Well, this wasn't anything I knew how to deal with, I thought as I looked at the cowed Wildlings, who eyed me with fearful, but fervent gazes. Their fear froze them and the villagers very easily killed those who spent too much time gawking at the reanimated Wildling woman who was now a part of me, a part of the whole; they were speared or beaten to death easily enough. The rest struggled, but the shock of seeing one of their own rising from the dead as my puppet must've been greater than I thought, because it was honestly almost comical how some of them just stood there and died.
A few managed to regain their wits about them and ran away, screaming about a Cold God or an Other, two things I was intimately familiar with. Being a fan of the books, the literal first scene of the Game of Thrones novel featured one of the Others, an ethereal and otherworldly being that wielded the powers of ice and snow, and commanded the dead to do its bidding. Skin as white as snow and ghostly pale hair. Nah, that wasn't me. My skin tone was several shades darker than pure white and I also had no interest in starting another Long Night or whatever it was the Others wanted to do.
Me being here also made me realize that I'd never to read Winds of Winter, if it ever came out, at least.
Eh, whatever. I'll make my own story. Wasn't that the point?
I wasn't too sure how to feel about being called an Other, I suppose, and neither did the villagers, who'd simply ran the fuck away from me as soon as they noticed the shambling, blue-eyed corpse under my command. Fair enough. I'd run away too if I was in their position. Because even I was creeped out by how she looked, even though I knew, for a fact, that she was as much a part of me as my own beating heart.
I turned my attention to the remaining Wildlings who were rampaging about. I'd deal with the repercussions of revealing my magic once this whole shit was dealt with. For now, I was going to... unleash the beast.
Ugh, just thinking that made me cringe.
A group of five Wildlings rushed at me from the corner, a good fifteen meters between us. My eyes narrowed as my latest undead minion rushed at them like an absolutely madwoman. Seeing the reanimated state of their compatriot must've jolted their fears, blunting their charge as my zombie crashed right into them and started biting and tearing at whatever it could get its hands and teeth on. That momentary lapse in concentration was enough time for me to raise my hand and unleash [Chill Touch] about five times in rapid succession, touching each of them briefly on their knees or shins, the sudden and extreme necrosis sending them sprawling and screaming on the ground.
Briefly, I wondered if I had the guts to finish them off, before ultimately deciding that, on a personal level, I wasn't quite there just yet. Seeing them suffer was one thing, strangely enough, just as seeing someone else kill them was of a similar vein. But, the idea of consciously going their and putting each of them out of their misery made me queasy, which – I realize – was a terrible thing, since having only one leg in this particular world meant they were about as good as dead anyway and I was fairly certain that these guys were probably either going to bleed to death or die of an infection at some point without proper medical assistance – or just shock. But, to be entirely fair as well, the villagers weren't going to let these guys live for very long.
So, hurray, they weren't going to suffer. Now, to deal with the rest.
Screams echoed from the northern side of the village, where I'd set my Undead Bear loose, attacking anything that was alive, which meant it was probably thrashing blindly at the moment as we couldn't exactly share our senses. I knew, however, that Wildlings were currently attacking the shit out of it, which was honestly impressive since you'd think that they were just going to run away from an angry reanimated bear that just wasn't going to die no matter what they did. And the best part was that, unlike the local Wights and their White Walker masters, my undead units weren't going to just crumple into shards of ice the moment they made contact with Dragonglass or Fire. No, my undead were going to be tough sons of bitches, only dying for real when they literally couldn't move anymore.
Let's see the Wildlings deal with that!
But, for the sake of safety, I'd rather be standing close to my cute little undead bear; it'd also increase its combat potential, since it was literally attacking blindly at the moment and the only reason it hadn't killed any of the villagers in its rampage was because the only people there were Wildlings. The villagers themselves had gathered in the center, where they'd barricaded themselves with makeshift walls of wooden planks and sharpened stakes, good enough to repel just about any charge or, at the very least, enough to make frontal attacks incredibly difficult and, most importantly, very costly for the Wildlings.
So, my cute little undead bear could rampage as much as necessary and I wouldn't have to feel bad about it, even if it technically meant I'd killed people by essentially thrashing around in the dark with a blade in my hand. At the very least, this was a somewhat justifiable self-defense and defense of another, which was covered by most Good Samaritan Laws, which didn't exist in Planetos, but the point still stood; it made sense in my head and, therefore, I wasn't about to feel bad about it. Though, I suppose, in this case, one could argue that I was responding with excessive force and they'd be right; I would argue back that, in this case, excessive force was necessary as I was technically defending myself from people who'd love to see my head on a spike.
Murder, in this case, was totally justified.
