Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 271 The Confused Vesa

From the day she met Sif, Visa's heart was in turmoil. She had thought she was ready to die, ready to end everything in silence.

But at that moment, seeing the girl she had sworn to protect appear in enemy territory, standing in the enemy camp, her faith crumbled.

For the next few days, she stayed deep in the dungeon, neither speaking nor eating, just sitting against the wall with a blank stare, thinking that she would soon be executed.

Until that day, the door opened.

She looked up and saw an interrogator walk in, saying in a calm tone, "You now have two choices. One is to be executed by us, and the other is to become Lady Sif's bodyguard."

Visa did not answer immediately. She lowered her head and pondered for a moment, then finally nodded slightly.

She wasn't living for herself, but to fulfill an old vow.

The Cold Moon Clan has been wiped out; Sif is the only bloodline that remains.

Vesa wanted to stay with her until the very end, as a way of repaying the old patriarch.

This choice was naturally ordered by Louis himself.

He had considered everything thoroughly. Sif's mental state had been unstable recently, and she needed someone familiar by her side.

Of course, the most important thing is that the daily intelligence system has a report stating that Vesa is 100% loyal to Sif.

The other prisoners, after being extracted for information, were all disposed of directly.

That night, the wind outside made the curtains rustle slightly, and the candlelight flickered.

Visala stood outside the room for a long time until her guards nodded in approval before she went inside. Her footsteps were light, yet she could still feel the slight trembling of the figure inside the tent.

Sif sat at the table with her back to her. Several maps were spread out on the table, and a pot of cold tea was next to her.

Vesa didn't speak. He stood for a while, then slowly knelt down, one knee on the ground, and lowered his head: "I... am no longer worthy to call myself a warrior of the Frostmoon. But if you still recognize me, I am willing to give my life to protect you."

After she finished speaking, she didn't look up again, nor did she wait for a response.

She knew what she had done; she served Titus and lived after the destruction of the Frostmoon, yet she did nothing.

She failed to save Sif, avenge the tribe, and even went so far as to advocate for the murderer.

Now I kneel down not to beg for forgiveness, but to fulfill my final duty.

The room was so quiet it was suffocating, with only the soft flickering of the firelight.

Sif slowly stood up and walked over to her.

She looked down at the woman who had protected her with a spear when she was young and sheltered her from the wind and covered her with a blanket at night.

At that time, Visa was like an unyielding shield, his most reliable guardian.

But now, that image has been shattered in the flames of blood and fire.

“Do you know?” Sif’s voice was so soft it was almost inaudible, “I almost went crazy when I saw you that day. I thought… you had also given up on Cold Moon, just like them.”

Visa slowly lowered his head, his knees almost touching the ground, his voice barely audible: "I didn't. I just... took the wrong turn."

Sif closed her eyes and let out a long breath.

She had so many questions to ask, so many things to say…

But in the end, she just nodded slightly, as if she had finally breathed a sigh of relief, or as if she had made a very difficult decision.

"Follow me."

Visa looked up, a hint of disbelief and struggle in his eyes.

She understood that this was neither forgiveness nor rekindling old feelings.

That was just an order, a tacit approval. You can still stand beside me, but you can never go back to the past.

But Visa stood up.

After this moment, she was no longer a warrior of the Cold Moon.

She is Sif's shadow, the blade that atones for the tribe's sins, and the guardian of the last trace of memory that Hanyue left in this new world.

She replied softly, "Yes."

Sif didn't say anything, but simply returned to the table and sat down as if nothing had happened.

…………

Visa had glimpsed the city's outline from afar, but it was unclear then; he only sensed its liveliness, but being so far away, it didn't feel very real.

But this time, it was the first time I actually stepped inside during the day.

She followed Sif's caravan from the city gate into the main street of Red Tide.

Sunlight shines on the neatly paved stone road, rows of domed houses line the roadside, the street is wide, and pedestrians walk in an orderly manner.

The shouts of vendors, the forging sounds of blacksmiths, and the laughter of children blended together into a kind of noise that was unfamiliar to her.

She saw an old man with a broken leg sitting on a street corner, drinking hot porridge, and a child next to him handed him a meat pie.

This was a scene that could not possibly exist in her memory.

In the North, in the world of barbarians, wounded soldiers are left to die in the snow, and the elderly survive by robbing.

