Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 281 Barbarians go south
On the eve of spring, gray snow fell like rain, sprinkling across the desolate wilderness.

This vast plain lies just outside a canyon defense line to the north of the empire.

At this moment, on this desolate snowfield, the assembly of a fierce army is quietly taking place.

A dark silhouette hovered in the sky.

That was no ordinary bird, but a scouting entity that had already been infected—the Winged Crow.

Their wings trailed vines as they silently circled in the air, shaking off any snow that landed on them and revealing their bony, grayish-white feathers.

A series of dull, low hums came from the ground.

That was the sound of drums, ceremonial war drums made from the bones of the enemy, their tone dull and muffled, like the panting of some wild beast.

With each drumbeat, the massive army formation in front of them rippled slightly, like an organic life form breathing gently.

The army's formation was both strict and strange.

Standing at the very front was a wild and ferocious herd of war slave beasts.

They are mutated ice-digging apes, ice dire wolves, snowfield boars...

These magical beasts are somewhat different from ordinary magical beasts. Their skin is covered with vines, their eye sockets glow with green phosphorescence, some have wooden veins embedded in their shoulders, and some have thorns growing on their limbs, but all of them are ferocious and crazy.

The central region houses the largest number of mutated barbarian soldiers.

These barbarian warriors were no longer human; their exposed skin was covered with patterns of "Burning Vine," as if flames were burning beneath their skin.

They wielded large axes and hammers, their pupils were bloodshot, their arms were unnaturally swollen, and their anger seemed ready to explode at any moment.

Hundreds of frost giants stood on both sides.

Each statue is over four meters tall, with a deep purple floral crown engraved on its forehead, signifying that it has been completely dominated.

Behind them were the command group and priests, all wearing gray cloaks.

They stood silently behind the drum formation, vines entwined around their wrists, murmuring to themselves.

The towering sacrificial platform, like a throne rising from hell, stood atop the desolate snowfield.

It is constructed from piles of vines and bones, resembling a temple built from the remains of sacrifices, both eerie and sacred.

Standing atop this altar is Titus.

He wore a deep red cloak that reached his ankles, billowing in the wind like wings unfurling in the blood-red night.

Its eyes were deep red, with no pupils, as if the Scorching Vine itself resided within them, shimmering with a certain radiance.

His right hand was bare, with slender wrist bones, and beneath the skin, tiny tendrils slowly wriggled, moving like parasites.

He seemed oblivious, as if those things had already become a part of him.

Titus's voice echoed through the snow, initially as a whisper: "From this night onward..."

He slowly scanned the surroundings, his gaze piercing through the snow and the military formations, as if penetrating the very territory of the empire.

"Let the northern border of the empire become our garden!"

The entire arena fell silent, followed by a deafening roar from the crowd.

That wasn't a uniform military command, but a roar like a wild beast, like a raging storm.

Amidst this fervent emotion, the departure ceremony slowly unfolded.

The vine altar stands tall in the center of the battle formation, woven from intertwined vines, with a "raging flower" blooming at its top that has not yet fully opened.

The crimson petals parted slightly, as if awaiting some kind of crimson catalyst...

Three mutated giant wolves lay before the altar, their eyes bloodshot and their breathing heavy.

The priest stepped forward and slit his throat. Blood gushed out, and his silent howl turned into his last breath. The blood flowed down the vine altar and seeped into the roots of the raging flower.

Moments later, the angry flowers suddenly bloomed.

The entire flower slowly unfolded amidst intense pulsation, releasing rings of red light pulses from its core, enveloping the entire battle formation like a heartbeat.

This is "sharing anger".

That's a resonance mechanism among infected individuals, a ritual that initiates the synchronization of emotions and the spread of anger.

Wherever the red light reached, the barbarian army went into a frenzy.

The barbarian soldiers in the front row pounded their chests as if they were on fire, some even pulling out short knives and stabbing themselves in the shoulders, backs and arms, using the intense pain to ignite their rage, their faces flushed red with blood, their eyes filled with murderous intent.

The war slave beasts roared and charged out of their cages. A snowfield bear knelt on its front paws, roared at Titus on the altar, then suddenly stood up and rushed to the front line, trailing thorny vines like whips behind it.

The enormous frost giant also moved forward slowly to the sound of the drums, each step causing the ground to tremble, the ice to crack, and vines to grow wildly.

This is not the army's departure; it is the awakening of spring from hell.

Titus stood atop the vine-covered platform, silently surveying all of this.

He could no longer tell whether he was lucid or lost at that moment.

The scent of the raging flower had long since seeped into his very bones.

He could not resist, nor did he want to resist.

He was willing to succumb to it as long as it brought him endless power.

He slowly closed his eyes, then jumped down.