I rushed ahead and caught up with the archers, though I could tell immediately that they were now very afraid of me, especially that kid who threatened me earlier. It was in all of their eyes, weary and frightened as they were, including the old man who acted as their commander; ironically, out of all of them, he looked the most fearful. Still, they weren't going to start shit and, therefore, weren't my enemies. I also figured that a good chunk about why they were afraid was the Wildling wight that ran at my side, a woman who'd been dead a few minutes ago and was then reanimated by the dark powers of the [Mighty Boner].
If this was how they reacted to me now, I can't wait to see people's faces when I started using the high level stuff. As it was, all I'd used were Cantrips and the built-in enchantment of the [Mighty Boner]. There were stuff in my spell repertoire that could, if used properly, bring dragons down from the sky. And that wasn't even taking into account the fact that I had a freaking dragon egg in my [Bag of Holding]. Not sure when it's going to hatch though. I hope it looks cool. It's every boy's dream to ride a damn dragon, after all.
A Wildling jumped out of the nearby hut and rushed at me. My eyes widened and I almost froze. Luckily, I had enough of my wits about me as I turned aside and narrowly avoided a club that would've screwed my face to shit if actually hit me. I countered with a thrust right into his neck. And I was more confident with it this time. The impact alone told me that I'd actually done a lot of damage if the spurt of blood from his mouth hadn't been there. The Wildling man clutched at his neck. And I followed up my initial attack by sending my girl Wight right at him, who them proceeded to bite his face off. Quite a grizzly sight.
It was also right then that I noticed something... odd about myself.
My senses were sharper than they had any right being and, most importantly, my perception was pretty high, considering I never would've been able to actually avoid that attack if I'd been my old self and that meant... my physical stats carried over. Being an Archmage Necromancer, my physique would not have been the best by any means, but compared to a normal person? Then I'd be pretty damn strong and athletic. Huh, actually, looking back, I should've noticed this sooner, but I guess I was too preoccupied with magic to notice.
As the man lay dying on the ground, I commanded my Wight to stop as I handed it the [Great Boner]. And then, I looked down at the Wildling. "This will be quick, I swear."
And so, I made my Wight kill him in my place.
As it turns out, anything that required finesse on my part was extremely difficult. The undead, after all, represented a limb that I very recently just received, which meant my control over it was dismal at best. All of that meant that my little undead chick ended up bashing the man's brains out by bludgeoning him to death, instead of a single swift thrust into the skull as I'd envisioned and wanted. But, on the bright side, I did not puke my guts out and the man probably died a relatively quick death. And now, a more or less headless corpse arose, becoming another one of my minions, which left me a grand total of three wights as extensions of myself. Not a bad number, I suppose.
With two Wights by my side, I felt a lot more secure about walking around by my lonesome, because the village archers definitely didn't want anything to do with me and constantly running after them was hurting my dignity. No, I was gonna have to stand my ground and fight on my own. So, I slowed my pace and held the [Great Boner] close to my chest. In case of archers, I had literal meat shields to stand between me and any arrow. In case of a surprise attack, I still had my meat shields. So, I was confident.
And, ultimately, my goal was to save the village, but if push came to shove, then I was going to say toodles and fuck off. Aint no way I was risking my ass for a bunch of strangers, who didn't know or care to know who I was. I didn't know any of these people. And, most importantly, I wasn't a hero; in Planetos, heroes had a terrible tendency of dying first. So, fuck no. When it came down to it, my life was the most important.
That said, I was going to do as much as I can.
"Where the hell is the local lord, anyway?" I cursed. "Isn't he the one who's supposed to take care of this shit?"
Another group of Wildlings arrived. Three of them this time – easily taken care of, given the distance between ourselves and their choice of weapons. One of them raised a hand and pointed at me, eyes filling with fear. Ah, I recognized that one; it was the dude who ran away and escaped the first time I raised a person. "That's him! That's the Other! He's already raised two of our own!"
"They've ventured south of the bloody wall?!" A gaunt, bearded man yelled. And then, frantically, he began searching himself for something. "Dragonglass!"
Ah, haha, funny misunderstanding there. None of them had any time to ponder my existence any further as my Undead Bear burst out of a ruined hut, now covered in cuts and arrows, a spear lodged through its side, and clamped its massive skeletal jaws down on the Wildling at the center, tearing his chest apart in a shower of blood and gore, his organs spilling out all over. The two on both flanks screamed and panicked and fell to the ground. My undead bear stepped forward, silent as the grave, and stomped down on the rightward man's left leg, crushing bone and ripping muscle, before then turning to the left and biting and crunching the leftward man's head into pulp. Still screaming in terror and agony, the sole surviving Wildling thrashed as my cute little minion turned and silenced him forever with a single swipe of its massive paw, breaking and tearing the man's head right off.
Haha, see, the funny thing was... I didn't tell it to do any of that.