Outside Bree's city gates, barrow-wights besieged the walls in terrifying numbers.
Seeing so many undead creatures, the defending militia went pale with fear.
"How... how can there be so many barrow-wights? Weren't the Barrow-downs already cleared?" A young militiaman asked, his voice trembling uncontrollably.
But no one could answer his question—everyone stood frozen, paralyzed with fear.
Among these militia, so were native Bree residents who had heard terrifying barrow-wight legends since childhood. Even before their lord had established his territory here, the road past the Barrow-downs had occasionally seen wights appearing from the mist—no sane person dared travel at night.
After only a few precious years of peace, how could the barrow-wights possibly reappear?
The militia captain reacted fastest, imdiately shouting loudly to break the spell of terror. "Everyone to battle stations! Ring the alarm bell imdiately! We absolutely cannot let these barrow-wights enter the city, or Bree will beco a living hell!"
All militia scrambled for their bows and arrows, shooting frantically at the wights massing below.
Another militiaman sprinted desperately to the bell tower, frantically striking the alarm bell.
The urgent alarm imdiately rang throughout Bree, shattering the night's peace.
The lively atmosphere in taverns and inns instantly quieted to shocked silence. Then everyone looked toward the windows in disbelief, confirming the bell wasn't so cruel illusion or drunken dream.
Sleeping residents were rudely awakened by the alarm, quickly rousing their confused families from their beds.
Bree's alarm bell was a tradition spanning hundreds of years. Even now, having expanded into prosperous Bree City, the bell's solemn purpose remained unchanged.
The more frequent and urgent the bell rang, the greater the danger threatening them. Previously, when South Downs bandits had attempted raids, Bree's bell had only rung three asured tis—most residents had continued their business as usual.
But now, ringing non-stop with desperate urgency, the bell ant Bree faced unprecedented danger—the entire city caught in a genuine life-or-death crisis.
The city imdiately fell into barely controlled panic.
Mayor Butch was jolted awake by the relentless bell. After a confused mont, he snapped to full alertness, his heart pounding.
"Mayor! Mayor Butch!" A militiaman burst into Mayor Butch's ho, shouting in absolute terror. "Barrow-wights! Thousands of barrow-wights have gathered outside the gate! They're trying to break through right now!"
"What? Barrow-wights!" Butch's eyes widened in disbelief, his face draining of color. "Where did they co from? Weren't the Barrow-downs cleared years ago?"
Since Lord Kael had dealt with the Barrow-downs threat, these peaceful years had occasionally seen brave adventurers exploring the ancient burial mounds. Even Mayor Butch had sent people to investigate thoroughly, confirming no wights remained.
Where could these barrow-wights possibly be coming from now?
"No, wait!" Butch's survival instincts kicked in, his body shaking. "With so many barrow-wights, I need to find a safe place to hide imdiately!"
As a mber of a prestigious Bree family, Butch's ancestors had all lived in Bree for generations. According to grim ancestral legends, long ago Bree had faced a barrow-wight crisis with hundreds attacking the city.
At that terrible ti, Bree had suffered devastating losses—nearly the entire city's population had been slaughtered.
Now with thousands of barrow-wights, wasn't this exponentially more fatal?
Butch felt instantly terrified; his first impulse was to hide sowhere safe and let soone else deal with this nightmare.
But just as he moved toward his escape route, his steps suddenly stopped, as if rembering sothing crucial. "No, wait... I'm the mayor!"
He looked out at the surrounding buildings through his window, his eyes filling with conflict and determination.
This city was built through my hard work—every brick and tile represents my effort. I cannot let those cursed barrow-wights destroy everything I've worked for! I'm supposed to beco Bree's greatest mayor...
His jaw set with determination. "Right, I cannot flee like a coward! I won't let that smug bastard Luke from Hogsade mock !"
Just when the militiaman who'd brought the terrible news fully expected the mayor would flee for his life, Butch unexpectedly stopped himself.
Then he quickly threw on his stab-resistant spider silk undershirt, and feeling that insufficient, added his ancestral armor over it for good asure. Wearing the bulky, clanking armor, Mayor Butch drew his sword while the militiaman watched in astonishnt.
"Let's go—take to the walls imdiately to properly assess the situation! Also send word to summon all able-bodied n in the city. We absolutely cannot let these barrow-wights enter—have all won and children hide in cellars and barricade themselves!"
Atop the city walls, militia frantically shot arrows at the wights below with desperate speed.
But barrow-wight bodies proved hard as iron—being just animated bones—completely unfearing of arrow attacks. They continued relentlessly ramming the gate with horrible impacts.
Though the gate was constructed of thick, hard wooden boards reinforced with thick crossbars behind, it couldn't withstand the wights' violent coordinated impacts. The wood began making unbearable creaking sounds that promised imminent failure.
Moreover, though the walls stood high, so wights used their sharp claws to pierce the stone walls, climbing steadily toward the battlents like horrifying spiders.
In this desperate situation, the militia captain noticed that wights instinctively avoided the burning fire on the ground below. He imdiately recognized this as hope and ordered fire arrows to attack the wights.
As burning arrows shot toward these undead creatures, flas proved effective—wights instinctively feared fire. When fire arrows landed on them, they ignited the tattered remnants of cloth still clinging to the wights' bones.
Climbing wights were doused with oil by quick-thinking militian on the battlents and ignited like terrible torches.
The wights' relentless attack was temporarily repelled by the flas, allowing exhausted militian to catch their breath.
Just then, Mayor Butch finally arrived, completely wrapped up in protective gear. The heavy armor left him gasping for breath.
He had also summoned most of the city's militia and ordered the armory opened imdiately.
