Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 233 Return
Pine Valley, on the southern edge of the North, is a small village forgotten by maps.

Located on the edge of hilly forests, it is shrouded in mist and pine forests all year round. The hundred or so people there work at sunrise and rest at sunset, making it one of the better-off villages in the North.

Until that day, the nightmare began.

It wasn't a large-scale invasion of the mother hive, just a few scavenging insect corpses, but for a small village with almost no fighting power, it was already a catastrophe.

"It's a monster! Everyone in the village, run!!"

That was the first warning that the village hunter, Tal, shouted at the edge of the forest.

Then came chaos.

Cries, stumbles, the sounds of flesh being gnawed, and the frantic flickering of torches.

Blacksmith Elwin swung his still-warm forging hammer, trying to smash down the charging insect corpses.

The moment the hammer struck the insect's shell, sparks flew, like the faint, unyielding flame in his eyes.

Then, his right arm was torn off.

"Don't worry about me... let's go!!"

He roared and used his remaining hand to push the little girl behind him in the direction of their escape.

But then the hunter Tal pulled him away, blood splattering from his shoulder and staining the mountain path beneath their feet.

They escaped into a cave on the edge of the village.

It was a remnant of a mining site from the old era, long since sealed off by dust and vines.

But at that moment, it became synonymous with "life".

In the end, only 24 people escaped alive into the cave.

An old man, a woman, a child, and the young blacksmith who was unconscious and bleeding profusely.

They eked out a living on the remaining rations and rainwater flowing down the mountainside. The cave was dark, damp, and cold, and the cries of the dead insects echoed outside, but no one dared to make a sound.

Some people cried, some were in a daze, some tried to pray, and some gritted their teeth and said, "As long as we're alive... there's still hope."

Hunger is a metallic pain that rises from the bottom of the stomach and spreads throughout the body, as if the bones have been drained of nutrients, leaving only a soft shell.

The old mine shafts in Pine and Cedar Valley have become a veritable "house of bones".

People survived by gnawing on tree roots, chewing dry firewood, and licking dew from rock walls.

The cave was bitterly cold, so they could only carefully light a small fire to avoid being detected by the insect carcasses.

They masked the smell with smoke and even arranged stones at the cave entrance in an attempt to "fool" the monsters' instincts.

What's most terrifying is the constant explosions and insect cries from the outside world, like hell lingering on earth.

There was no day, no night, only eight consecutive days of chaos and deathly silence.

Eighth day.

Food supplies have been completely exhausted.

The youngest child began to cry silently, the dried tear stains at the corners of his eyes more chapped than his lips.

"Mom, I'm so hungry..."

"Wait a minute, just a minute..."

A young man tried to go out.

But not long after, he returned, with a pair of empty eyes that seemed to have lost their soul.

He said, "Outside...it's moving...the ground is alive, a living hell..."

Then he started screaming and talking nonsense, burying his face in the fire and crying, "They're still here, they're still here... We didn't get away at all..."

Before dawn on the ninth day, the mine was already on the verge of collapse.

Just now.

"...Click, click..."

A barely audible metallic scraping sound came from the other side of the mountain wall.

Everyone held their breath, unsure whether it was another death or the final end.

Immediately following was the light of torches.

The firelight reflected on the damp rock walls of the mine, giving off a warm and sacred glow.

On that ninth day, when the sun never rose, a knight clad in red and silver armor stepped into the cave, holding a torch high, like an angel descending from the heavens in mythology.

Their cloaks fluttered in the wind, and flames illuminated the badges on their chests, red against a yellow sun, burning fiercely.

"Is...is it human?"

"It really is a knight! Help, help me...!"

The next second, from the depths of the cave, thin figures swarmed out.

Their faces were as pale as paper, their eyes were bloodshot, and they were covered with blood-stained rags and blankets woven from wild grass. Some knelt, some crawled, just to get closer to that little bit of firelight.

"Give them water!" the knight captain commanded in a deep voice.

The knights behind quickly opened the water pouches and first-aid kits on their waists and distributed dry rations, clean water, and basic healing potions.

Steam from the hot water rose into the cold air, like wisps of long-lost human warmth.

Some people held the water in their hands and drank it, trembling, while crying.

Before some could even express their gratitude, they had already fainted in the knight's arms.

The knights said, "Don't be afraid, it's all over now. We are the Red Tide Territory Rescue Knights under Lord Louis."

