Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 267 Traitor
On the fifth day at dusk, before the snow had fallen, a chilling, unsettling feeling spread through the canyon, as if even the air itself was hushed.

Deep within the camp, wisps of smoke were just rising, and the whispered reports of scouts echoed among the rocks.

Visah crouched behind a rock in front of the map, frowning as he looked at the updated border defense map.

“...The sentry positions change slightly every day, and the pattern is unclear, but it is definitely a planned adjustment.” A scout chewed on dried meat, his voice low.

“It’s the best-defended northern territory I’ve ever seen.” Another veteran frowned.

Visa's gaze grew increasingly serious; she could sense that the border defenses here were not simply about defense.

The rhythm and layout were unlike those of a regular empire lord; they were more like a frontier fortress system built by a highly professional military core during wartime.

This indicates that the owner of this territory is no ordinary person.

Just as she was about to speak, she suddenly heard a slight whooshing sound.

"Oh!"

A cloud of icy blue smoke exploded at the mouth of the canyon, and the potion, carrying a strange fragrance, spread rapidly.

Visa had no time to react; his body suddenly went limp.

Immediately afterwards, dozens of Crimson Tide Knights suddenly sprang out from both sides of the mountain path.

They launched their attack in silence, their coordination almost chilling.

With clear tactics and precise coordination, one person threw the grenade, another controlled the area, and yet another made the capture, working like a finely tuned gear.

Within a few short moments, more than a dozen scouts had been shot and fallen to the ground, rolling into the forest, unconscious.

Vesa gritted his teeth, swung his spear in retaliation, and tried to protect his last few companions, his figure as swift as a snow fox.

But just as she swung her weapon, she heard a soft sound behind her, and a subtle, cool scent wafted over as another magic bomb exploded beside her.

She felt her knees buckle, and her strength drain away as if it had been sucked out.

"Gu..."

The rocks, forest shadows, flames, and shouts before my eyes blurred rapidly amidst the violent shaking, as if the entire world had been torn apart.

Her last thought before she collapsed was: We've been watched for a long time.

The last scene before he fell into a coma was the knights rushing into the camp in perfect unison, their movements as silent and coordinated as a mirror image, quickly suppressing and disarming all the surviving scouts.

The crisp sound of metal buckles, heavy breathing, and practiced footsteps mingled together.

Then came the nothingness that sank into cold darkness.

…………

Consciousness returned in a cold, damp atmosphere.

Visa opened his eyes, and the first thing he felt wasn't light, but a chill down his spine.

It was a rough, hard stone wall against my back, damp with the moisture from the ground.

With a flick of the wrist, the sound of the chain being pulled was immediately heard.

She was tied up to the wall of the dungeon with her hands behind her back and her ankles were also handcuffed, limiting her to only a few steps.

She strained to look up and realized that it was a neatly constructed underground cell made of gray-black stone.

The iron gate was heavy, and the gaps were narrow, allowing only a sliver of light to pass through.

This is the dungeon of the Red Tide Territory.

It is not a crude temporary prison, but a standardized, long-term detention facility.

She could even smell the lingering stench of rust and blood on the walls.

The sound of footsteps came.

Calm, disciplined, and neither too fast nor too slow – this is the stride of a soldier honed through years of training.

The iron gate opened.

Four guards dressed in Red Tide standard armor filed in, followed by a man in a black official robe.

The interrogator, expressionless, walked up to Vesa and, without a word, asked in a cold and direct tone: "Name, tribe, mission objective."

No one responded to him, and for the next few hours, the Crimson Tide Territory conducted an interrogation in an extremely imperial manner.

They separated everyone.

Each interrogation room consisted of a presiding judge, a recorder, and two guards.

The questions asked were almost identical, and every clue revealed by each person was quickly recorded, archived, and cross-referenced.

Even deliberate lies are quickly exposed when information overlaps.

Visa was left until last.

She sat in the black stone-walled cell for most of the day before finally being taken to another, relatively bright interrogation room.

She was not tortured or humiliated; she was simply taken to a small interrogation room made of black stone and made to sit on a fixed iron chair with her hands chained to the armrests.

A middle-aged man sat in front of me, dressed in neat black clothes, with no extra expression on his face.

“Visa,” he said, cutting to the chase without addressing her by name, “your associates have admitted to being of barbarian descent and have been involved in unauthorized border crossings, making them suspected of military espionage.”

Visa's gaze was indifferent, and he remained silent.

The other person stared at her and continued, "The feather bone hairpin on your body is only worn by former members of the Cold Moon Tribe."

These words were like a small knife, cutting a line in my heart.

Visa remained silent, clenching his teeth tightly.

The interrogator stared at her silently for a long time before closing the record file without expression.

He stood up and walked to the table: "You're not going to tell me, huh? Well then, listen carefully."

We'll pluck your fingernails one by one. We'll drill holes in your leg bones and pour in ice water, so you can clearly hear the sound of your bone marrow cracking from the cold.

