Tragic

The night grew ever deeper.

The clamor of the Wildlings drew closer still.

Following a piercing blast of animal horns, countless figures surged out from the darkness.

Arc Palisade.

Backed against the mountains.

Facing the enemy on one side!

"They're here!" Roslyn roared, gripping his longsword tight.

The Mountain Clans raised crude ladders fashioned from timber bound with coarse hemp, charging toward the stockade with shouts.

"Archers, ready!" Roslyn bellowed. "Loose!"

A sparse rain of arrows flew toward the charging Wildlings, followed by several cries of agony.

A few Wildlings were struck and fell.

Some Wildlings continued their charge despite being hit.

Some Wildlings fell to the ground after being struck.

Their bodies were trampled by their kin as the charge pressed forward.

"Wooden spears!!!" Roslyn shouted.

The soldiers hurled their javelins with all their might; after a short flight.

The wooden spears pierced deep into the bodies of the Wildlings, spraying blood into the air.

Many Wildlings fell, struck by the spears.

However, the number of Wildlings was simply too great.

The first ladder slammed heavily against the wooden wall.

"Hold the line!" Suleiman drew his Myr Sword, the blade flashing with a cold glint in the firelight.

He lunged to the wall's edge and slashed down, sending a Wildling who had climbed halfway up tumbling down with a scream.

Suleiman struck the man in the neck, and blood gushed forth.

Bronn stood by his side, sword in hand, watching him.

He had not expected Suleiman to possess such combat prowess.

"Kill!" Suleiman roared, his voice drowning out the din of the battlefield.

Roslyn joined in with a hoarse shout: "Kill!"

The soldiers were infected by the fervor: "Kill!" "Kill!" "Kill!"

They used their spears, longswords, axes, and wooden javelins to desperately hold back the Wildlings attempting to scale the wall.

Bronn prowled along the wooden wall like a leopard.

He did not strike aimlessly, waiting instead for the right moment.

As soon as a Wildling poked his head up, he pierced the man's throat, blood spraying out.

His swordsmanship was tricky and vicious, every strike aimed at a vital point.

"Well done, sellsword!" Suleiman shouted between bouts of slaughter. "I'll pay you extra!"

"I just do what I'm paid for!" Bronn retorted with a cold sneer.

With a backhand strike, he sheared off half the skull of a Wildling trying to climb up from the side.

Suleiman felt the money was well spent!

The Wildlings were fearless, surging toward the stockade wall wave after wave.

Ladders were constantly pushed down, only to be set up again.

On the wooden wall, Suleiman's soldiers fought in a bloodbath; whenever one fell, another immediately filled the gap.

Blood stained the wooden walls and soaked the earth.

The air was thick with the heavy stench of blood and sweat.

Suleiman's Myr Sword danced up and down, claiming a life with every swing.

His movements were swift and precise, the tip of his blade locked onto eyes, ears, throats, and noses.

Each strike was so light and nimble, devoid of any sense of brute force.

It was as if he were not engaged in a bloody slaughter, but performing a dance of death.

Yet, every Wildling he tapped fell from the wooden ladder.

"These Wildlings are truly persistent!" Bronn kicked a climbing Wildling away and spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva.

He was already drenched in blood.

Suleiman's voice was as calm as water: "We are, too."

Time slipped away bit by bit amidst the brutal slaughter.

The soldiers had been fighting for who knows how long; their arms were so sore they could barely lift them, and every breath was heavy with the stench of blood.

Their stamina was depleting rapidly, but the will to survive sustained them.

Suleiman was drenched in sweat, his breathing growing heavy and ragged.

Even he felt the exhaustion brought on by such high-intensity combat.

He had no idea how many times he had swung his sword.

He did not know how many Wildlings he had wounded or killed.

His mind had ceased to function.

There were no extra thoughts, only the mechanical swinging of his blade.

His chest felt as if it were about to burst.

He glanced toward the direction of the riverbed, but it remained pitch black.

There was not the slightest movement.

Lushen! Lushen!

He was distracted, and a Wildling seized the opportunity.

It threw a Beast Blade at him!

