Chapter 3: The Pursuit
With a commander dead-set on winning glory, the three common soldiers had no choice but to suffer along. Will, originally a poacher whose skills in stealth and tracking were exceptional, quickly deduced the numbers and condition of their quarry: about ten people, including men, women, and children. Likely a wildling family.
In the minds of the inhabitants of the Seven Kingdoms, wildlings were a fierce and brutal lot—in many parts of the North, parents even used them as bogies to frighten children. But the Night's Watch, who dealt with them regularly, didn't buy into that. The men in black knew very well that the so-called wildlings were essentially just "wild peasants" who refused to pay taxes or perform labor and called that "freedom." Their own side was different. Believe it or not, the reality was that even in its decline, the Night's Watch remained one of the largest standing armies on the continent. To use a modern term, they were "professional soldiers."
In this feudal era, if lords wanted to wage war, they had to notify their vassals, who in turn summoned their smallfolk. These "soldiers" would drop their hoes, pick up weapons, and follow the knights to a muster point where an army was formed.
The Night's Watch was different. Their sole mission was to guard the Wall. They were in a perpetual state of war, and their food and supplies were provided by the residents of the Gift and donations from Northern houses. Even in the most peaceful times, the Night's Watch did not engage in production. Though the quality of their recruits had dwindled, an army that drilled daily was—among the "short" options of this backward world—considered elite.
The Rangers were the "combat troops" of this standing army. Compared to the "auxiliary" builders and stewards, they didn't even handle chores like laundry or cooking. Their only activities were training and patrolling. Compared to wildlings carrying wooden clubs and stone axes, who spent most of their time simply trying to survive, the average Ranger's combat effectiveness was significantly higher. Setting aside the rare "warriors" among the wildlings, few dared to engage well-trained, fully-equipped Rangers unless they had a massive numerical advantage or a perfect ambush.
At least, the small group Egger and his companions were tailing didn't dare.
This party of wildlings had initially moved slowly west, parallel to the Wall. After detecting the four Rangers trailing them, they veered north in a desperate attempt to escape. Waymar Royce, leading his first patrol, was naturally unwilling to let them slip away. The two groups began a marathon through the ice and snow.
Egger and the other three stayed on the wildlings' heels by day and huddled under heavy fur blankets at night to conserve their strength. Using the advantage of their horses to stick to the enemy, they tracked them north for three days, veered northwest for two more, and then turned north again. Thanks to the lack of storms or heavy snowfall, Will never lost the trail.
"Nine days, m'lord."
"Is nine days a long time?"
"Not long," Gared replied, neither humble nor pushy. "But we only brought enough hardbread for a dozen days. Even with rationing, we can only stretch it to twenty. And we have to go back. If we keep chasing, the second half of the return journey..."
"I heard Ser Alliser say," Waymar's voice held a hint of mockery, "that during the last winter, Rangers went out with a month's supplies and stayed beyond the Wall for six months. How did they manage that?"
Will and Egger, who hadn't joined the conversation, exchanged a glance and coughed to hide their awkwardness. Waymar's sarcasm was sharp enough, but he had picked the wrong target.
"If m'lord wants to know how it's done, I can enlighten you," Gared said. Having long been annoyed by the high-born youth, he wasn't about to miss a chance to set him straight. "I was on that mission. When the food ran out, we ate the horses, then the dogs. Then we scoured for roots, dug out rat nests, and hunted anything that moved. When there was truly nothing left, the commander ordered us to bring along the bodies of our brothers... luckily it didn't come to that. We pushed through the storms until we reached Craster's Keep, and with the help of that wildling who beds his own daughters, we made it back to the Wall alive."
"If the commander wants to try it, I can only promise to do my best to bring everyone home," Gared continued bluntly, watching with satisfaction as a flicker of panic crossed Waymar's face. "Just a reminder: the Lord Commander warned us never to seek help from Craster with a group of fewer than ten men. And roots and horsemeat aren't exactly easy on the stomach."
The young noble's expression shifted several times. Egger expected the youngest patrol leader to fly into a rage, but Waymar surprisingly calmed himself and even made a miraculous concession. "Fine then. No matter what happens, we turn back tomorrow. But on this last day, we must take the initiative. We'll try to capture a 'tongue' or two for questioning. Success or failure, we head back tomorrow."
