Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 286 The Calamity of the North
The aura of mountains of corpses and seas of blood churned in the valley, flames and blood mingling together to form a whole hellish landscape.

The corpses of five thousand barbarian knights lay scattered in the mud and blood, the remains of giant monsters crushed the surrounding rocks, and the charred bones were still emitting lingering smoke.

The red mist had not completely dissipated; it was as thick as churned old blood, gleaming eerily dark red in the light.

But the knights of the Crimson Tide Territory moved steadily through them, their faces covered by transparent masks with silver frames.

The edge of the mask was inlaid with pale blue patterns, which were viscous potions extracted from frost vines. These potions were slowly released into a misty curtain as the knight breathed, isolating him from all mental interference.

His eyes, visible through the mask, were clear and focused, showing no sign of being swayed by the red mist, and his movements were decisive.

The remaining barbarian soldiers, who had lost control, were stabbed down, and the burning oil poured from the bottle onto the pile of corpses, instantly igniting them with a piercing explosion.

The flames pounced on the flesh like a wild beast, devouring, charring, and turning it to ashes.

The vines and flesh-and-blood flowers convulsed and withered in the flames, and the moment the petals turned to ash, a nauseatingly sweet, burnt smell filled the air.

A knight bent down, and with the tip of his sword, he picked up a section of dark red vine that had not been burned, and a few flower hearts that still retained a faint glow.

They were carefully placed into potion jars encased in cold iron, sealed tightly, and handed over to the knight behind them.

Alchemists would dissect these things in the research labs of Red Tide City, trying to understand their origins and weaknesses.

The flames were still burning, their light reflecting off the knights' silver armor, making them look like a line of slowly advancing cold iron statues.

Louis stood on the scorched earth, his gaze piercing through the lingering red mist and landing on the charred corpses.

He didn't think it was an easy victory.

If we hadn't known several days in advance that this barbarian tribe would pass through this area and hadn't carefully laid a trap, they probably would have already silently attacked the walls of Red Tide City.

Even so, the price he paid still made his heart tighten slightly:

Four steel beasts were destroyed, more than thirty knights died in battle, several chariots were crushed by the vines and monsters, and nearly one-third of the magic explosion reserves were consumed.

These dead barbarians were just the tip of the iceberg of the southward-bound army, less than one-tenth of their total strength.

If a force of this size can break through the defenses time and time again, then the real disaster is yet to come.

The southward advance of the barbarians might be even more terrifying than he had anticipated.

"I hope this land... can really pull through," he murmured.

Next, he must unite with the nobles in the southeast to first eliminate the surrounding barbarian invasions and ensure the safety of his own territory before considering whether to support other fronts.

He would not rashly mobilize his main force until, at least, the Duke of Edmund summoned him, or until the daily intelligence system indicated a turning point in the war so he could reap the rewards himself.

This battle also made him realize the shortcomings of his own weapons.

For example, the design of the Iron Beast being pulled by the Iron Bull is indeed incredibly powerful on the battlefield, but it lacks flexibility and safety.

If the enemy accurately kills the raging bull it's pulling, the massive steel beast instantly becomes an iron coffin on the spot.

If this problem is not solved, the losses next time will likely be even more severe. It seems that we must accelerate the development of fuel engines.

Louis looked away, then silently turned and left.

Flames burned behind them, turning the night sky crimson; this was but a minor victory in the long war that raged across the North.

…………

Asta had only been in the North for a year.

But with the help of resources allocated by the royal family and the guidance of his mentor Cypher, he rebuilt the long-abandoned border town in Frost River Valley.

He raised the silver dragon flag, set up camp, and made this place his capital, thinking it would be the starting point for him to establish himself in the North.

Until two days ago, that barbarian army shattered all of this.

They traversed the Ice Crack Gorge, which the Northerners called "Impassable," and surged directly into the heart of Frost River Valley like a black tide.

The outpost sent back no warnings, and the entire scout team was wiped out.

When the intelligence reached Asta, the enemy was only half a day away from the town.

He relied on the outer wooden and stone defenses in an attempt to hold his ground.

In the wind and snow, spears stood tall, crossbows were drawn taut, and muskets emitted faint heat. The battle line resembled a black fence isolated in the white wasteland.

But soon the first monster rushed out.

It was a barbarian warrior with a bloated body and dark red vine veins bulging beneath his skin. The parasitic scorching vines twitched constantly within his flesh, like living creatures thirsting for blood.

Even with a spear piercing his shoulder bone, he roared forward, smashing through the fence and tearing the defenders' breastplates like soaked parchment, his hot blood spurting out a crimson arc on the snow.

