The night grew darker.
The Wildlings' clamoring drew closer.
After a shrill blast from a hunting horn, countless figures surged out of the darkness.
Arc Palisade.
With mountains at its back.
One side faced the enemy!
"They're here!" Roslyn shouted, gripping the sword in his hand.
The Mountain Clans charged toward the palisade, carrying crude ladders made of logs bound together with rough hemp rope and shouting as they ran.
"Archers, ready!" Roslyn yelled. "Fire!"
A sparse volley of arrows flew toward the charging Wildlings, and several screams rang out.
A few Wildlings were hit.
Some kept charging despite their wounds.
Others fell, only for their tribesmen to trample over them and press onward.
"Wooden spears!!!" Roslyn shouted.
The soldiers hurled their javelins with all their might. After a brief flight,
the wooden spears plunged deep into the Wildlings' bodies, spraying blood.
Many Wildlings fell with spears in them.
But there were simply too many of them.
The first ladder slammed against the wooden wall.
"Hold the line!" Suleiman drew the Myr Sword, its blade flashing coldly in the firelight.
He sprang to the wall and brought his sword down. A Wildling halfway up the ladder screamed as he tumbled back down.
Suleiman's blade struck his neck, and blood gushed forth.
Bronn stood beside him with his sword in hand, watching.
He hadn't expected Suleiman to be such a capable fighter.
"Kill!" Suleiman roared, his voice drowning out the din of battle.
Roslyn joined him, screaming hoarsely, "Kill!"
The soldiers were swept up in their fervor. "Kill!" "Kill!" "Kill!"
They fought desperately with spears, swords, axes, and wooden pikes, trying to stop the Wildlings from climbing up.
Bronn prowled along the wooden wall like a leopard.
He held back, waiting for his chance.
The moment a Wildling's head appeared over the top, Bronn ran him through the throat. Blood gushed out.
His swordsmanship was cunning and ruthless, every strike aimed at a vital spot.
"Not bad, sellsword!" Suleiman called between clashes. "I'll pay you extra!"
"I'm only doing the job I'm paid for!" Bronn shot back with a cold laugh.
He turned and hacked away half the head of another Wildling trying to climb up from the side.
Suleiman decided the money had been well spent.
The Wildlings showed no fear of death, surging toward the palisade in wave after wave.
Ladders were knocked down again and again, only to be set back up.
On the wooden wall, Suleiman's soldiers fought knee-deep in blood. Each time one fell, another immediately took his place.
Blood stained the wall and the earth.
The air reeked of blood and sweat.
Suleiman's Myr Sword swept up and down, every swing taking a life.
His movements were swift and precise, the sword tip targeting eyes, ears, throats, and noses.
Each quick thrust was so light it seemed to carry no force at all.
It was as if he were performing a dance of death rather than fighting a bloody battle.
Yet every Wildling he struck fell from the ladder.
"These Wildlings are really tough to deal with!" Bronn kicked a Wildling off the wall and spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva.
He was already covered in blood.
Suleiman's voice was calm as still water. "So are we."
Time passed, bit by bit, amid the brutal fighting.
The soldiers had been battling for who knew how long. Their arms ached so badly they could barely lift them, and every breath tasted of blood.
Their strength was rapidly failing, but the will to survive kept them going.
Suleiman was drenched in sweat, his breathing heavy.
Even he was growing tired from the high-intensity fighting.
He had no idea how many times he had swung his sword.
How many Wildlings he had wounded or killed.
His mind could barely keep up.
He had no spare thoughts, only the mechanical act of swinging his sword.
His chest felt as though it was about to burst.
He glanced toward the river channel. It was still pitch-black.
Not a sound.
Lushen! Lushen!
His attention wandered. A Wildling seized his chance
and hurled a Beast Blade at him!
Suleiman felt a tremendous force hit him and knock him down.
It was Roslyn.
"Lord Suleiman!" Roslyn had been struck in the arm by the blade. He yanked it out with all his strength. "Look out, my lord!"
Suleiman took the hand Roslyn offered and got to his feet.
He had no words of thanks.
Suleiman drew several deep, ragged breaths.
More Wildlings surged up.
They seemed endless, tireless.
"Ah—!" Toman was starting to despair. He struggled to block a Wildling's blow with his shield.
But his spear remained still; he was too exhausted to thrust.
Another soldier came to his aid, driving a spear through the Wildling's neck.
Suleiman glanced at the soldiers around him. Every one of them was wounded and exhausted.
But someone was missing.
Bronn!
In the shadows below the wall, Bronn huddled in a relatively safe corner.
He watched the Wildlings outside slam against the defenses like mad dogs.
"I'm not going to die for nothing!" he muttered, cursing under his breath again and again, as if the foul language could comfort him. "Suleiman! I'll fight for you with my sword, but I won't die for you!"
"That was the deal from the start!"
"Always acting like you've got everything under control! What a fool!"
He couldn't stay in Westeros. He could go to the Free Cities!
There was always someone willing to pay a Gold Dragon for a sellsword's blade!
Bronn wasn't about to leave his life behind here.
He quietly edged toward the palisade's wooden gate.
The Wildlings were scrambling up the wall like mad dogs, paying no attention to the gate.
He gauged the distance and angle. If there were a horse and he moved fast enough,
he could slip down the hillside amid the chaos, gallop away, and escape into the woods.
He didn't care what opening the gate might do to the defenders.
Nothing mattered more than his life.
Then he saw the six Mountain Clan horses lying dead in the stable,
and the noose set aside specifically for hanging a head.
"Suleiman!! I'll kill you!!" Bronn screamed in anguish again and again. "Suleiman!! I'll kill you!!"
On the wooden wall, Suleiman sneered as if he had heard Bronn's screams. "Trying to run? Then you can die with the rest of us, you son of a bitch!"
From far away came the battle cry of the Wildling chieftain of the Milk Snakes.
The Wildlings surging in like a tide launched their final assault on the wooden gate.
They had seen how fiercely the Flatlander soldiers on the wall fought. Their tribesmen were at a disadvantage while climbing,
while the Flatlanders above held every advantage.
So they climbed down from the ladders.
They planned to break through the main gate. Once they stormed inside, the Flatlanders' lives would be over!
"Lord Suleiman! The main gate! The main gate can't hold much longer!" a soldier screamed. His entire body was smeared with blood, impossible to tell whether it was his or the enemy's.
Suleiman's expression sharpened. He saw the Wildlings battering the palisade's main gate with a crude battering ram made from a thick, sharpened tree trunk.
Ten Wildlings heaved it forward, smashing it into the gate again and again.
The wooden gate was about to give way.
If the Wildlings broke through, they wouldn't last much longer.
The Wildlings would soon overrun the palisade.
The soldiers had fallen into despair!
It was already too late to get there.
Suleiman was growing tired, too.
He felt as if his body no longer belonged to him.
The Wildlings were about to break in.
Everything was meaningless now.
Even a flood would no longer be able to sweep these Wildlings away!
Suleiman looked at his soldiers.
He raised his sword.
He spoke his last words, perhaps his final ones.
"Brothers! To die alongside you is an honor for me, Suleiman!"
The soldiers all raised their swords in reply!
"Crash!"
The gate burst open.
The soldiers braced themselves for a bloody fight to the death.
But the scene they expected never came!
All they heard from the gate was a roar, so furious it drowned out the countless Wildling battle cries!
"Suleiman, you bastard from Foulkeep!!"
"I'll kill you!!"
"I'll kill you!!"
"Where's the water?! Where the fuck is your water?!"
"Damn it, where's the water?!"
Bronn stood at the gate!
One man holding the line!
Before you continue