We'll burn your skin, piece by piece. Not to force you to speak, just to see when you start crying.

He leaned closer, his voice barely audible, but each word sharp as a needle: “Then I’ll drag you into the snow, strip you naked, throw you in a snowdrift to keep you from dying, freeze you for a few hours, then bring you back and continue questioning you.”

Then he stared intently into Vesa's eyes, but instead of fear, Vesa glared back fiercely.

The interrogator straightened up and slowly put his gloves back on: "I assure you you will talk, it's just not the right time yet."

The iron gate slammed shut, the lock clicking and rattling, emitting a heavy, muffled sound like that of a tomb.

Visayas sat curled up in a corner of the dungeon, his shackles removed, replaced by something heavier that awaited him.

Then, for some reason, these people never appeared again. They didn't torture her, nor did they ask her another question.

For the next few days, there was no sound, no light, no warmth, only the sound of water dripping from the high walls and the occasional shouts from afar, as if the world outside this prison cell had also been sealed off.

She kept repeating one sentence: "I am the clan's sword. The sword never betrays."

But she also understood that this self-respect had become a joke in a sense.

Someone in her team must have already spoken up.

It's not that they are weak, it's that they are still young and they don't know what dignity is.

Titus will not come to their rescue.

It's not that it hasn't come yet, it's that it simply won't come.

She wasn't stupid. Titus didn't need loyal subjects, but rather tools, and she herself was already useless.

"I guess I'm still too old-fashioned."

She thought to herself with a self-deprecating smile, and slowly sat down against the cold stone wall.

"The Cold Moon Tribe is long gone. For whom shall I uphold this innocence?"

But that last shred of self-respect still gnawed at her heart, like the last embers not yet buried by ice and snow.

Therefore, she would rather rot in the ground than let those high and mighty imperial people hear a single word about her people from her.

Even though she is now loyal to Frostfire, even though Titus has abandoned her.

She still gripped the bloodstained fragment of the Cold Moon armband hidden in the seam of her clothes tightly.

…………

Sif stood at the end of the stone steps, her steps pausing slightly.

The dungeon was cold and damp, with black mold growing in the cracks of the walls, and the chill seeped into your bones inch by inch along the bluestone floor.

Her heart was racing, but she didn't back down.

Shortly after returning to Red Tide Territory, Louis told her, "We captured a group of barbarian scouts who were operating in the canyons of Red Tide Territory... They are from the Cold Moon Clan."

Sif was initially silent.

It wasn't until Louise softly added, "Would you like to see him?" that she hesitated for a moment before nodding.

She wanted to know the truth; she wanted to know who had betrayed her father and who had killed her brothers and mother in the fire.

At the end of the corridor was a heavy iron door, from which came faint breathing sounds.

The guard opened the door for her.

Sif was somewhat surprised. She recognized the person and even remembered her name was Vesa, the female warrior who had protected her with a spear when she was young.

Now, however, he was huddled in the corner, his hair disheveled and his body thin, covered in dirt and exhausted.

The other person also raised their head.

Their eyes met, and time seemed to freeze for a moment.

“…It’s you.” Vesa’s throat was hoarse, his eyes filled with shock and confusion.

Sif stood by the door, motionless for a long time.

She had imagined countless times what it would be like to reunite with the remnants of her old tribe: would it be a roar? An accusation? Silence? Or complete estrangement?

But at this moment, she simply looked quietly at the warrior in front of her who had once shed blood for Hanyue.

Visayas struggled to his feet, still bearing the stiff, unyielding air of a barbarian soldier.

“Why are you here? Have you betrayed us?” Vesa’s throat tightened and his voice was hoarse.

That question ignited Sif's long-suppressed emotions like a spark.

Those images suddenly flashed through my mind—

The blood on the father's chest, the mother's cries, the brothers lying on the ground...

She stood ramrod straight, her fists clenched so tightly they were almost white, her voice filled with anger: "Was it me who betrayed you?"
Did I kill my father? Did I kill my mother? My brothers and sisters are buried one by one in the snow, did I betray them?

The air froze instantly.

"By the way..." she sneered, her eyes like knives, "The Cold Moon Tribe no longer exists. Tell me, what are you now loyal to? Do you still live up to the oath you once swore?"

As soon as he finished speaking, Visa seemed to be struck on the head, choking and opening his mouth, but unable to utter a single word.

Her whole body was tense, her eyes were blank, something was stuck in her throat, and in the end she could only lower her head, like a doll with its skeleton torn apart.

Silence froze in the air of the dungeon like frost.

After a long silence, Sif asked in a low voice, "Do you know who poisoned my father at the banquet?"

Vesa bit her lip, hesitated for a moment, and then said in a low voice, "...Everyone says it was Lord Titus. But...there's no direct evidence. It's just that things have been happening one after another since then...and in the end, Frostmoon became 'Frostfire'."

“Titus?” Sif was stunned.

The image of that gentle yet always somewhat distant face flashed through her mind.

