I had about three hundred skeletal minions now, all of whom already had weapons of their own – crude clubs and stone-headed spears, true, but ultimately better than nothing. The lack of flesh, the glowing eyes, and the blackened bones also made them really cool to look at – not gonna lie. It felt like I was motherfucking Arthas Menethil, commanding the Scourge or some shit. So, I really would like to have a sword that was as cool or was cooler than Frostmourne and my life would be fucking complete. You know what? I am going to get myself a Valyrian Steel Sword and no one was going to stop me.

But, guess what? I wasn't going to just take one from an existing house, no. Fat chance of that happening. I was going to take one from the ruins of Valyria itself and maybe get my hands on some sweet dragon corpses while I'm there, just like Arthas in that bomb-ass trailer.

Anyway, I turned my attention to Halga, who'd fallen asleep on my lap and was pretty much the only reason I hadn't flooded Mormont Keep with my undead just yet. Her breathing was stable, but her skin was pale and cold – not like ice, but pretty damn close, honestly. Halga was one of the very few people in this world that I thought of as more than just an acquaintance; she was, in fact, a friend to me, as surprising as that was to admit. She wasn't scared of me or my powers; she didn't even care that I had them. And, thusly, treated me like a human being, instead of a curse in human form, like the rest of her village. Tamara was a close second. I thought of her as a friend, but I'm pretty sure the healer just kind of tolerates my presence, because she thought that she had no choice. But, eh, friend get.

So, when she suddenly fell sick and cold, because of some fancy new magic I was waving around, I naturally got fucking worried. I didn't want her to die. If she did, I'd be fucking upset. And the worst part was that it'd be my own goddamn fault. I placed my hand on her chest. Yep, her heart was still beating. But, I'm not exactly a trained nurse or a doctor; so, I doubt I was picking up all the random bits of information I'd need to make an accurate assessment.

Also, if I had to guess, this likely had something to do with the fact that what I'd wielded was pure Death Magic, which had a noticeable effect – I note – of killing all the grass and flowers around me. My guess? It didn't kill her, but it weakened her enough that she passed out. If I didn't do anything, however, then she'd die of hypothermia. So, I sent a mental command to all my undead to stay the fuck in place, while I carried Halga to Nightfury, who probably had a way to heat her up, without killing her. Failing that, I'd just ask the fella to make a bonfire for me so that I can place Halga next to it.

Fortunately, Nightfury wasn't too far away from where we were, still feasting on the corpses of the dead. I stopped and stared at him for a moment, seeing as he'd grown from the size of a car to the size of a really big car – not a truck just yet, but he'd probably reach that size within the next half hour if things kept up. In fact, I wouldn't at all be surprised if Nightfury reached the maximum adult size of a Fatalis before the day ended.

I stepped forward and Nightfury immediately noticed my presence, turning his serpentine neck and ferocious head towards me, mouth-covered in blood and gore. And yet, I felt no malice from the black dragon. Mother. Your friend smells... strange. Dead?

"Not dead," I said. "Can you maybe heat her up without killing or maiming her?"

Can. Maybe. Not sure. Maybe can. Fire mine.

Nightfury turned away from the shrinking mound of corpses and crawled towards me. As I gently placed Halga on the forest floor, I noted the fact that all the blood and gore on my Fatalis' mouth had sizzled away into nothing. I also noted Nightfury's rather extreme body heat; it felt like I was standing right in front of an overheated car engine. I sat down beside Halga as Nightfury nuzzled the edge of his snout into Halga's chest, before closing his eyes. Cold. Smells like death. Not dead. Dying.

Heat. With but a single word from Nightfury, color returned to Halga's body, pushing away the pale onrush that'd overtaken her. Her lips turned from gray to pink, her skin gaining a much healthier, more vibrant shade. She did not awaken, however, which probably meant she was still out cold and unconscious, but now I didn't have to worry anymore about her dying from hypothermia. I breathed a sigh of relief and held my hand against her forehead – yep, not cold anymore.

I then turned to Nightfury. "Thank you, son."

Nothing. Female human mother's friend. Mother's friend not food. Can help.

And then, Nightfury turned away and crawled back to the corpse mound and began eating once more, the sound of crunching bones and tearing flesh echoing in the air. No wonder the Wildlings were fucking terrified, honestly. Just the mere idea of a dragon who held absolute command over the element of fire was insane to think about. Not even Valyrian Dragons could hold a candle to Nightfury's control over flame.

Anyway, now that Halga was more or less safe. I think it was time I turned my full attention to the Wildlings who slaughtered Lysa's family. So, I turned and walked away. If Halga woke up early, then she could probably still join in on the slaughter that was coming, because, oh, those fucking Wildlings were definitely gonna get it. Unwashed barbarians mucking about in places they shouldn't be in, thieving, killing, enslaving, and raping. Nah, ain't no way I was gonna let any of them live.