His cloak unfurled in the air like a curtain of blood, landing on the shoulder of the frost giant. He stood like a king in the wind and snow, becoming the core of the entire Wrath army.

The rattan drums shook the heavens, and the battle flags were raised. The flags were decorated with upside-down, angry flowers and intertwined rattan crowns, as red as evening blood, fluttering in the wind.

Titus raises his scepter, which is wrapped in scorching vines, the tip of which has opened like an evil eye.

He roared out the order to march that shook the entire battlefield: "Let them tremble in their fury!"

Immediately, the Frost Giant took the lead, its vine-like legs shattering the ice plain, cracks spreading like a spider web, accompanied by a continuous roar.

Closely following behind was a raging herd of war slave beasts, each stomp causing the snow to churn and vines to pierce the ground, as if the entire snowfield had transformed into the fleshy organs of vines, wriggling southward.

The sky gradually turned red, the snow continued, and red mist rose.

A tide of blood and fire swept down from the north, like a raging torrent of flowers.

The scene slowly zooms out, revealing a figure draped in a red and black cloak standing on the shoulders of a giant, eyes burning, bathed in snow like a god.

From this moment on, the northern border of the empire will usher in its darkest spring.

…………

As early spring arrives, the boundaries of the continuous snowfields begin to loosen, the ice and snow melt, and the mountains reveal their mottled rocky skeletons.

Deep in the valley, a babbling stream flows over a bed of stone eroded by ice and snow. Occasionally, remnants of ice break off from above and fall, their shattering sounds echoing ethereally through the canyon, as if whispering some kind of omen.

This is the vital passage to the heart of the empire's northern border—Windfire Canyon.

Above the valley, a large military camp was built along the terrain. Watchtowers stood in rows, chevaux-de-frise were arranged in an orderly manner, catapults and ballistae were distributed appropriately, and five fortresses formed a complete defensive line. The main fortress was in the center, with a tall tower on each side, which was integrated with the mountain.

The regular legion consisted of nearly 10,000 men, including about 3,000 knights, as well as artisans, archers, and animal transport teams.

Logically, this should have been an impregnable defensive line, but the atmosphere in the camp was far less tense than the setup suggested.

The sentries' patrols are mostly just a formality; they often chat idly in twos and threes while on duty.

The knights leisurely dried their nails and fed their horses outside the castle; some even gathered together to practice dice and test their drinking capacity.

Inside the main castle, there was constant revelry, with music playing all night long and the aroma of wine filling the air.

Rather than a defensive line in the north of the empire, it is more like a tourist attraction that has been fattened up by comfort and military spending.

The central figure in all of this was none other than the commander of the Seventh Army Corps.

Rudolf was tall and thin, always standing straight like a pine tree. He wore a pair of silver-rimmed monocles on his nose, which complemented his dark purple military uniform and gold-embroidered epaulettes.

From a distance, he looks more like the conductor of a Beijing symphony orchestra than a general.

He is a highly experienced high-ranking extraordinary knight, born into an old noble family, and was known as a battlefield artist in his youth.

Unfortunately, these reputations have long been replaced by decadence and extravagance.

He was reclining in a high-backed chair on the main castle terrace, with a warm brazier beside him, a fine woolen blanket covering his legs, and a cup of warm wine beside him.

Several dancers on the side, dressed in light gauze dresses, twirled to the rhythm.

Those women were dancers he had specially transferred from the capital. It was said that one of them had even performed in the palace's hall of nobility. He had invited them tonight to celebrate the beginning of spring in the North.

Rudolf said slowly, "Slower, slower. We're not wild dogs from the north, keeping warm by howling and dancing."

He chuckled softly, his gaze occasionally drifting towards the canyon outside the fortress, his eyes filled with nothing but lazy disdain.

"The Northern barbarians?" He snorted, turning to his adjutant with a sneer. "They've probably all frozen to death in the winter."

The lieutenant's name was Serian, a young knight also from a noble family, whose face still retained the innocence of a boy.

Holding a scroll of secret letter, he stood in front of Rudolf, his face slightly tense, and whispered a reminder:
"My lord, this is a secret report personally sent by Duke Edmund. He says there have been unusual movements from the northern barbarians and suggests immediately strengthening patrols along the valley. I think at least..."

“Enough.” Rudolf looked up as if he were looking at a child: “That old fogey Edmund started shouting ‘The barbarians are coming’ as soon as spring arrived.”

"It's more annoying than a crow! This is the umpteenth email I've received this month, and nothing's happened!"

He then raised his glass, took a sip, and joked, "I'll use this secret report as a bookmark; it would be quite suitable to tuck it into 'Secret Techniques of the Palace'."

The dancer chuckled softly, whether in agreement or in flattery, it was unclear.