"Take the initiative?" Will couldn't stay a spectator anymore. He grew tense. "But... Lord Benjen told us to investigate the reason for the wildlings' appearance and their movements. He didn't tell us to—"
"And what have you investigated in these nine days?" Waymar interrupted the poacher. "Chasing them for another nine days isn't as useful as catching one alive to interrogate. Gared, what do you think?"
Gared could bicker and trade barbs based on his seniority, but in the face of Waymar—who was both a noble and his superior—he couldn't ultimately disobey. He curled his lip and replied reluctantly, "As you command, m'lord."
Waymar smiled contemptuously. He enjoyed the feeling of others being annoyed with him yet having to obey. He turned to Will. "You, scout ahead. Report back with their exact situation, and then we'll decide how to strike."
The poacher looked at Egger and Gared without spirit, accepted the order, and left. The remaining three dismounted, finding a spot among the large trees to sit and rest.
Egger stood atop a rock half-buried in the snow to observe their surroundings. It was getting colder by the day, and being over a hundred miles north of the Wall, the temperature should geographically be lower... but it wasn't the cold that unsettled him. It was the people.
Specifically, Ser Waymar Royce.
It wasn't that he feared him. Though the young noble was somewhat pampered, it would be unfair to call him a total brat. Aside from his arrogant sense of status, he hadn't done anything truly malicious. What Egger feared was the plot associated with this young man.
If he had known he would one day transmigrate into this world, he would have re-watched the show and re-read the books several times. But there are no "ifs" in life. In his previous world, whether watching or reading, he had only skimmed through the story once. He knew the general arc but remembered almost no details.
However, there was one plot point he couldn't possibly forget: Waymar Royce was the unlucky soul who was cut down by a White Walker at the very beginning of the story. As the first named character to appear in both the novel and the show, his death revealed the true existence of the world's greatest threat and set the tone for the entire series. He was the "prologue."
Egger thought to himself: as a transmigrator, even if I can't climb the ranks to become a king or hero, I shouldn't be a mere side character who dies right at the start! So, when he heard ten days ago that Ser Waymar Royce would lead this patrol, his heart had screamed no.
Unfortunately, as a man brought to the Wall for a crime, he had neither the power to choose his commander nor the standing to refuse duty. He had to grit his teeth and head deep into the Haunted Forest.
The Haunted Forest... how could it live up to its name without ghosts? The cold winds north of the Wall never ceased, blowing through the trees until their shadows danced like monstrous living things. That was how the Black Waste earned its name. Egger remembered his first time out; the memories of legends and the plot had rushed back, making every shadow look like a White Walker waiting for bait, and every carved face on a Weirwood tree made him jump. By the end of that first day, his legs were so weak he could barely stand. Looking back, it was quite embarrassing.
Now, having been "over the Wall" more than a dozen times and having encountered wildlings two or three times, he was no longer afraid of this subarctic forest.
But traveling with Waymar reactivated that hidden unease. Something nameless seemed to lurk in the dark curtain of trees, leaving him restless, like an animal facing a predator.
He circled the resting area but found nothing unusual. Perhaps the chill and the sense of crisis were just illusions born from Waymar's presence? Thinking about it, the guy couldn't be so unlucky that he'd run into White Walkers on his very first patrol, taking Egger with him... Once they got back to the Wall, he'd have to find a way to avoid being paired with this Royce jinx again.
Egger shook his head and returned to the other two. Under their curious gazes, he sat down and waited quietly for Will to return.
The cold wind blew, and the horses shifted in place, snorting. Egger stayed alert to the sounds of the environment while pondering ways to avoid Waymar and escape the Watch. About an hour later, Will returned.
"Well?" Waymar looked up, eyeing the poacher with his characteristic arrogance and casual tone. "It'll be dark soon. The wildlings should have stopped to build a fire and camp."
Will dismounted, walking toward the three of them with a stunned expression. He swallowed hard, looking completely out of his wits. "I know you won't believe it... but I don't know what happened up there. The wildlings... they're all dead."
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