“Lord Louis…?” an old man repeated blankly, clearly having never heard the name before.

But they knew that these knights had saved them.

At this moment, names are not important; what matters is that they are alive and someone saved them.

The young blacksmith, covered in wounds, was carried out of the cave by two knights.

Half his face was ashen, the other half bloodied, but his lips trembled as he repeatedly whispered, "We...we're still alive...we didn't die..."

Some people in the crowd couldn't help but kneel down and weep hysterically, as if they were paying off all the tears they hadn't shed in the past eight days.

The Knights did not urge them, but silently incorporated each person into the "emergency migration queue" and escorted them southward.

This is not the first time.

The Red Tide Territory's Rescue Knights have already dispatched dozens of groups.

Each time they set out, they carried ample provisions, simple purification crystals, and basic magic potions, all in order to find "living humans" amidst the hordes of corpses and the decaying fog.

In the mountains and forests, in the valleys, in the caves beneath the frozen riverbeds, and even in the secret passages beneath the collapsed fortresses...

There are always those who linger on, just waiting for that belated ray of light.

The fact that these survivor sites were located so accurately was not a coincidence, but rather a result of the daily intelligence system.

Countless ordinary people who were originally destined to die in the insect swarm were able to survive because of this intelligence.

"They are knights from the Crimson Tide Territory."

"It was Lord Louis who sent them."

"The Dragon Ancestor sent him to save us..."

In the survivors' word of mouth, the young lord who fought his way out of the Northern War and swept through the Endbringer's Nest was no longer just a person, but the sun that constantly shone on them.

Children secretly drew the red flag on the mud, and women sewed strips of cloth from the Red Tide collar into their prayer ribbons.

An elderly man was also whispering "Louis Calvin," as if reciting a scripture of atonement.

They didn't understand anything about the empire or the knightly order; they only knew that this name had pulled them out of their deepest despair.

It is faith. It is a synonym for miracles.

Back in the Red Tide Territory's knightly ranks, the wounded, exhausted, and those who had just crawled out of the corpse-filled waters dismounted and removed their armor.

Upon reaching the carriage, a rescue team leader covered in dust knelt on one knee and said hoarsely, "The remaining twenty-four people in Songshan Valley have all been safely brought back."

He glanced at the blood-stained report, then at the knight.

He simply nodded slightly, without saying anything more.

He looked down at the tactical map, at the entire northern region that had once been a land of mountains and rivers, now reduced to scorched earth.

"continue."

His voice was calm and his tone was low, but everyone knew that behind those two words lay a responsibility for countless lives.

The current team has taken in more than 3,000 refugees.

Wounded soldiers, orphans, widows, fleeing nobles, lone mercenaries...

They all knew that as long as they could enter the Red Tide Territory, they would no longer be swallowed up by the insect swarm.

The distance from Frostspear City to Crimson Tide Territory is not actually that far.

The carriage moved slowly forward, and with each passing village or town ruin, the air seemed to freeze a little more.

The fields that once stretched out are now nothing but charred remains.

Beside the stone tablet at the village entrance, only the child's remains remained, with a few small ribs scattered around.

He saw the body of an old man sitting under the eaves, covered with thick snow.

The river is no longer clear; some sections have turned a strange red and black color due to the decay of corpses and spores. Fish have long since disappeared, leaving only foam and stench.

Some forests were burned by spores, their charred, ink-black branches standing upright towards the sky, as if in mourning.

The knights remained silent, and even their horses became restless, as if they could sense the lingering deathly aura in the land.

As the carriage swayed, Louis gazed out the window at the picturesque ruins, his fingers unconsciously tapping the edge of the map.

The northern landscape is fragmented, roads are broken, and bridges have collapsed.

A population gap emerged, the aristocracy disappeared, and the resource supply chain collapsed completely.

"The North has already died once." He murmured to himself.

Despite being the victors in the war, they showed no sign of the ease that comes with "triumph."

He leaned against the carriage and closed his eyes wearily.

What path should we take in the future?
People's livelihood, resources, order reconstruction, territorial expansion, political struggles, noble vacancies...

Too many problems followed. He knew that the post-war North would be a blank slate with no one to rule it.

He will have to step into this void and will become one of the main forces in rebuilding the North.

Although the emperor's decree of reward had not yet been issued, Louis already knew perfectly well:

"Land is no longer a problem."