Suleiman felt a massive force strike him, knocking him to the ground.

It was Roslyn.

"Master Suleiman!" Roslyn pulled the blade from his own arm with a grunt. "Watch out! Master!"

Suleiman grabbed the hand Roslyn offered and stood up.

There were no words of thanks.

Suleiman took several deep, gasping breaths.

More Wildlings surged forward.

They seemed endless, tireless.

"Ah—!" Toman cried out in despair, struggling to block a Wildling's hack with his shield.

His spear failed to thrust forward due to his exhaustion.

Another soldier relieved him, piercing the Wildling's throat with a spear.

Suleiman looked at the soldiers around him; they were all wounded and utterly exhausted.

But, one figure was missing from their ranks.

Bronn!

In the shadows beneath the stockade wall, Bronn huddled in a relatively safe corner.

He watched as the Wildlings charged the defensive line like mad dogs.

"I won't die for nothing!" he cursed under his breath, as if comforting himself with profanity. "Suleiman! My sword can fight for you! But I won't die for you!"

"That was the agreement from the start!"

"Always wearing that look of having everything under control! What a fool!"

If he couldn't stay in Westeros, he could go to the Free Cities!

There was always someone willing to pay Gold Dragons for a mercenary's sword!

Bronn had no intention of throwing his life away here.

He quietly crept toward the gate of the wooden stockade.

The Wildlings were climbing the walls like mad dogs, paying no attention to the gate.

He calculated the distance and angle; as long as there was a horse and he was fast enough, he could slip down the hill in the chaos, accelerate, and escape into the woods.

He did not care what damage opening the gate would cause the defenders.

Nothing was more important than his own life.

That was until he saw the carcasses of six Mountain Clans warhorses at the stables.

And a noose specifically placed there.

"Suleiman!! I'm going to kill you!!" Bronn let out a heart-wrenching roar. "Suleiman!! I'm going to kill you!!"

On the wooden wall, Suleiman sneered as if he had heard Bronn's roar. "Want to leave? Die with me, you bastard!"

From the distance came the war cry of the Milk Snakes chieftain.

Those Wildlings, surging like a tide, launched their final, fierce assault on the wooden gate.

They discovered the fighting spirit of the Flatlanders on the wooden walls, and the climbing tribesmen were at a complete disadvantage.

The Flatlander soldiers at the heights, however, held every advantage.

They climbed down from the wooden ladders.

Intending to break through the main gate, they knew that once they charged inside, the lives of the Flatlanders would be forfeit!

"Lord Suleiman! The main gate! The main gate can't hold much longer!" a soldier shrieked, his entire body caked in blood, making it impossible to tell if it was his own or the enemy's.

Suleiman's eyes sharpened; he saw the main gate of the wooden stockade being battered by a crude battering ram fashioned from a thick, sharpened tree trunk by the Wildlings.

Carried by ten Wildlings, it slammed into the gate with frantic force.

The wooden gate was teetering on the brink of collapse.

Once the Wildlings breached it, they wouldn't be able to hold out for long.

Soon, the wooden stockade would be overrun by the Wildlings.

The soldiers were all in despair!

It was too late to rush there now.

Suleiman felt exhausted as well.

He felt as if his body no longer belonged to him.

The Wildlings were about to charge in.

Everything had become meaningless.

Even if a flood were to come.

It would not be enough to wash away these Wildlings!

Suleiman looked at his soldiers.

He raised his sword.

He spoke his final words, which might very well be his last.

"Brothers! To die alongside you! It is my honor, Suleiman!"

All the soldiers raised their swords in response!

"CRASH!"

The wooden gate was burst open.

The soldiers were prepared to fight a bloody battle to the end.

Yet, the scene they had anticipated did not occur!

Instead, a roar—so hoarse and desperate it drowned out the war cries of countless Wildlings—erupted from the doorway!

"Suleiman of Foulkeep!!"

"I'm going to kill you!!"

"I'm going to kill you!!"

"Where is the water!! Where the hell is your water!!"

"Where the hell is it!!!!"

Bronn stood before the gate!

One man blocking the way!