Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 109 The Curse of the Snow Spirit
Ian huddled in the cramped isolation cell.

The space was very small, barely enough to fit a few tattered straw mats and one or two stiff blankets.

The air here is a mixture of dampness and decay, as if permeated with the scent of death.

It was dark all around.

A suppressed sound kept coming from my ears.

Some people coughed, some groaned, and some wept softly.

Others were talking nonsense, muttering names that didn't exist, or recounting bizarre dreams to themselves.

This was already in the late stages of the illness, and Ian guessed that the other person might not live much longer.

Ian wrapped himself tightly in the tattered blanket, shivering.

Despite the hot and humid air, he felt as if he were lying naked in the snow, every inch of his skin numb with cold.

My head is throbbing with intense pain, like a piece of paper being slowly torn to shreds.

Even moving a finger has become a luxury.

Ian knew he had no ordinary illness; it was the "Snow Spirit Curse."

This is a long-standing nightmare in the North, a wave of death that inevitably sweeps through every ten years or so.

Ian closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, but it was too cold.

Every breath felt like inhaling shards of ice.

The blood seemed to stop flowing, and even the heart felt frozen and sluggish.

Suddenly, in the blurry darkness before his eyes, he saw Eileen.

This is his wife.

That familiar and gentle smile stood at the door of the isolation room, gently waving to him.

“Ian…” she was calling him.

The sound was ethereal, like a dream, yet carried a heartbreaking reality.

Ian's eyes welled up with tears, and he almost struggled to crawl over.

But reason held him firmly in place.

No, that's not true.

All of this is an illusion caused by the "Snow Spirit Curse".

Just yesterday, in the adjacent quarantine zone, someone else said they saw a phantom of their deceased relative, and then died the next day.

Ian gritted his teeth, digging his nails into his palms, trying to use the pain to pull himself back to reality.

But my body is too weak, and even my sense of pain has become dulled.

Pain, like a hand, slowly but mercilessly gripped his neck.

He was afraid, but not of death.

It's not because he might never see Mia again.

His daughter.

That small figure chasing after withered leaves in the autumn wind.

The little girl grinning by the campfire.

The child who once cried because he was too hungry, but can now finally sleep peacefully.

Mia is still so young.

And life is only just beginning to get better.

Just a few days ago, they owned a small house that belonged to the father and daughter.

Mia can sleep peacefully here without waking up in the middle of the night.

Although the work is hard, as long as you work hard, you can earn work points to exchange for food and clothing.

Most importantly, Mia also made friends with several other children who had also been rescued. They would always chase and play in the center of the camp.

Back then, Ian would always stand at a distance, watching quietly.

Looking at that long-lost smiling face, a warm feeling welled up inside me, almost melting me.

It seems... I can finally believe that the future will really get better.

But now.

That damned infectious disease, like a merciless bolt of lightning, shattered everything.

If I were to die like this...

What should Mia do?
Will she, like me, be consumed by this epidemic?
Ian's breathing became weak, and a strong wave of dizziness surged through him, as if he were being swept into a cold abyss. He was being swallowed up little by little by the cold and despair.

Outside the isolation room, the night was so thick it seemed to have frozen in time.

…………

The spread of cytokine fever is terrifyingly rapid.

Symptoms have appeared in almost every corner of the world.

The quarantine zone where Ian was located was completely sealed off.

The doctors and soldiers carried out Lord Louis's orders one by one, without any leniency or hesitation.

Everyone understood that the situation had become so serious that there was no turning back.

According to the order, everyone must wear protective equipment and drink boiled water regularly every day to reduce the spread of the virus.

The infected were isolated in batches, and every household put up tarpaulins and wooden doors, effectively dividing the camp into isolated islands.

Even so, the results were still minimal.

Everyone knows it.

The spread of this epidemic was as fast as an out-of-control flood, so fast that people barely had a chance to struggle.

All efforts, all defenses, are as fragile and powerless as withered branches in the wind.

The situation is deteriorating little by little.

Therefore, fear and despair, like a thick fog, silently seeped into every inch of the camp's air.

Just as this boundless despair was at its peak, the sound of rapid hoofbeats suddenly came from outside the quarantine zone!

Da da da da da!
A knight, covered in snow and ice, stumbled in, his face flushed, and shouted, "Lord Louis has caught the Fireback Turtle! It's on its way! Is the steam house ready?"

For a moment, everyone was stunned.

The logistics officer's eyes instantly reddened, and he nodded vigorously as if grasping at a straw, his voice trembling as he shouted back, "Ready!!"

The next morning.

A dozen or so knights on horseback pulled the heavy, cold iron cage and finally brought over several huge fire-backed turtles.

Those fire-backed turtles had thick shells with dark red energy blocks growing on their backs—these were the keys to saving lives.

But at this moment, due to the sedative, all the turtles are unconscious.

Someone shouted, "The Fireback Turtle has arrived!! There's hope!!"

A cheer erupted throughout the quarantine zone.

The long-suppressed sorrow and despair were shattered as if by a clap of thunder in spring.

Everyone thanked the great Lord Louis and embraced each other, weeping bitterly.

The dark days have finally been followed by the first ray of dawn.

The fireback turtle was carefully transported into the renovated steam room.

However, they remained motionless, and people were bewildered, having no idea how to awaken him.

Knight Mario stepped out from the crowd.

He remembered the task Louis had given him: the Fireback Turtle needed to be "activated".

Mario took a deep breath, and his fighting spirit surged through his body, filling his entire being.

Then he stomped hard on the shell of one of the fireback turtles.

"Thump!!" A muffled sound.

The unconscious Fireback Turtle jolted violently, and the energy block on its back instantly glowed with a crimson light.

Immediately afterwards, "Hiss—!!"

They awoke one by one, arched their shells, and spewed out scorching white steam.

The intense heat quickly filled the entire steam room, dispelling the cold and deathly atmosphere.

The doctors sprang into action.

While giving loud instructions, they carried the most critically ill patients into the steam-filled room.

The humid, hot air enveloped every inch of cold skin, as if snatching a person back from the clutches of death.

One by one, the patients were brought into this warm space, and their tightly closed brows finally relaxed slightly.

The shadow of death was driven back by the heat of the steam at this moment.

(End of this chapter)