Bloody battle in the woods

The scene shifted back to a day earlier.

While Darean was still wondering why Garth's mark was missing, the important man from the Hightower finally resolved to leave the fortified castle.

He had no way of knowing what was happening outside.

Although the warehouse's stores could sustain them for a considerable time, as a core member of House Hightower, he had to send word back as soon as possible.

They had to nip this crisis in the bud!

So he persuaded the warehouse's garrison to continue holding their position.

Garth and his entire party, meanwhile, mounted their warhorses and traveled light, making for Oldtown on the Honeywine beyond the Western Mountains as fast as they could.

Once word reached the Hightower, House Hightower's remaining thousand standing troops could mobilize immediately and sweep away these monsters with ease.

As for what had caused all this, that was not yet among his concerns.

Yet on the land of Westeros, no unexpected turn of events was surprising.

After Garth's fifty personal guards had escorted him swiftly some distance along the road, they saw the broken bridge spanning the stream.

The trestle bridge, built of wood and stone, had been brutally destroyed, with countless fragments of stone and wood scattered over a considerable stretch of riverbank.

Garth's heart tightened.

A thought sprang into his mind:

How could a pack of monsters apparently controlled by magic, willing even to eat their own kind, have thought to cut off the crucial point in my retreat?

Besides, they were already dead. Could dead brains still think?

The next moment, his questions were answered in an even worse way.

A guard in front of him suddenly shouted and drew the sword at his waist:

"Who are you?!"

Following the point of the guard's sword, Garth saw a warhorse slowly emerging from the forest.

A huge wound gaped in its chest, and as its front hooves shifted, he could faintly make out the dark red organs inside.

But that was a minor detail. What truly concerned him was the armored figure on the back of that dead yet still "living" warhorse.

"Lord Garth... that's our house's sigil!"

The sharp-eyed guard spotted the Hightower sigil beneath the bloodstains. His eyes narrowed, and he immediately reported it to Garth.

"I see it. Be careful. Something's wrong with him."

That was actually a pointless remark, because no one who saw that appearance would have taken the other party for any sort of proper living creature.

As though he had heard Garth's words from far away, the bowed head slowly rose, and pupils filled entirely with black fixed straight on Garth amid the crowd.

When Garth made out that "face," his expression changed drastically, and he could not stop himself from shouting:

"Dawn? How is it you?!"

Dawn Hightower, one of the Hightower's three missing collateral family members, paid him no heed.

He was different from the servants who followed him.

His ancestor's blood boiled within him, and their shared bloodline allowed him to retain almost all his reason.

If only... if only I could catch that fellow ahead.

His blood is something noble, purer than my own.

It could not be called jealousy, because Dawn Hightower had no such concept at all.

Only his ancestor's command was absolute.

He needed the blood of this kinsman before him!

Unfortunately, those fellows on their warhorses were very much in the way.

Then... I'll just get rid of them!

A blood-rusted longsword was forcibly drawn from its scabbard.

Under the guards' tense gazes, it pointed at Garth's chest from afar.

As a blessed "node," he became the center of ripples of necromancy that began spreading and reverberating in every direction.

And so the "servants" hidden in the woods awoke.

This was a carefully prepared battlefield.

Dawn Hightower commanded eight hundred servants "drawn" from the surrounding villages.

But since these ordinary corpses lacked the ability to think as they had in life, expecting them to attack House Hightower's warehouse was impossible.

The earlier retreat had been intended to lure these fellows out of that stone fortress.

But Dawn Hightower could not devise a more detailed plan. The magic sustaining his thoughts could not support a mind as fully nimble as that of a normal living person.

"Lord Garth, go! These things are ambushing us!"

The guards protecting Garth immediately noticed the unusual noises in the forest.

In fact, these dead people had been lurking at the forest's edge all along.

Even when wild beasts gnawed at their bodies, they did not react in the slightest.

Thus, even when the knights passed right by them, they had not noticed the slightest sign of anything unusual.

A mere two or three minutes was nowhere near enough for the troops to withdraw in an orderly fashion.

Before the soldiers could react, countless "living corpses" had already surrounded them.

"Damn it! This was prepared long ago!"

Despite his curse, Garth showed little panic.

He had seen too much over the years, and in his youth, he had even borne the name "Greyiron."

And so he drew the longsword at his waist!

"Soldiers, do not be afraid! We are the finest warriors in all the South. The Hightower's honor cannot be shaken!"

"Now, listen to my command! Whatever stands before you, forward! Charge!"

Hearing his master's order, the nearest guard captain said anxiously:

"My lord, the bridge ahead has already been torn down. We..."

Unexpectedly, the usually reserved Garth shoved him aside with one hand and cursed under his breath:

"Are you a stupid pig?! Can't you see we're already surrounded by at least five hundred 'people'?"

"There's no way to turn around now! If we don't move, do you intend to stand here and let these things leap on us and tear us apart?!"

"I don't care how you do it. Whoever can break out, even if it's just one of you, get to the Hightower and deliver the news."

"This is no longer just our war. Do you understand?!"

Looking into those fierce eyes that seemed almost ready to devour him, the guard captain nodded firmly.

The warhorses began to neigh, and the thunder of hooves startled countless birds from the woods.

Garth hardly needed to say more. These battle-hardened veterans all knew that in this cramped terrain, they had no way to survive except to punch straight through the enemy line ahead.

In that case, fuck it-fight!

Hoarse growls mingled with furious human roars, steel swords slashed through ruined bodies, and bloodstained teeth bit through fragile arteries.

The most primal sort of killing unfolded in a quiet valley among the hills east of Oldtown.

When Garth Hightower finally broke through the obstacles and escaped the Stranger's invitation, only eight people remained beside him.

Behind them, the cries of battle had long since fallen silent.

The dead stood on the stream's bank, their black eyes silently watching those eight humans struggling across the water.

Even the summer sunlight could bring no warmth to the gravely wounded Garth.

He felt only cold.