Seeing thousands of wights with eyes glowing with evil ghostly fire and dry, rotten skin pressing against the gate, Butch inhaled sharply. His legs went weak, and he nearly wet himself in terror.
But seeing the wights successfully repelled by flas, he imdiately seized on this desperately, shouting hoarsely, "Quick! Collect all oils and kerosene—I personally have one hundred twenty-two barrels of olive oil in my private warehouse. Bring them all here imdiately and burn these cursed monsters to ash!"
The usually penny-pinching Butch now couldn't care at all about his expensive olive oil, only desperately wanting to burn these wights.
The militia received his orders—so quickly fanned out to collect every flammable substance in the city.
The remaining majority manned the walls, grimly defending their ho.
Mayor Butch remained cowardly by nature, looking at the densely packed wights below and desperately wanting to leave this dangerous position. But maintaining his mayoral dignity and pride, he stubbornly stayed at his post.
While other militia shot fire arrows with practiced skill, unable to use a bow himself, he simply grabbed heavy stones and threw them down with surprising strength born of terror.
He happened to knock down a wall-climbing wight, imdiately getting excited by his success. But the next second he was startled badly by that wight's glowing red eyes staring up at him with malevolent intelligence.
As countless flammable materials continuously arrived in carts and barrels, even the Prancing Pony's innkeeper, Mr. Butterbur, brought his entire stock of high-proof spirits—all were thrown down outside the gate, dousing the area, then ignited into roaring flas.
Instantly outside Bree's walls, blazing flas surrounded everything in a protective ring. The firelight soared skyward, directly illuminating the area outside the city as bright as day.
The wights were blocked by the roaring fire wall, instinctively retreating several paces in obvious fear.
People manning the walls all cheered with desperate relief and hope.
If they could successfully block the wights until dawn when the sun rose, these undead creatures would have to retreat to their graves.
But before they could celebrate for long, the wights suddenly seed to fall under so malevolent control. Their red eyes blazed crimson, bodies emitting thick black mist that swirled around them.
Overcoming their instinctive fear of fire, they all transford into shadows moving at speeds barely visible to the naked eye. They passed straight through the firewall and resud ramming the gate with renewed fury.
Flas burned the wights' rotting clothes and decomposed skin but, under that unnatural black mist's protective shroud, didn't cause major damage.
The wights went completely berserk, shrieking while using their hard bodies to smash the gate like battering rams.
One, two... dozens, hundreds—constant force can break through any barrier. How could even the hardest gate possibly withstand so many wights' violent coordinated strikes?
Under the militian's terrified gazes, the thick wooden gate shattered into splinters with a terrible crack.
Just as the wights showed ferocious, triumphant smiles, preparing to rush through the gate for bloodthirsty slaughter, after breaking through the wooden gate, they crashed into an unexpected iron portcullis.
The portcullis was forged from solid steel in a heavy grid pattern, weighing several tons.
The entire iron portcullis was embedded deep into the walls on both sides, originally suspended above the gate passage. When facing an irresistible enemy invasion, it would drop down like a final defense, blocking enemies from entering the city.
The portcullis's defensive power proved far stronger than wooden gates, successfully blocking the barrow-wights from rushing into the city proper.
Through the iron portcullis's bars, militian inside watched with relief those frustrated blocked wights clawing uselessly at the barrier.
Mayor Butch announced excitedly and proudly, his voice carrying across the walls, "It was ! This iron portcullis was my design when we rebuilt the city walls!"
Others looked with newfound respect at this usually vain, not-very-likable mayor.
Unexpectedly, this costly addition during construction had now beco the crucial key to blocking the barrow-wights' invasion.
The iron portcullis possessed strong defensive capability—no matter how viciously the wights struck and clawed, they couldn't break through the tal barrier.
Seeing this failure, the wights abandoned attacking the impenetrable gate. Instead they began piling atop one another like industrious ants crossing a river, building grotesque towers of writhing undead bodies.
With thousands of wights available, these macabre constructions could easily scale the walls.
Everyone seeing this horrifying scene showed terrified expressions, their brief hope evaporating.
All desperately threw stones and fire down, trying frantically to stop the wights' coordinated actions.
"Mayor Butch, we can't hold much longer!" The militia captain shouted hoarsely over the chaos. "We must request imdiate aid from our lord! Only Lord Kael can save us now!"
Mayor Butch was now visibly panicked, desperately clutching stones to throw down, his face showing pure terror.
"Request aid? But outside is completely full of barrow-wights—how can we possibly get to Hogwarts Castle to ask Lord Kael for help?"
"No, wait!" Butch suddenly rembered sothing crucial, his eyes imdiately brightening with hope. "The Prancing Pony! The inn's fireplace connects to Hogwarts Castle through the Floo Network! We can go there imdiately to ask Lord Kael for rescue!"
But before they could dispatch soone to the Prancing Pony, a loud, triumphant eagle cry echoed from the east.
Storms suddenly arose from nowhere, the sky rapidly filling with dark clouds, lightning and thunder.
Everyone looked up at the sky with desperate hope and delight. In the flashing lightning, they saw a massive winged figure appearing in the roiling clouds.
"It's Thorondor! Lord Kael's Thorondor!" Mayor Butch shouted with trendous excitent and relief.
He regularly traveled to Hogwarts Castle, reporting Bree's situation to Lord Kael, so he had been fortunate enough to see the Great Eagle—now Thunderbird—Thorondor living in the golden Mallorn tree or circling majestically above Weathertop, leaving an indelible impression.
The wights trying to pile up together also seed to sense approaching danger, their movents hesitating and pausing.
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