Game of Thrones: Bastard? I’m the Damn Heir!

Chapter 376 376: Preparations for War, the Storm Approaches!

"No, Your Grace," Jon replied earnestly. Though there was a trace of unease in his expression, he did not seem overly troubled.

Kal merely nodded. With logistics on such a massive scale, it would be absurd to claim there were no problems—but clearly, Jon was capable of handling them.

And even if Kal did not fully trust Jon, nor believe that someone his age could truly manage such matters alone, he still trusted Aemon Targaryen, Benjen Stark, and the others.

These were men who would not give him cause for concern. Besides, he was watching everything closely himself.

Though, judging by appearances, he was still nothing more than a young king barely come of age.

"Then what is the current situation regarding dragonglass weapons and wildfire production? Have these been distributed in batches to the front-line troops?"

The situation had reached its final stage—Kal would not be foolish enough to neglect any means at his disposal.

According to the records of the Night's Watch, during the Age of Heroes, the Children of the Forest would gift the Watch one hundred obsidian daggers each year.

As one of the few weapons capable of killing the Others, dragonglass was something Kal naturally had to make full use of.

The Valyrians had once called dragonglass "frozen fire." Kal had even seen glass candles made from obsidian at the Citadel.

An Other wounded by an obsidian blade would die instantly. Yet while obsidian was sharper than steel, it was also far more brittle.

As for wildfire—being a flammable liquid imbued with magical properties—in Kal's eyes, it was far more useful than dragonglass weapons.

The flaming sword used in battle by Thoros of Myr, the red priest, was in fact simply a blade coated in wildfire and set alight. Kal still remembered how furious Tobho Mott, the master armorer of King's Landing, had been upon discussing the matter—he believed Thoros had no right to treat steel in such a way.

Fortunately, Thoros rarely used quality blades. He would simply dip a cheap sword into wildfire, coat it lightly, and ignite it—more for intimidation than actual combat.

Of course, wildfire's effectiveness was one thing. Its cost, however, lay in its pitiful production.

To make wildfire a standardized weapon for equipping armies… even Kal would not dare entertain such a fantasy, given the current level of productivity in the Seven Kingdoms.

But that did not lessen its importance, nor prevent him from treating it as a crucial trump card.

Wildfire, once ignited, would burn until its target was completely consumed—and it burned for an exceptionally long time.

It could seep into cloth, wood, leather, even steel, setting everything ablaze. Even floating upon water, it would continue to burn.

These properties made it an ideal weapon of war—against both men and the Others alike.

Thus, Kal placed great emphasis on it.

Rather than having Robert risk the unknown dangers of flying above the battlefield and unleashing dragonfire, wildfire could be applied directly to weapons. This allowed front-line soldiers themselves to gain the means to kill their enemies, while greatly reducing pressure on all fronts.

Though doing so would reduce the durability of the weapons, it was a trivial concern. Compared to lives, the expenditure of materials and labor was a far more worthwhile trade—Kal did not spare it a second thought.

Moreover, compared to weapons forged from dragonglass, the latter not only suffered from extremely slow production, but also could not be made into longer weapons. Their lifespan and durability were even worse.

Their overly brittle nature made mass production for equipping entire armies nothing more than a fool's dream.

Thus, aside from a few proven warriors who were granted such weapons, the rest could only use simpler tools—nets, resin-bound arrows, clubs—crafted from leftover dragonglass fragments.

Indeed, the process of making wildfire was long and dangerous, and only the Alchemists' Guild knew its method.

When Kal had inquired about it, they had even claimed that its creation required magic.

After having Erevi examine it, Kal confirmed that it could indeed contain certain magical factors and possessed magical properties.

That was why he considered it a form of magical weapon.

The alchemists stored wildfire in small ceramic jars. These jars had to be rough and patterned, increasing control over the substance.

They were then kept in stone chambers, with sand-filled compartments above them inscribed with spells—so that in case of accident, the sand could be released to extinguish the flames.

For even a spark during its creation could ignite it. High temperatures alone were enough to set it ablaze—and even brief exposure to sunlight could do the same.

Once ignited, the heat from wildfire would spread violently, triggering widespread chain reactions.

Transporting it between locations could only be done at night, with carts filled with sand as a precaution.

Upon arrival, the jars had to be sealed with wax, stored in cellars, and the cellars flooded with water via pumps to ensure safe storage.

However, none of these issues existed for Kal.

He had directly ordered all alchemists of the Seven Kingdoms to gather at the front—whether they knew how to make wildfire or not, all were to serve him.

Then he compelled the masters to teach their apprentices the method, organizing them into a production line to manufacture it in bulk.

This novel approach greatly increased wildfire production. The northern environment also ensured safer manufacturing and transport.

With such explosive output, and the role wildfire could play in the war, Kal had no choice but to take it seriously.

In a battle of hundreds of thousands, dragonglass weapons were almost negligible. Their production was fixed, and their durability limited.

But wildfire—something that could be mass-produced and used effectively against the armies of the Others and the wights—was something there could never be too much of.

"As for dragonglass weapons," Jon said, "aside from the supply and techniques provided by the Children of the Forest, Dragonstone is producing them at full capacity—but output is still the main issue."

The Children of the Forest could not smelt metal, so they used obsidian arrowheads and blades for hunting—just as they always had.

As he spoke, Jon drew the dragonglass dagger at his waist. It was a finely crafted piece, made by the Children themselves.

The black glass was smooth and gleaming, shining beautifully under the firelight.

But the dagger was indeed beautiful—and the problem was indeed real.

After witnessing with his own eyes that this thing could truly kill wights that could otherwise only be slain by fire, Jon cared even more about it than Kal did. He wished every soldier in the North could carry such a weapon.

