Drowneds just like one would throw a baseball.
As soon as the light leaves his hands, a ball of white light the size of a baseball launches from it while illuminating its path in a 5 meter (16 feet) radius, making the wounded Drowneds touched by the light feel pain and, if the wounds were fatal, die.
Despite the cry of surprise and terror, the effect of the spell was somewhat disappointing, which was evidenced when Harren turned to Alaric with a face that asked if that was it, if his magic was only capable of killing and wounding a mere dozen Drowneds.
This opinion was shared by both him and Maege, but they quickly changed when the white ball, now 18 meters (59 feet) away from him, exploded above the heads of the Drowneds, generating a strong artificial sunlight in an 18 meter radius that extended for another 18 meters in a weaker form. That is 72 meters (236 feet) from one end to the other.
For those within the spell's radius, it was as if it had become day. And instead of the light disappearing, like a bomb or fireworks would, it remained.
And while the light in a 5 meter (16 feet) radius from before had only managed to kill and wound a dozen, this one managed to affect hundreds.
[System Notification]
X35 Level 4 Enemy Eliminated.
Participation Reward: +20 Exp. X35
[System Notification]
X45 Level 2 Enemy Eliminated.
Participation Reward: +5 Exp. X46
[System Notification]
X51 Level 3 Enemy Eliminated.
Participation Reward: +10 Exp. X51
[System Notification]
X20 Level 5 Enemy Eliminated.
Participation Reward: +30 Exp. X20
…
The instant the ball exploded, all those Drowneds who had fought until now in a sloppy manner and suffered various fatal wounds fell to the ground, dead. Those who had their hearts or heads pierced died in a second, while the others, who had lost fingers, hands, eyes, and accumulated various wounds, went into shock from the suddenly regained sensitivity and fainted, dying in an unconscious state.
"Damn, boy! You had this prepared for them?" Harren shouts, shocked like everyone around him.
Seeing hundreds of panels overlapping, one in front of the other, all notifying the gain of some measly experience points for participating in the slaying of Drowneds, Alaric sighs in relief to see his plan, which was to let the Drowneds wound themselves in their arrogance, only to then strip them of their immortality, working out.
"Do not advance!" Rickard, a few meters to his left, shouts, seeing not only the effect of the magic on the enemies but also noticing his men's desire to advance into the illuminated area and kill those who didn't die. "Hold the line! We must defend the siege!"
His command was sensible. The illuminated area wasn't large enough to be impossible to escape from, so by the time the Northmen had entered the light, the Drowneds would have already fled and they would have opened a gap for the rear of the siege.
But Alaric wasn't finished. He had one more Daylight to use.
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