Her cousin Titus, who carried her on horseback and taught her archery when she was young.

She had doubted him before. But when the truth was laid bare before her, she was stunned.

It wasn't because I was shocked, but because it made too much sense.

"you sure?"

Vesa shook his head: "...There is no evidence. But it was he who led the troops to purge the royal tent, and it was he who changed Cold Moon's name to Frostfire a few months later."

A sharp pain shot through Sif's heart, but she didn't show it.

She simply stood even straighter, her voice lowered: "Tell me everything you know... about Shuanglie."

Visa seemed to have suddenly lost its connection.

She had been fearless during the interrogation at Red Tide Interrogation Road, but now, facing Sif, she was like a kite with a broken string.

She poured out everything she knew, one by one:
From Frostfire's border supplies to Titus's outposts in the north, from the hidden conflicts between the barbarian tribes to how the war with the Shattered Axe tribe was conducted...

She spoke faster and faster, more and more incoherently, as if her long-suppressed emotions had completely collapsed, and she poured out everything she knew at once.

No longer would they resist the interrogators in the dungeon, no longer would they possess the backbone of a barbarian warrior.

Sif listened without saying a word more.

She simply whispered, "Close the door."

The iron gate slammed shut, the heavy clicks of the latches echoing through the corridor.

Visa was still sitting in the corner.

She hugged her knees tightly, burying her face in her arms, as if her whole being had collapsed.

The vows, battle flags, and glory of the past seem to have all become a silent joke.

…………

The night was deep, and the lights inside the Red Tide Tower were dim.

Sif walked up to the government building, the echo of her boots reverberating through the corridor clear and cold.

She didn't knock; she simply pushed the door open and entered.

Louis was hunched over his desk organizing some drawings when he heard the door open. He looked up at her, raised an eyebrow, and seemed to have noticed something was off about her expression.

"What did they say?" he asked, his tone calm.

Sif didn't answer, but silently walked forward.

She stood in front of his desk for a few seconds, her expression as cold and hard as a stone statue, but the next moment, those emotions that had been buried for too long finally collapsed.

She spoke softly, “It was Titus, it was him… They all say he killed my father.”

Her voice was as thin as a needle tip, yet it carried an extremely suppressed sob.

“He’s my brother…the person I’ve trusted most since I was little. He even taught me archery, and he was by my side when our father died…how could he…”

She sat down abruptly in the chair, burying her face in her palms.

“I stayed here, I got back on my feet, I even…thought I no longer hated.”

But I can't lie to myself; I haven't let go at all.

They say I betrayed Hanyue, but Hanyue is long gone!

She almost lost control, tears silently streaming down her face, dripping onto the delicate metal clasp in front of her, gradually blurring her long-suppressed stubbornness.

Louis didn't say a word more than necessary. He gently pulled her onto his lap, bringing her closer, and softly stroked her back with his palm.

At that moment, she did not resist.

She leaned against him, as if she finally didn't have to face all of this alone anymore.

The heavy burden of betrayal, the hatred of her clan's extermination, the tearing apart of her bloodline and the guilt all surged like a tide, gradually engulfing her in the quiet office.

“You’ve done very well,” Louis said in a low voice.

Sif didn't respond, but buried her face deeper into his shoulder, like a child who was finally allowed to be vulnerable.

After a long silence, Louis said softly, "Go back and get some sleep first. We'll deal with the rest later."

Sif nodded slightly, her eyes reddening as she stood up, glanced at Louis, and turned to leave the office.

The door closed, and everything was so quiet it was as if nothing had happened.

Shortly after, an official carrying a black leather file folder entered and placed a sealed document on the long table in front of Louis.

“The transcript of Miss Sif’s conversation with the scout leader, Vesa.” He bowed slightly.

Louis nodded, and after everyone left, he unsealed the tape and opened the thick notebook.

With neat handwriting and precise sentences, the recorder almost meticulously copied the emotionally charged yet information-rich conversation word for word.

His gaze swept quickly across each line of text, and the lines between his brows deepened as he looked at the keywords.

The conversation between Visa and Sif was so direct it was almost piercing, without any concealment and with almost no misleading elements.

Based on his daily intelligence system's summary of the latest clues about the Frostfire tribe, he made his judgment...

This statement can almost certainly be considered highly credible.

“Titus…” he murmured the name, tapping the edge of the page with his fingertips.

As a former member of the Cold Moon clan, he quickly rose to power after the Cold Moon's destruction, annexing his old subordinates and reorganizing the system under the banner of Frostfire. His actions were clean and efficient, without any hesitation.

Add to that the mysterious power of the Scorching Vine Garden, and it becomes extremely troublesome.

Louis slowly closed the intelligence report, let out a soft breath, got up and walked to the window, gazing at the snow-covered antenna field in the night outside the city walls.

For some reason, he had a clear premonition: a direct confrontation with Titus was not far off.

He will settle this blood debt, one by one, for Sif and for himself.

(End of this chapter)