Once Aedric had finalized his agreements with every faction, a flood of supplies began flowing toward Castle Black.
To secure enough materials, Aedric spent the entire two million gold dragons he'd brought back from Essos—and even squeezed more from Eddard and Tywin. At this point, money was irrelevant. If they couldn't survive what was coming, gold wouldn't save anyone.
The sight of mountains of provisions left the perpetually underfunded Night's Watch both stunned and elated. Only Lord Commander Jeor Mormont ("Old Bear") felt uneasy. The sheer scale of resources was excessive—enough to supply the Watch for decades. Why stockpile so much at once?
Aedric brushed off his suspicions with some casual jokes and half-truths. After all, the goods were real—what was he going to do, refuse them?
As the weeks passed, Aedric continued transporting supplies to Castle Black while also making trips beyond the Wall "to monitor the wildlings." In reality, he was coordinating with Mance Rayder himself.
Two months later, everything was in place. The stores were full, and nearly one hundred thousand wildlings had gathered before the Wall, preparing for war.
Seeing the Night's Watch nervously lining the battlements, Aedric shook his head, walked to the courtyard, and shouted with qi-enhanced force:
"Brothers of the Night's Watch! I am Jon Snow! I ask you to lay down your weapons—and open the gates to the Free Folk outside!"
"Jon Snow, have you lost your mind?!" roared Jeor Mormont, his voice thundering across the courtyard. "Would you betray all of Westeros?!"
"Correct," Aedric said lightly, spreading his hands. "You got it right, Lord Commander. I'm defecting—joining the wildlings."
Mormont's face went red with fury. "Then the supplies you brought—"
"Were for them," Aedric interrupted cheerfully. "Let's be honest—you've only got a thousand men. You couldn't use half that much even if you lived a century."
"Night's Watch, hear me!" Mormont bellowed. "Seize Jon Snow—kill him if you must!"
A metallic chorus of swords leaving scabbards rang out. Within seconds, Aedric was surrounded by steel. But his reputation as the "Storm Sword Saint" made everyone hesitate—no one dared make the first move.
They didn't move. But Aedric did.
Smiling faintly, he blurred, his body dissolving into mist—vanishing from sight. In the next instant, he reappeared behind Mormont, extending one finger toward the man's back.
A low-tier version of "Blink", enhanced with illusion—creating the illusion of instant teleportation.
Mormont never even had time to react. Aedric's finger tapped the right spot, and the old man collapsed, lifeless before anyone could blink.
"Lord Commander!"
The courtyard erupted. Enraged shouts filled the air as the black-clad brothers charged at Aedric.
"STOP!"
His Shaolin Lion's Roar burst forth like thunder, shaking the courtyard. The ground trembled, and half the Watch dropped their weapons, dizzy or fainting outright.
"You there," Aedric said, pointing at a few of the men who'd once been close to Jon Snow, "go check if the Lord Commander's truly dead."
Trembling and furious, they obeyed. A moment later, one muttered in disbelief, "No pulse… no breath. He's dead."
"You killed him, Jon Snow!" another shouted, eyes blazing with hatred. "You've doomed us all! The Watch will hunt you to the ends of the earth!"
Aedric ignored their fury, calmly stepped forward, and waved his hand. "Good, then move aside."
Before they could react, he flicked his palm—sending them flying like rag dolls—and crouched beside Mormont's corpse. His fingers danced across the old man's chest, tapping several acupuncture points.
Then—the impossible happened.
Under hundreds of stunned gazes, Mormont convulsed, coughed violently, and opened his eyes.
"What… what happened to me?"
"Congratulations, Lord Commander," Aedric said warmly. "Your oath is fulfilled. You can go home to Bear Island and be a lord again."
Mormont blinked in utter confusion. Around him, the gathered black brothers exchanged uneasy whispers. Aedric straightened and raised his voice:
"The Night's Watch vows to serve until death—but as you've just seen, Lord Commander Mormont has died. Therefore, his oath is complete. Yours can be too."
"If you lay down your swords, I'll 'end' your vows the same way—and you'll walk free men once more. Or…" he smiled faintly, "…you can fight me now, and then face the hundred thousand wildlings outside."
"Your choice."
Yes—he was exploiting a loophole. Just like Jon Snow in the show: once you've died, your vow is over.
Most of the Watch hadn't joined willingly anyway. The moment they realized there was a legitimate way out, over ninety percent threw down their weapons on the spot. Mormont shouted himself hoarse, but it was useless.
The remaining few—those who truly believed in honor—were quickly overpowered, tied up, and dragged before Aedric one by one to "fulfill" their vows.
Their curses and insults didn't bother him in the least.
Because, as he thought to himself with a smirk—that's all aimed at Jon Snow, not me, Aedric.
After all, what Lu Xun did has nothing to do with Zhou Shuren.
Whatever. I can't hear you. La la la.
Still, watching the newly freed men cheering and shouting things like "Dead! I'm dead!" and "I'm alive again!"—well, it was hard not to laugh.
In truth, resurrection wasn't rare—not in this kind of world, and not even in the martial realms.
For example, the Divine Illumination Sutra, one of the Four Great Techniques of the Metal Element, could revive someone dead for hours.
And the Postnatal Inner Core Art far surpassed that—it was child's play to bring people back from the brink.
Still, reviving over a thousand men at once was exhausting, even for him.
When the last of the black brothers had either left joyfully or been dragged away cursing, Aedric stood in the silent courtyard, took a long breath, and after resting a moment, strode to the massive winch.
With a deep rumble, the gates of the Wall began to rise.
~~--------------------------
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