Game Of Thrones: The God-Emperor of Planetos-Chapter 104 - - The White Walkers (III)

"I've come to like the war. The monotony of the court and its palace conspiracies are getting more and more boring." - Aenar I Targaryen, before the Conquest of the Continent of Essos.

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In the air, Caraxes flew at a low altitude, less than thirty meters off the ground. Below him, the army of Wights and White Walkers clashed with the army of savages. War cries mixed with the savages' cries of pain and fear.

Honestly, this war was much more brutal than the war between the Red Legion and the Dothraki. Both sides were human and afraid to die, there was always some hesitation in the blows.

But that didn't apply to the Wights and White Walkers. They were thinking monsters, partially resembling humans, but definitely not human. They fed on the warmth of the living and seized corpses with necromancy. There was no hesitation in their actions, almost as if taking a life was as natural as breathing.

The White Walkers, in particular, were literal monsters on the battlefield. Just one of them could take on hundreds of men. Worst of all, they were fast and excellent swordsmen, which made them real killing machines. Aenar estimated that his soldiers would have to go through the Blood Ritual to fight such a monster.

Of course, if the Enhanced Soldiers had heavy armor and firearms, things would be completely different.

The soldiers he planned to create would be even more deadly than the White Walkers, truly fearless warriors. Even if they were assigned to a suicide mission, they would accept the order without any hesitation.

These were the soldiers Aenar wanted to create, mainly to fight against the evil forces of the Evil Gods and the future Chaos Gods.

Stroking Caraxes' neck, Aenar whispered:

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"While my fearless soldiers have yet to be born, it'll be you and me supporting the empire of humanity, partner."

"Let's put on a show for the Free Folk and bring them hope."

"Dracarys."

In a mere instant, a loud, grandiose roar rang out across the battlefield sky. The gigantic crimson creature flew low and spat out red flames.

The flames descended from the sky and hit the ground, literally creating a sea of fire. All the Wights that came into contact with the red flames were reduced to ashes without any difficulty.

A long, straight curtain of fire, a hundred meters long, appeared on the battlefield. The snow mixed with the ashes of the Wights, creating something truly incredible to behold.

Aenar didn't focus on the Wights. He just helped the Free Folk reorganize to defend their position while he prepared to deal with the real problem: the White Walkers.

These beings were quite problematic, especially with the current number of hundreds of them on the battlefield. They all knew how to conjure ice magic and necromancy, which was the real problem.

"Perzys." Aenar whispered and held out his hand. He seemed to be holding an imaginary bow and pulled the bowstring. Surprisingly, a fiery arrow formed between his fingers. The arrow seemed to be made of pure fire, it burned as expected and looked especially frightening.

Taking aim at a White Walker, Aenar held his breath and released the arrow, which shot out like a bullet, tearing through the air at subsonic speeds and hitting the enemy directly in the chest. The fiery arrow pierced the icy being's armor and, in the next second...

The arrow simply exploded!

The White Walker became ice rubble in an instant!

Aenar didn't stop. While Caraxes burned everything in front of him, he conjured fire magic and killed them one by one. Each arrow could be conjured in two seconds, and the conjuring time got faster and faster as Aenar increased his proficiency.

Obviously, the White Walkers didn't stand around waiting to be killed. They ran across the battlefield, dodging the arrows and dragon fire that rained down on them.

As they dodged, they counterattacked, throwing ice thorns at the dragon and its rider. But despite his size, Caraxes was young, powerful and surprisingly agile in the air, capable of performing real acrobatics.

The savages watched in awe as the epic scene unfolded before them. They could imagine that Mance would write a song about that moment. How could he not? The scene before them was worthy of a story that would be told for thousands of years.

Mance, who had arrived on the battlefield carrying a blond, blue-eyed baby, looked at it all with a calm gaze. But inside, he really wanted to be in Aenar's place, burning the creatures that had taken his wife's life, making them feel the same pain he felt.

Looking down at his son in his arms, his gaze softened. Although his son couldn't be a prince, he could be the heir to his future house. With the size of the fief that Aenar had granted him, he would become a Great Lord in the North, second only to House Stark in the future.

Turning away, Mance saw Lada watching the battlefield with an anxious look, as if she wanted to take part in the war.

"You can go. I can take care of myself," Mance said, standing up straight.

At his waist, a silver horn with runes of the First Men could be seen. It was the Horn of Winter, the reason his wife had died.

Despite Mance's words, Leda remained by his side. She remembered the king's orders and would carry out her mission until he ordered otherwise.

Seeing this, Mance sighed, but said nothing. He focused on what was happening at the moment and took command of the army of savages without any hesitation. Even with a baby in his arms, he drew his sword and went to the front line, which made Leda very happy, as she could now take part in the war while protecting him.

Brynden, who controlled the Three-Eyed Raven, watched as the battlefield gradually shifted to the side of humanity and sighed with relief. He really couldn't hold out much longer. He was old and about to die, unable to use much of the Weirwood's power.

However, when he saw Aenar performing fire and blood magic, he realized that the boy had seen things from the past and learned a lot. But he needed to warn the young king not to spend too much time in the past. The Valyrian Dragon Gods might be dead in the present, but they weren't in the past.

If Aenar returned to the past too often, he would be felt by those gods - and that was definitely not a good thing. Especially for people like him, who could project their consciousness into the past. It wasn't at all difficult for a god to capture his projection and enslave it.

This wasn't scaremongering; it had already happened to other Green Seers. Gods could be incredibly powerful when they were backed by the infinite power of faith.

Suddenly, when Brynden felt he was about to lose control of the Three-Eyed Raven, a new wave of magic filled him. He looked up at Aenar atop the dragon and was shocked to see him pointing at him.

Secretly admiring the young king's superb control of magic, Brynden bravely advanced against the White Walkers. He felt eighteen again, full of strength and youth, the same young man who had fought for the hand of his half-sister, Shiera Seastar.

Remembering that incredible woman, Brynden couldn't help but speed up his magical attacks even more. And, unlike before, he now had magic to abuse.

"Rise."

Shockingly, thirty tree-men sprang from the ground and stood an impressive fifteen meters tall.

They moved slowly, but their blows with the roots were not slow at all.

Aenar couldn't help but smile with excitement. He felt like he was in Narnia, fighting the White Witch. All that was missing was a talking divine lion.

Remembering that the God of Many Faces was called the Night Lion, Aenar smiled mischievously. He wished the god were there... maybe he could get a lion carpet to decorate his throne.

Sensing Aenar's excitement, Caraxes was also extremely happy. They both seemed born for war. Only by fighting could they feel the true pleasure of war.

The crimson dragon unleashed flames even more violently than before, his flames making the snow melt and the earth scorch. The White Walkers and Wights were the ones to suffer.

Especially the White Walkers. No matter how fast they were, they could never be faster than a flying dragon, so Caraxes practically became their worst nightmare.

Reducing them to ashes and killing them almost instantly. Even ice shields couldn't last more than half a second in the face of flames capable of melting rock.

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