He raised his head and looked at Tormund lying on the ground in the distance.
The man's body was twitching slightly, and the blood in the gravel beach slowly spread under him, but he had not fainted yet.
His face was buried in the sand and his expression could not be seen clearly.
"This knife is not bad." Redd said, his voice was not loud, but it was still clear in the early morning sea breeze, "Where did it come from?"
Tormund's shoulders shrugged slightly, as if he was laughing or crying. He did not raise his head or answer.
Redd was about to walk over, pick the man up from the mud and continue interrogating him.
Behind him, a sound broke through the air.
The sound was extremely soft and fast, with a sharp chill that was like an ice pick piercing the bone marrow.
Not arrows, not crossbow bullets, but something more deadly and ancient.
It barely disturbs the airflow when flying in the air, leaving only a faint trail of cold mist that is almost invisible to the naked eye, like the white breath exhaled in winter.
Redd's body started to react the moment the sound entered his ears.
His muscles contracted, his bones rotated, and his center of gravity shifted - the whole process was so fast that even he felt a little reluctant.
The head suddenly turned to the left, and the body tilted to the right at the same time.
A Ice Spear flew past his right ear.
It wasn't completely rubbed, but a little bit.
The ice crystal at the tip of the spear, which was condensed from Ice and was harder than steel, opened a small gash less than half an inch long behind his right ear.
The wound was extremely shallow, so shallow that it almost touched the surface of the skin, but the biting coldness spread quickly from the wound, as if someone had put a piece of Millennium Ice on his ear.
The spear continued to fly, piercing the beach dozens of steps behind Redd. Half of the spear body was submerged in the sand, and the tail trembled slightly in the air, making a low buzzing sound.
Ice The condensed spear body exuded white cold air, which was in sharp contrast with the temperature of the surrounding morning light. The gravel was frozen into a hard block the moment it came into contact with the spear body.
Redd touched the small wound behind his right ear.
The fingertips touched a little sticky moisture - it was his blood, not much, just a few drops, which condensed into small, dark red beads on the fingertips.
He raised his finger to his eyes and looked at it, and then glanced at the Ice Spear stuck on the beach and still smoking cold.
Finally, he slowly turned his head and looked in the direction where the spear was flying.
The gaze was as cold as the wind blowing from the far north ice sheet, without any temperature or emotion, only a pure coldness after being offended and calculating how to repay him twice as much.
Daemon stood in the ruins dozens of steps away.
He held the second Ice Spear in both hands, with the tip of the spear pointing diagonally at the ground. His posture was calm and his breathing was even. He didn't look like a person who had just thrown a spear.
He stood between a pile of collapsed stone pillars and burning beams. The dark coat on his body was so smoked that the original color could not be seen. There were several blood stains on his face scratched by gravel. His hair was disheveled, and he looked quite embarrassed.
But in his eyes - those dark gray pupils, there was no fear or panic, only a calm and almost cold light, as if he was carrying out some kind of precise calculation.
When did he come here?
Redd looked over Daemon's shoulder, looking towards the ruins of the palace further away.
In that direction, Dawg Russ should be leading someone to guard Daemon - at least, that was the arrangement when he left.
But now, the guard is gone. Daemon is standing here, still holding Ice Spear in his hand.
Either Dawg Russ failed in his duty, or Daemon found some way to slip away from under his nose.
No matter what the situation is, the result is the same - Daemon appeared where he shouldn't have been, seizing the opportunity for a sneak attack that he shouldn't have.
Redd's eyes moved away from Daemon's body and fell back on the Ice Spear that was stuck on the beach.
The cold air on the spear body continued to spread outwards, freezing the surrounding gravel into a piece of white frost. He recognized this weapon.
Ice Spear, a weapon that can only be used by White Walkers and Night's King, is made of cold Ice Magic. It does not melt at room temperature and is extremely sharp. It can pierce dragon scales and tear steel. It is one of the most mysterious and dangerous weapons on Westeros.
This kind of weapon is beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.
Ice Spear contains extremely powerful cold Ice Magic energy. That energy is a source of strength for White Walkers and Night's King, but it is a fatal poison for mortals - as long as it is touched, the Ice energy will invade the human body, freeze the blood, solidify the bone marrow, and freeze a person into an ice sculpture from the inside out.
But Daemon is apparently not affected.
Not only does he hold Ice Spear, but he can also use it to throw.
Judging from his appearance, he neither felt cold nor showed any signs of being eroded by Ice energy.
His fingers were exposed to the air, and the area holding the spear shaft showed no traces of frostbite.
His face was normal, his breathing was even, and his heartbeat - Redd's ears captured his heartbeat - was steady and strong, without any abnormalities.
Redd's eyes narrowed slightly.
Daemon This guy also has a secret.
"Dark Sister lost it, and you just picked up something like this?" Redd's voice was as calm as if he was talking about ordinary things, but there was a dangerous and searching light shining in those black eyes, "Ice Spear. White Walkers's thing.
How did you get it?"
Daemon did not answer. He slightly adjusted the angle of the hand holding the spear, and the tip of the spear changed from pointing obliquely at the ground to pointing obliquely at Redd's chest.
His breathing was still steady, but his heartbeat - Redd was heard. When he heard the word "White Walkers", his heart skipped a beat.
Just one shot. But enough.
"It looks like there are more than one." Redd's eyes fell on the ruins behind Daemon.
There was a burned wooden box there, and several spears of the same material were scattered beside the box. They were shining with cold light and the air was freezing.
"One, two, three, four... and four more. Did Citadel give it to you? Or did you find it yourself?"
Daemon still has no answer.
But his lips tightened slightly, and that subtle movement betrayed his emotions - he didn't want Redd to know the origin of these spears, but he also knew that with Redd's brain, even if he didn't say anything, he could piece together the truth from various clues.
In the distance, there was another loud noise on the beach, and the battle between the three dragons continued.
King Ghidorah's tail whipped Bloodworm hard again, sending the dark red dragon rolling out and collapsing an abandoned lighthouse.