The same was true for any Ironborn I'd find. Their days were fucking numbered.

But, for now, I had a castle to liberate.

I marched back to my three hundred or so skeletons, walked past them, and then used [Sapping Sting] a total of ten times to bust open the next layer of gates meant to hold back the enemy. But, against my magic, the hardwood gates, reinforced by iron bars, fell apart like wet paper, because I was just so fucking cool. There were a bunch of Wildlings in the Courtyard, but I easily dealt with them with [Chill Touch], killing them as my horde of undead marched forward. I'd raise their corpses later, but I figured I'd just do that all at once, ya know? The higher level spells had a limit to how many times I could cast them, though that limit was much higher here than what I remembered from the game.

So, whatever.

The Wildlings screamed and closed the main door into the keep. Once more, a single use of [Sapping Sting] was all it took to fuck up their last line of defense. And, just like that, my undead minions rushed into the breach. I stood in the Courtyard, listening to their screams of panic and pain as my minion overwhelmed their paltry defenses. As the last of my undead ran in, I decided I'd go and see the action for myself. It'd be terribly boring, otherwise, ya know? So, I walked in and followed the sounds of carnage, of men and women screaming defiantly.

Entering Mormont Keep's Main Hall, I was just in time to witness a particularly hulking Wildling torn apart by ten of my skeletons who'd eschewed their weapons and decided it was better to just bite the man to death, classic zombie style. The hulking man screamed as my skeletal minions tore apart his throat, clawed out his eyes, and ripped open his stomach and pulled out his entrails. He died a rather gruesome death. The other Wildlings fared no better.

I stared at all the corpses, the torn limbs and the shattered and gruesome forms of all the men and women who'd died here. A few of them, I thought, were young enough to be high school students. But, try as I might, I couldn't find it in me to feel... anything for them. I felt no pity, mercy, or remorse. They chose this fate. They chose this life. And this was how it ended. There was a time, perhaps, when I would've bawled my eyes out or puked out the window. But, I think that time was long gone. Trust Planetos to turn an aspiring lawyer into a mass-murderer.

This must've been the moment where Jason Lee truly become Heisenburg.

Hehe.

Anyway, I ordered my undead minions to spread out and kill every living thing in here, except for whoever was kept in the dungeons, which I did not open just yet. Chances were, the Wildlings might've kept some prisoners and placed them there. Fat chance of that happening, but ya never really know. So, for now, the dungeons would remain untouched. In fact, I decided that I'd personally go there to see for myself. So, I took one of the torches on the wall and started searching.

Considering how small Mormont Keep actually was, finding the dungeon did not take me very long. In fact, it was pretty much directly under the castle itself, kind of like an edgy basement. Everywhere I went, I found death – either Wildlings who were torn apart by my undead minions or servants of House Mormont, who'd endured a far more painful death than they ever deserved, under the hands of the Wildlings.

The entrance to the dungeon was closed and locked. So, I used [Sapping Sting] to bust open the keyhole and kicked open the door. The first thing that hit me was the smell. And goddamn did it smell bad down here. The only reason I didn't puke immediately was because I was getting kind of used to this sort of smell, but goddamn did it smell bad. With a frown, I began lighting up the torches on the walls, in front of the cells.

And what I saw in each of them made my blood run cold. The Wildlings did keep prisoners, but they treated these people like pets and playthings. The ones inside the cells were either dead, dying, or severely traumatized. The moment they saw me, they inched into the corner, hoping I wouldn't see them or that I'd ignore them. There were plenty of women here – tortured and raped and mutilated, stripped of identity and dignity. Not that the men hadn't gone through the same thing. The dead still seemed to scream and cry out in pain, their faces forever frozen in torment.

I breathed in and began busting open the cell doors with [Sapping Sting], opening them one by one. I didn't think there was anything I could say to convince these people to leave, but I tried anyway. "You're all free now. The Wildlings are dead. This castle is, once again, under the authority of House Mormont."

Of course, they didn't believe me. No doubt, the Wildlings said similar things to torment the every loving shit out of them. It was probably better if Lysa Mormont dealt with this. If these people knew her, then they were more likely to listen. I doubted it, thought; the broken look in their eyes told me it'd take a very long time for these people to be cohesive in thought again. Couldn't blame them for that. And, at this moment, I sorely wished I had some other spell that might help them, some hidden ability that would allow me to grant them a measure of peace. But I didn't. Or, if I did have some super shonen hidden power, it remained hidden for now.

God fucking damnit.

What I could do, however, was stabilize the dying with [Spare the Dead]; so, I did just that. Once I was done, I walked out. I wasn't going to force them out of there – not as they were. Hopefully, they'd walk out on their own. Yep, that was going to be Lysa's problem. When I walked out back to the Courtyard, I found Nightfury there, already fully grown, gnawing on a dead Wildling, whilst holding a sleeping Halga on his right hand.