But in reality, most of what they had were crude implements—simple wooden shafts with tips bound using resin and rope.

"This is indeed a problem, but with our current techniques and capabilities, mass production is impossible. To turn this into a proper weapon requires truly skilled craftsmen."

"So, let's talk about wildfire."

Watching Jon handle the dagger in his hand, Kal could only offer a few words of consolation.

As those in command, they would of course test the reliability of these weapons in actual combat.

Wildfire was indeed effective—but it was more like a double-edged sword placed in the hands of a farmer who had never held a blade. Its danger was not limited to the enemy alone.

Dragonglass, however, was different.

It did not possess the overwhelming destructive power of wildfire—but it was stable, and it was safe.

Seeing that Kal still placed such importance on wildfire, Jon could only shake his head slightly in resignation and slide the dagger back into its sheath.

"The workshops beneath the Wall produce wildfire every day, but it's constrained by raw materials. Output is still far from ideal."

The manufacturing process had been partially solved—the new problem lay with the materials.

And that was something even Kal had no solution for.

The problem with dragonglass was production. The problem with wildfire was materials.

At times, Kal almost wished he could fuse the two together.

Unfortunately, he could not.

"For now, that's how it is. We'll take it step by step…" Kal leaned back, letting out a silent sigh. "Equipment has hit a bottleneck for now—but don't slack on warmth and food."

At the council table, before Jon could respond, Benjen Stark quickly spoke up.

"There are no issues on those fronts, Your Grace."

"Good… hm?"

Kal nodded instinctively once more—but this time, he suddenly turned his head toward the outside of the tent.

The weather, which had been relatively "clear," had somehow grown veiled in a layer of haze.

If Kal remembered correctly, the last time he encountered something like this had also been at the Fist of the First Men.

Dark clouds pressed low on the horizon as they slowly rolled in. The mist crept forward in silence. The wind through the Gorge seemed to grow ever more shrill. And by the Milkwater, within the endless snowbound forest ahead… something seemed to have appeared.

…

Creak—!

Half a foot remained, wrapped in a tattered boot long since fallen apart. The flesh had withered and torn away, exposing the gray-black bone beneath.

Scrape—

The foot pressed into the snow with a crunch. Following it came the dragging sound of a wooden stick scraping across the ground.

As the gaze rose, it became clear—the owner of that half-foot had his other leg snapped just above the ankle.

The flesh of the lower leg had long since vanished, leaving only the broken bone, jutting out and serving as a crutch to support the equally ruined body.

It was a wight.

Not only were both its legs crippled, its entire body had become a half-rotted, hollow skeleton.

Its jaw was gone, along with the flesh of its neck—only a half-bitten windpipe remained, dangling against its chest as it moved.

Where its nose should have been, there was nothing but a hollow cavity.

One half of an eyeball had fallen from its socket, hanging by a strip of dried sinew.

Across its shoulder hung half a tattered black cloak. In its hand, a rusted broken sword—proof of what it once had been.

Yet compared to its miserable state, there were many more around it—wights of every grotesque variety.

Some had their bellies torn open, intestines dragging on the ground. When a companion stepped on them, they felt nothing—simply tearing them free and continuing forward.

Among these "people," few had once been Night's Watch. Most were free folk—those who had been kept beyond the Wall for generations.

These wights, now dead and turned into enemies of the living, carried no "fine" weapons of the Watch. Most held only broken bones, sticks, stones—or parts torn from the bodies of their own kind. Some carried nothing at all.

Dark clouds pressed upon the land as though to crush it.

This army of wights surged like a tide—black and endless, spreading across the snowfield from beyond sight.

Their movement seemed slow—but their overwhelming presence, and the blasphemy of the dead rising once more against the living, inspired a nameless terror.

Not every man was born a warrior. Not every man thirsted for blood.

The war horns sounded again and again. Officers roared themselves hoarse, commanding the troops into formation.

Bottles of wildfire, long prepared, were brought forth—applied by designated men onto the blades of the soldiers.

But it was not yet time to ignite them.

The most elite warriors stood at the front, holding their breath, focusing.

Archers drew arrows tipped with dragonglass, setting them to their bows—but did not yet pull the strings.

From the moment the enemy was sighted to full battle readiness, scarcely more than ten minutes had passed.

Since landing upon the frozen coast and sweeping across the snowfields in search of their enemy, this army—at last—faced them in true numbers.

"These things… they look a bit like the undead we used to see in the graveyards. Just not sure how tough they are."

"There are differences. These things look… more disgusting."

"I think you're right. Still, I'm curious—what exactly is manipulating the souls of these wights?"

"And whether our abilities will work on them… and whether they'll treat us as enemies."

Within the army standing in formation, three sisters—utterly out of place—watched the enemy from the shadows, conversing with interest.

The noblewoman made no attempt to hide her disgust.

The warrior cared only for the enemy's strength.

And the second daughter of the Dark Emperor—once ruler of much of the Dark Continent—a curly-haired witch devoted to immortality and darkness, cared most about their underlying nature.

"But the boy's orders were to find those so-called 'Others'… and kill them."

"We shouldn't waste time on these things. These mortals can handle them. It seems we should move."

"I think we could test our strength on them first—use them to gauge the enemy's power… however."

"However what?"

"I think… we should be addressing him as King Kal-El."

"You whore—are you trying to become his consort? Oh, right—I almost forgot. Serving in bed has always been your trade."

"Don't forget—we are not among the living. We cannot walk beneath the sun!"

"We're no different from these things, you fool!"

"But he isn't a mortal either, is he?"

"I've heard… there was once a man called the Night King who fell in love with an Other—and even crowned her his queen."

"So, sisters… I have an idea…"