Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 222 Current Situation
Inside Frostspear City, in a medical room filled with a chilling atmosphere.

The heavy armor was piled up in the corner, the frost had not yet melted, and there were still traces of the exploding insect nectar from the battle.

The Duke of Edmund sat shirtless on the operating table, his chest covered with crisscrossing, ancient scars, most of which looked as if they had been cleaved by knives and axes, penetrating deep into his flesh.

The latest incision runs across the lower edge of the sternum, a bluish-black color, as if something is wriggling inside.

“Three corpse worms have already burrowed in,” the medic said in a deep voice. “You used your battle qi to block them, but they are still moving and are trying to move towards your heart and lungs.”

“Then dig it out.” Edmund looked down, picked up a piece of rye bread from the plate beside him, and chewed it with a loud crunching sound.

He spoke as casually as if he were talking about the weather: "Just cut it directly, no anesthesia needed, don't waste time."

"Sir...aren't you sure you want to wait for the anesthetic to be prepared? The wound is too deep, we're afraid you'll..."

“I’m afraid you’ll dawdle.” He glanced at the hesitant medical officers, his face as hard as iron. “Get started, I’m in a hurry.”

The doctors exchanged glances and had no choice but to comply.

The moment the ice skate pierced the flesh, blood gushed out.

Amidst the piercing sound of metal cutting, three wriggling insect corpses were slowly dug out and soaked in a bowl of salt ice and zinc solution, emitting a faint and disgusting squeak.

Edmund, however, continued to munch on his black bread with his head down, not even blinking, as if none of this concerned him.

He only coughed lightly when the doctor wasn't looking, coughing up a little blood. He wiped it off and continued eating.

But the doctor saw it.

The old wound from Hiro's heavy axe not only reopened but also turned black in a strange way, seemingly more than just a physical injury; it appeared to be a deep collapse caused by some kind of internal backlash of fighting spirit.

The edges of the wound showed faint signs of broken aura patterns, a chronic ailment sealed away during years of battle.

Now that the seal has been shattered by the axe, the consequences could be dire if the situation worsens.

"Your Grace... the battle qi within you seems somewhat disordered. I suggest you immediately rest for a month, seal it and rebuild your strength, at least..."

“I don’t have that luxury,” Edmund interrupted coldly. “The insect swarm hasn’t even receded yet, what’s the harm in such a small backlash…”

He paused, swallowed the last bite of dry bread, and said calmly, "If you can manage, then there's no problem."

The doctor hesitated, then lowered his head and silently burned the wriggling insect corpses to ashes.

After the surgery, the medical officers quietly packed up the ice blades and medications, trying to leave as quietly as possible.

Silence filled the room.

The Duke of Edmund, wrapped in a thick blanket, sat on a low chair by the window.

Outside the window, the cold wind howled, and the snow fell like ash, covering the entire Frosty Halberd City.

The distant Frostfire Reactor still roared, like the panting of a dying beast, bringing a little residual warmth to this last stronghold.

His chest wound wasn't fully bandaged yet, and blood was still slowly seeping out. But he didn't care; he just quietly gazed at the sky.

The night sky was heavy, as if it might collapse at any moment.

His knuckles tapped lightly on his knees, a habitual gesture when he was thinking.

“Twelve days,” he said in a low voice, his throat sounding like rusty iron grinding together. “Without reinforcements, Frost Halberd can only hold out for twelve days at most.”

In the northern counties, Snowcastle has fallen, Ridgelands have been lost, and there is no news of Whitefield.

In various parts of the North, people were either trapped or had already been swallowed up by the hordes of insect corpses.

His proud "Iron Legion" was exhausted, and even the torches in the night could not illuminate very far.

He had envisioned the worst-case scenario, and now it is gradually unfolding.

His gaze slowly fell on the table beside him, where a neatly folded letter was placed.

It's not finished yet; it's written for Xuefeng County.

He wrote to his most beloved daughter, and also to that… son-in-law he found agreeable. That guy who, despite being born in the South, was more like a “son of the North” than any of the Northern lords.

"...They haven't fallen yet." Edmund's lips twitched slightly, revealing a rare expression that was neither a smile nor a genuine one. "What a tenacious lad."

The marriage was initially driven primarily by political factors.

But Louis surprised him in many ways, unlike those aristocratic children.

To be able to establish a foothold in such a remote and godforsaken place, and to manage that wretched place in Xuefeng County quite well... and to withstand the insect swarm.

There are very few places left lit in the North, Snowpeak County is one of them.

Even when Frostspear City was driven to the brink of destruction, he felt gratified by Louis's persistence.

"That child... if he had a few more years, his potential would have been limitless. What a pity..."

He reached for paper and pen, intending to write a letter. The paper was slightly brittle from the cold between his fingers, and the ink had been specially heated to flow smoothly.

But he stopped as soon as the pen tip touched the ground for the first stroke.

He stared at the word "road" on the paper, remaining motionless for a long time.

"If the situation becomes unmanageable, retreat immediately," he silently vowed. "It's not your fault; surviving is what truly matters."

This is the last sentence a dying general left for his daughter and descendants.

But he ultimately couldn't put pen to paper, not because he didn't understand the situation.

Edmund knew better than anyone: the front lines were collapsing, supplies were running low, his old wounds had relapsed, and even the Cold Flame Reactor only had two cold starts left.

But he knew even more clearly that if he himself wrote "retreat" first, that would be the true end of everything.

If even I admit defeat first, then Frost Halberd is not a fortress, but a tomb.

He sighed softly and put down his pen.

"Your Majesty the Duke!"

A young knight rushed into the room, his silver helmet still on, his armor frosted, and his knees kicked up a few clumps of snow as he landed.

"Lord Arthur Garrein has sent a military report! The Dragonblood Legion will arrive at Frosthalberd within seven days!"

In an instant, Edmund's taut brows relaxed slightly.

He didn't answer immediately, but simply gazed silently at the distant sky outside the window...

The wind and snow continued, but it seemed to have lost some of the oppressive heaviness that made it hard to breathe.

"Seven days..." he murmured, his eyes slightly brightening.

Arthur Garrain, the Dragon Knight General.

His Dragonblood Legion consists entirely of high-ranking knights, with pure bloodlines and rigorous training.

It is the strongest legion in the empire, known as the Blade of the Empire.

“Very good.” He nodded, his tone steady, yet at that moment it seemed to infuse the entire room with a new energy.

"Have the foundry prepare to melt three more rounds of cold crystal bullets. Within seven days, I will let the insect corpses taste what it means to be in dire straits."

"Yes!"

The young knight had just stepped back, and before the door could even close, a series of hurried footsteps approached from afar.

Another elderly knight burst in, looking strange, as if he had just heard the good news at the door and wanted to interrupt but didn't dare.

“Your Grace… Dozens of masked mages have arrived at the outer city gate, and the leader claims to be the ‘Supreme Mage’.”

Edmund raised an eyebrow; he recognized the name.

(End of this chapter)