Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 211 Insect Corpse Legion
Hiro immediately sensed something was wrong.

As soon as the fog began to spread, he frowned sharply, recognizing at a glance that it was neither a tactical smokescreen nor an illusion.

The thread-like objects floating in the fog intertwined like spider eggs, or swayed slowly like an uncut umbilical cord.

It is "a living thing".

"Retreat! Everyone! Evacuate the canyon!!" he roared, his voice like a ripped throat.

Hiro suddenly drew the dagger from his waist and slashed his palm open, blood gushing out.

He used the pain to stay conscious, but this steadfastness lasted only a few seconds, which was far from enough.

The soldiers around him were all pale-faced and dazed, swaying as if they were drunk.

Some people clutched their chests and knelt on the ground, bleeding from their mouths and noses, clutching their heads tightly with both hands, as if trying to expel something from their minds.

Then, one by one, they slowly stood up.

"His..."

Some joints were twisted into inhuman angles, and some chests were still heaving violently, but there was no fear, pain, or even any expression on their faces.

Their pupils were whitish, their mouths were cracked, and something seemed to be wriggling under their skin—the new neural pathways created by the corpse worms after they had completed their parasitism.

The elderly, children, mothers, soldiers... without exception.

They stood up, no longer looking at each other or speaking, but like bodies under some kind of command, slowly gathering and lining up, row after row, like stone pillars rising from the tide.

Seeing all this, Hiro felt as if something was choking him, his throat dry and unable to utter a sound: "...How could...how could it have turned out like this..."

He once said, "We can win the final battle," "As long as the Old Gods," and "The witch is an ally; she's useful to us"...

Because of his words, his people became like puppets controlled by strings.

Every word he had ever spoken now felt like a sharp blade, stabbing into my heart.

"...I was wrong..." he murmured, "I shouldn't have let you hear me...I shouldn't have..."

The weaker the creature, the faster it will be turned into an insect corpse, while the stronger the creature, the better it can fight against the corpse worms.
Hiro held on for a full half hour, at one point even attempting to force the parasite out.

He used a short knife to cut open the blood vessels in his thigh, draining a sticky mixture of spores and a few unhatched insect eggs, which he crushed with gritted teeth.

But soon new worm silk began to penetrate the wound.

This caused his fighting spirit to become disordered, his dantian to become turbid, and his consciousness to begin to waver.

And just then, he heard that voice.

"Child...are you tired?"

It was a voice that didn't belong to reality, gentle like a comforting sound emerging from the depths of childhood memories, with a soothing feeling as if it were gently stroking one's forehead.

But he knew it wasn't his mother's voice.

That's the mother nest.

"No..." Shiro whispered, tears finally falling from the corners of her eyes.

Those were not tears shed for revenge, nor tears shed for defeat, but rather, tears of genuine fear, loneliness, and regret.

"I shouldn't have believed her... I shouldn't have..."

He knelt down on the ground, and the mist around him surged like a tide, gradually seeping into his wounds, eardrums, and eye sockets.

He was still struggling, his fingernails digging into the ground, his back arched like a cheetah, his body convulsing violently, yet he could not shake off the tentacles that entangled his soul.

“Mother…” he murmured softly, his voice like the cry of a dying bird.

In the final moments before his consciousness collapsed, he seemed to see a vision: many years ago, his mother lay in a pool of blood, reaching out and smiling at him.

But this time, the face transformed into the face of the hive.

This caused Hero to let out a heart-wrenching roar, like a cursed wail.

His vocal cords snapped completely in that instant, and his throat was pierced by the insect, rendering him unable to make any sound.

Then he fell silent.

The corpse worms burrowed into every crevice of his body, controlling his nerves and erasing his memories.

Hiro, the last leader of the Snowsworn, thus sank into the mist.

…………

This is the scene the Desperate Witch has always dreamed of.

Below, the mother hive has been fully injected with fog. A war machine that writhes and swells.

He was surrounded by thousands of Snowsworn warriors who had become his puppets.

He just... loved this piece too much.

He had started preparing for it five or six years ago.

He used illusion and mind control techniques to subtly rewrite Hiro's will in countless dreams, gradually leading the once ruthless and cold-blooded powerhouse into the abyss of faith in the "revival of the ancient gods."

He wasn't in a hurry; he would take his time. He liked to see a determined warrior struggle, crumble, and rebuild between faith and madness, like sculpting a gemstone.

And what about those who swore an oath?

A group of believers driven by hatred is more effective than any catalyst.

He gave them dreams, he gave them hope, he gave them the promise of "God".

He incited them to hunt knights and nobles, to offer sacrifices, and to provide the bloodline fuel needed for the growth of the mother hive.

Each sacrifice is a growth potion he infuses into the mother nest.

The mother nest has failed, collapsed, gone berserk, and even nearly devoured itself countless times.

But he was as meticulous as if he were cultivating a rare flower, repeatedly experimenting with every vein and structure until it could grow stably into a "complete form".

Now all of this has finally come to a conclusion.

Within this giant nest, the insect fog had been brewing for three years, its concentration so high that it could instantly engulf the entire camp; even someone as strong as Hiro could only withstand it for half an hour.

Thousands of Snow Oath warriors fell one after another within the time it takes for an incense stick to burn. The corpse worms inside their bodies had taken over their nervous systems, reconstructed their muscles, and covered them with worm-like spines.

Their combat skills, their fighting spirit, and their instincts were all extracted, purified, and stored in their bodies, while useless things like memories and life were completely destroyed.

They are no longer human.

They are killing machines completely detached from individual will, extensions of the mother nest's nerves, and his most perfect tools.

Of course, the insect fog can only be released once.

He saved for three years, and it was only enough to cover this Snowsworn camp, but it was enough.

With just this one battle, he gained an army of insect corpses, transformed from thousands of Snow Oath warriors, possessing battle aura and combat skills, and unafraid of death.

But that's not all.

He had already buried dozens of "first-generation nests" and "second-generation nests" throughout the North.

Those incubation nodes also fully awakened tonight.

Countless lurkers, infected, and insect vesicles were activated simultaneously, opening up like a nightmare rift across the entire North.

From this night forward, the fate of the North will no longer be in the hands of humankind.

Even the entire empire and the entire world will be plunged into chaos.

And all of this... is merely the necessary path to "that door".

His ultimate goal lies beyond the deeper darkness, beyond the coordinates that are incomprehensible to ordinary people.

That was an "ultimate comeback"...

At this moment, the platform was completely empty.

The Snowsworn officers, guards, and messenger knights patrolling the camp were all replaced by corpse worms without anyone noticing.

Their appearance remains unchanged, but there is nothing behind their pupils except for the mental chains of the insect hive that are controlling them.

The Witch of Despair waved her hand gently.

As if sensing a summons, the mother nest let out a low hum, the cysts burst, and countless insect corpses slowly opened their eyes, which gleamed with a cold light.

This undead legion quietly assembled under the cover of night and marched toward Frostspear City.

They will run them over.

Destroy everything.

They trampled on order and turned the North into a breeding ground for blood and worms.

And he only needs to stand quietly at the end of the platform, spread his arms, and embrace the world...

“This is just the beginning,” he said.

(End of this chapter)