After the catastrophe that wiped out four-fifths of the population, the land became empty and silent, awaiting a new ruler to write the rules.

The deaths of countless nobles, especially the extinction of several major fiefdoms in the North, also meant that the emperor would redistribute power.

And "Louis Calvin, Lord of the Crimson Tide Territory" has undoubtedly reached the top of the list of those who have been awarded titles.

But this is both a reward and a poison.

He had to contend with the ongoing reconstruction of order after the disaster, as well as guard against the old aristocracy and new political enemies who coveted his achievements, questioned his background, and sought personal gain.

A new round of bloodless warfare has begun, though the current stage is beyond our control.

He has already sent a letter to his duke father, asking him to mediate and make arrangements.

After a long and dark journey home, Louis finally returned to Red Tide Territory.

When the knight parted his cloak to reveal his faceplate, he said softly to him, "My lord, we're home."

He didn't need to answer.

Because he had already seen that at the corner of that familiar mountain ridge, there were countless figures standing on the mountainside path, facing the wind, as if welcoming the sun emerging from the clouds.

The border of the Red Tide Territory is like a threshold leading to the light.

Unlike most of the ruins in the North, where corpses flow and spores are everywhere, the sky here is still azure, white clouds drift leisurely, and smoke from cooking fires winds its way up among the mountains.

This land, the Red Tide Territory he built brick by brick, remains intact.

It relied on his meticulous pre-battle planning, the constant early warnings from the daily intelligence system, and the small teams that rushed to the front lines and returned silently.

And today, the one who created the miracle has returned.

He was welcomed not by a court band, nor by a red carpet shower of flowers, but by the heartfelt trust and respect among hundreds of faces.

Farmers rushing from the fields, craftsmen covered in sawdust, a village doctor carrying a wounded man who has not yet recovered, children holding tattered cloth flags...

They gathered on both sides of the road, having come spontaneously, their faces filled with excitement and gratitude.

What they held in their hands were rough-dyed red cloth, bouquets of herbs that still smelled fragrant after drying, and simple wooden signs painted with a red sun.

They learned what was happening outside, and they also learned who had saved this land from disaster, and who had carved a path for them between the horde of zombies and despair.

Someone shouted, "Lord Louis is back! The sun is back!"

Someone shouted hoarsely, "He's the one who saved us!"

"Long live Lord Louis!"

"May the red tide never end! May the sun shine forever!"

Some people were crying, and some were kneeling down.

At that moment, no one asked him where he had come from, nor where he was going.

They simply regarded him as the real "sun" in the most basic way.

In this crowd, Louis saw many familiar and unfamiliar figures...

The old woman, whose face was burned on one side, lost her child in the flames, but now she smiles with her only remaining eye.

The young mother, who had lost her husband, bowed deeply while holding her wailing baby.

The little boy, who was buried in the snow and whose wounds have not yet healed, holds a wooden board with a "sun mark" drawn on it, raising it high in the wind, as if responding, "You're back, I've always been here."

Among them were some of the original inhabitants, and others were refugees, orphans, and mourners whom Louis had rescued one by one from the scorched earth.

They were not nobles, yet they gave Louis the most profound yet tender response in a silent way.

Amidst the overwhelming welcome from the Red Tide Territory's inhabitants, Louis's gaze finally fell upon that familiar figure.

Emily, her blue hair fluttering in the wind, was still dressed in a simple yet elegant aristocratic gown.

She stood at the front of the crowd, her eyes slightly red, yet she maintained the demeanor of a noble lady as she slowly walked over, her fingertips gently resting on his shoulder.

“…You’re back.” She said softly, her tone unhurried, as if suppressing emotions that had already overflowed.

Louis looked at her and nodded gently: "I'm back."

As soon as she finished speaking, she could no longer hold back and threw herself into his arms. Her movements were restrained but trembled slightly, as if she had finally found a home after a long wait.

Behind him, Sif slowly walked over, her short silver hair swaying slightly in the wind, the ends still dusty.

She stood a few steps away with her arms crossed, and sneered, "So you've finally decided to come back."

Her tone was sarcastic, but she didn't stop walking. When she got closer, she didn't hesitate to bend down and hug him.

She remained stubborn as always, but her eyes were red-rimmed.

At that moment, Louis suddenly felt that all the weariness and confusion he had experienced along the way had finally found a place to rest.

(End of this chapter)