Rudolf continued, “My dear Serian, you should learn to enjoy life on the garrison. It’s a rare treat to have this snowy landscape, warm wine, and beautiful dancers… It’s just guarding a canyon, don’t be so stressed. Look how peaceful this year has been, why take it so seriously?”

Serian opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something more.

But he saw Rudolf lazily reach out and casually pull a dancer into his arms, lightly touching her chin with his fingertips, teasingly whispering.

His smile looked utterly lewd in the firelight.

The young adjutant ultimately lowered his eyes, silently put away the secret report, and withdrew.

For the next two weeks, nothing happened, as if Rudolf had truly said, "the sea was calm and still."

The soldiers lazily sunned their armor, fed their horses, and gambled on dice, occasionally making jokes and jeering about the "northern barbarians coming."

Until that evening.

The sky was dim, and the mist had not yet dissipated when suddenly a rapid sound of horses' hooves came from below the terrace.

A knight charged in, his armor scratched by wind and snow, his face as pale as paper, his eyes filled with unbelievable fear.

He practically lunged through the main gate of the castle, rushed to the terrace where Rudolf was, and shouted hoarsely, "Report!! Barbarians! Barbarians are marching south!! They're already 600 miles outside the canyon!"

Rudolf frowned, raised his eyes, and his wine glass trembled slightly.

Serian turned abruptly, strode forward, and grabbed the knight's shoulder: "How many people?!"

The knight trembled as if trying to make himself clear, but in the end he could only squeeze out a few words: "...unending".

Fortunately, Rudolph didn't drink too much this time.

He paused for only a few moments before abruptly standing up, donning his cloak, and speaking in a voice as cold and sharp as winter iron: "All personnel on standby! Form ranks at the valley entrance! Immediately!"

Windfire Canyon quickly entered a state of emergency.

The war drums sounded and the horns blared, and the entire camp was deployed in just two hours.

Three thousand regular knights were transferred to the valley entrance and arranged in a triple cavalry formation, armed with long spears and shields, and distributed in the east, central and west wings.

Nearly 10,000 soldiers lined up behind the cavalry, divided into groups, with archers climbing arrow towers and cliffs, while engineers urgently set up anti-ramming pile formations.

Six "magic bomb projectors" were deployed on the tops of the cliffs on both sides, their disc-shaped tracks adjusted to align with the valley entrance.

Rudolf donned his armor, ascended the main castle, and gazed at the rising dust in the distance. His expression calmed, and the old-fashioned, iron-blooded composure of an imperial officer returned to his eyes.

"I have three thousand knights, ten thousand soldiers, and six magic explosion devices... the advantage is in my hands."

He muttered to himself, his tone regaining its arrogance, even tinged with mockery, "Want to turn it over? Dream on."

Fengyan Canyon has been known since ancient times as "easy to defend and difficult to attack".

Seventy years ago, three hundred imperial knights held off five thousand barbarian troops here for two days and nights, and the battle case is still used as teaching material at the Imperial Capital Military Academy.

As long as we hold on, a steady stream of reinforcements will come to our aid.

He was the commander of the Seventh Legion of the Empire, the chief general of a branch of the Third Legion, and a high-ranking extraordinary knight. How could he have lost?
But when the first wave of "vanguard" appeared, even the seasoned Rudolf couldn't help but hold his breath.

Amidst the surging snow mist, dozens of strange beasts, each five meters tall, burst forth from the valley, their fangs exposed and their backs covered in wriggling vines.

Next came hundreds and thousands of barbarian "cavalry," not traditional light cavalry, but shock troops riding mutated beasts and parasitic vines.

Their ranks spread like a horde of beasts, including swift, two-meter-tall predators and heavily armored ramming beasts seven or eight meters tall with their shoulders and backs covered in bone spurs and vines, rolling in like living city walls.

High in the sky hovered the infected war eagle "Willow Crow," its wings draped with crimson vines, emitting an unsettling whistle.

The most breathtaking sight was on the side mountain road.
Dozens of frost giants.

But they are different from ordinary frost giants. Their bodies are more twisted, some of their arms have mutated into vine-like tendrils, their bodies are embedded with angry flower cores, and their tops are covered with pale flower crowns.

They advanced slowly, each step shaking the canyon.

The battle flag has appeared, red with black vines, and a blooming, angry flower hanging upside down in the center.

When the soldiers saw the giants and beasts approaching like mountains, they couldn't help but gasp, and their weapons trembled slightly.

“It’s…a monster,” Serian murmured.

Rudolf, however, smiled slightly. As a commander, he couldn't afford to panic at this moment.

He slowly put on his gloves, raised his command flag, and coldly shouted, "Form ranks! Let me see just how much skill these beasts really have!"

(End of this chapter)