But here, there were no beggars freezing to death, no starving people scrambling for food; at least, she didn't see any.

At lunchtime, someone handed her a bowl of hot stewed monster meat porridge, along with rye bread.

She wanted to refuse, but the scent made her body act before her reason.

She took a sip, and the warm liquid slid into her stomach, making her feel as if she had suddenly come back to life.

At that moment, she was stunned.

It wasn't because the food was delicious, but because she felt lost.

For a long time, she had lived on dried meat and cheap wine, and filled her stomach by looting and killing, while ordinary residents here could eat stewed meat and bread on the street, and a sense of indescribable bewilderment arose in her heart.

She had no idea that life could be lived like this in the North.

As she walked down the street, she saw that the roadside drainage ditches were neatly and meticulously designed, no longer flowing with sewage like in the tribe.

Streetlights have been put up at night, and signs indicating opening hours and free admission are posted outside the public bathhouse.

She hesitated before entering a bathhouse.

When hot water is poured over the body, sweat, mud, and blood scabs are washed away little by little.

Standing in the mist, she suddenly felt as if her skin no longer belonged to her.

This comfort, this clean feeling, is so unfamiliar.

She touched her arm, and the thought that she could never go back suddenly popped into her head.

“Our nobles can only wash their faces with ice water in winter. But the poor here can take hot baths.”

She suddenly realized that those "imperial civilizations" she had once looked down upon were not just about showing off, but also a way of life.

Later, Vesa gradually figured out that Sif was not forced to stay in the Red Tide Territory, but stood rightfully at the center of power, becoming one of the two wives of Louis, the Red Tide Lord.

This news plunged her into even deeper confusion.

She had always thought that the imperial nobles were nothing more than plunderers in golden armor, spouting sweet words. They were selfish, hypocritical, and used to oppress others with their power, treating barbarians only as slaves and tools.

But Louis... this Red Tide Lord is different in every way.

She saw that when he rode through the main street, the craftsmen, children, and the elderly on the street spontaneously gathered and called his name, not in fear, but in a heartfelt response.

The children excitedly chased after his horse, as if he were not a lord, but a long-lost relative.

She was stunned by the scene, which reminded her of Titus, the ruthless Frostfire leader.

As he rode by, no one dared to look up; only silence remained with heads bowed.

People called his name because they would be whipped if they didn't, and behind him were chained slaves, not laughing children.

“Our leader maintains his rule through fear,” she thought to herself.

She never doubted the barbarian way until she saw another option with her own eyes.

What shocked her most was not the hot water of the red tide, nor the order on the street, nor Louis's prestige among the crowd.

It was Sif's smile.

That day, after a military meeting at sunset, she stood aside, silently guarding the exit. Then she saw Sif stand on the platform and tell a not-so-funny joke to the soldiers below.

The soldiers laughed, and Sif laughed too.

That smile held no hatred, no wariness, and none of the cold, hardened dignity he once maintained in the tribe. It was relaxed, even a little mischievous, like that of an ordinary person.

In that instant, Vesa suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

She had thought that one day, if she had the chance, she would take Sif back to the Northern Wilderness, regroup, recall the remnants of the tribe, rebuild Coldmoon, and let the name of the tribe resound once more on the icy plains.

But now she's confused.

If we return to the Northern Wilderness, will she once again be burdened with hatred and forced to fight alone in the cold wind? Will she once again have to learn to view death coldly, treat human lives as numbers, and hide her smile?

She didn't know which direction she should dedicate her life to.

The beliefs of the past have been broken, but a new life has yet to find its footing.

She could only stand silently not far away, as if that little bit of laughter was the furthest distance between her and the past.

…………

At the construction site of the defense line on the north side of Chichao Territory, the air was filled with a mixture of smells of lime, grease and sawdust.

The stonemasons stood on the scaffolding, striking the gray-white rocks with their chisels, producing a rhythmic clanging sound.

When the cold iron crossbeam was hoisted into place, it emitted a dull metallic echo, causing a slight tremor underfoot.

Construction on this defensive line began last autumn and has been ongoing for almost a year.

The main defensive wall in the northern section is 60% complete, with the remaining part consisting of unfinished stone structures and exposed wooden supports.

The completed wall is bluish-gray, and some arrow towers have been initially erected. The wall is four to five meters high, and the heavy iron beams are embedded in the stone layers, resembling a gradually forming steel barrier.

Louis, wearing a black and red lord's cloak, stood at the edge of the construction site, gazing at the unfinished city wall.

He remained silent, his gaze slowly moving along the outline of the wall, as if he were assessing a future battlefront.

Bradley stepped forward and reported the latest progress: "The main structure uses local mountain stones as the skeleton, with cold iron beams running through it. The exterior is treated with lime and waterproof grease. It is expected to withstand battering rams, hot oil, and fire attacks after completion."

Arrow towers were placed every sixty meters, with firing ports and double crossbow platforms at the top. The final wall height would reach six to eight meters, and the thickness would be between two and a half to three meters.

Under the sunlight, the city wall appeared grayish-white, mixed with patches of cold iron rust, looking like bone armor growing from the mountainside.

After listening, Louis looked around, his lips twitched slightly, and he said calmly, "You did a good job."

Bradley smiled with relief upon hearing Louis's affirmation: "Thank you, Lord. However, you personally determined the direction of the blueprints, and I merely followed it. What truly made this wall stand was your foresight, which surpassed ours."

Louis smiled slightly, without denying it.

They took a few steps forward, reaching the edge of the unfinished battlements, and looked down at the moat below.

A group of craftsmen were gathered around, listening to the conversation between the supreme lord and the territory manager, offering their suggestions from time to time.

“The defenses aren’t enough,” Louis said, his gaze still sweeping over the city walls.

“I agree,” Bradley nodded, “especially against climbing and fire attacks. The barbarians have been fond of night raids and arson in recent years, and smooth walls are actually harder to clean.”

"Then polish the exterior walls and install cold iron nails. It'll cut your hand if you climb up."

"Yes, the city gates also need to be repaired. I'll have the armory prepare some grease-resistant materials and add another layer of sheet metal."

"What about the moat?" Bradley asked tentatively.

"Bury barricades with flip-up barbed wire. If there is any unusual activity, lower them from the city wall."

……

They talked while gesturing with their fingers on the drawing board, their discussion both intense and restrained.

The conversation eventually turned to the topic of "crater".

Leave projection holes at the top of the city wall for throwing fuel canisters, or use flamethrowers directly to counter enemies climbing the wall.

"How are your preparations going?" Louis suddenly asked, his tone light, but clearly not casual.

"I have already ordered people to be drawn from the soldiers to form a separate team to train fire-pot throwing personnel, along with some trainee knights to operate flamethrowers."

Their voices were not loud, but they carried on word by word, and the craftsmen quietly memorized all the words.

Visa, standing at the edge of the crowd, remained silent, listening quietly.

She wasn't an engineer and didn't understand blueprints very well, but when these technical terms kept falling into her ears, they felt heavier than knives.

When she heard words like "fire prevention," "barricades," and "oil wells," she thought of the tactics that had been used in countless tribal raids in the past—night raids, arson, and using magical beasts to charge.

That was a tactic she was familiar with.

And now, some people are actually blocking them one by one.

She glanced at Sif instinctively.

The girl, wearing a winter cloak from the Red Tide Army, stood to the side, not saying a word, but with a focused expression.

A complex and indescribable emotion welled up in Visa's heart.

After hesitating for a moment, she spoke in a low voice, not loud, but enough to make everyone turn around:
"The northern clans now prefer to use giant magical beasts to clear the way. They use them to ram gates, tear down city walls, and trample barricades... The magical beasts are not afraid of arrows, but they are afraid of loud noises."

She paused, then added, "We could consider setting up some devices that make loud noises. Not for killing, but to scare them. Even a one-second scare could cause the giant beasts to lose control and disrupt their rhythm."

Bradley raised an eyebrow: "You mean... the magic bomb?"

Visa shook his head: "We don't have those things where I'm from, we make them ourselves. Sometimes it's just a big iron drum filled with gunpowder, and if you pull a rope, it'll blow your ears off."

"It's cheap to make and not very powerful, but it's very effective against magical beasts. Especially those that have been trained by barbarians with whips since they were young, because they are afraid of unfamiliar sounds."

After listening, Louis raised an eyebrow but didn't speak immediately: "Very good suggestion, let Hilco handle it."

Sif listened quietly, but glanced at Vesa without saying a word, though her eyes held a hint of certainty.

(End of this chapter)