Then more figures rushed up.

The crossbow bolts pierced their chests and necks, only making them more frenzied, like provoked wild beasts, their roars echoing painfully in the wind and snow.

In the snow and mist on the horizon, several enormous black shadows slowly emerged.

It was a giant five meters tall, with vine armor covering its skin, and its hands gripped a massive stone axe capable of splitting roofs.

Each swing was accompanied by the sound of wooden walls cracking and human bones shattering.

Further away, the roars of monsters pierced the wind and snow.

A massive, heavily armored rhinoceros with a split skull charged straight into the crowd, sending entire rows of soldiers flying like straw.

As it ran, the parasitic vines wrapped around its back flung out sharp thorns, which rained down on the rear ranks of the defenders.

In the sky, several carrion crows with bony wings circled and flew low, swooping down to peck out the eyes of the struggling creatures with their beaks.

The alchemical firearms frequently jammed in the extreme cold and wet snow, and the gunpowder became damp and could not be ignited.

The oil canister was thrown out, but the enemy used a live vine to wrap it up and fling it back.

The flames instantly engulfed a section of the wooden wall, and the defending soldiers screamed as they fell in the firelight.

In less than an hour, the defense line was completely breached.

The barbarians stormed into the town, hacking down wooden houses with their long axes. Vines burst forth from the ground, climbing the walls and roofs like venomous snakes, eventually tearing the entire houses down.

Amidst the chaos of blizzards and flames, Asta watched as his town was slowly crushed into ruins.

It was no longer a battle, but an unstoppable massacre.

Within two days, eight villages and towns on the outskirts of Frost Valley fell one after another.

Flames flickered in the night and amidst the blizzard, illuminating the burnt beams and collapsed stone houses.

On the snow, charred wheat stalks rolled about. They had originally been stored in granaries, but now, accompanied by a pungent smell of burning, they were being swept into the sky by the wind.

Dried meat and salted fish burst in the flames, and grease dripped down the steps of the warehouse door, mixing with snowmelt to form a foul-smelling brown stream.

The blankets, boots, and thick robes used for keeping warm were dragged outside by the barbarians. Some were thrown directly into the fire, while others were trampled into the mud and snow and then crushed with the spiked soles of their boots.

They weren't after plunder, but to erase everything that allowed people to survive.

A way out? There isn't one.

The valley entrance had already been set as a trap—a barrier woven from living roots and black vines, with roots as thick as stone pillars intertwined and coiled. A knight who tried to rush out had barely slashed through a few vines when his legs were entangled by the curling branches, and he was instantly dragged back to the snow.

His screams echoed rapidly through the snow and mist, only to be swallowed by the sharp crack of a vine snapping his throat.

Originally two thousand soldiers, now only half remain.

Engineers, alchemists, construction workers... these valuable technical personnel were almost all wiped out.

The former wooden and stone fortifications, shelters against the cold, and neat streets have all been reduced to scorched earth.

The achievements Asta had made in governance over the past year were completely wiped out by this snowstorm and fire.
There wasn't a single clean patch of snow to be found; the ground was covered in blood, ash, or trampled corpses.

The wooden beams of the council chamber cracked and sputtered under the intense heat of the flames, and the roof seemed poised to collapse at any moment.

Asta gripped his blood- and snow-stained sword, surrounded by twenty-nine royal guards.

Heavy footsteps and the rustling of vines came from the doorway. Barbarian warriors, several times their number, were approaching, and the air was filled with the smell of burning wood and blood.

The next instant, the heavy wooden door was smashed to pieces.

As the wind and snow poured in, a force of nearly a hundred silver dragon knights surged in as well.

They were clad in half-frozen armor, their shoulders and arms covered in battle wounds and scars, their spears flashing with a sharp, cold light in the snow mist and firelight.

"Cover His Highness!" someone roared.

Spears and blades thrust out simultaneously, pinning the first rank of barbarian warriors to the burning beams.

The narrowness of the battlefield meant that every swing was accompanied by flying splinters of wood, and vines twisted on the ground, crackling sharply when ignited by kerosene.

Escorted by his guards, Asta burst out of the ruins, flames exploding behind him and illuminating the giant's silhouette in the snowy mist.

The enormous figure swung a bone hammer, smashing down three knights who were providing cover. Their armor plates and blood splattered onto the snow and were quickly buried.

The rescue team members kept falling as they were attacked from both sides by the barbarians and the parasitic vines.

The original knightly order of over a hundred men was reduced to just over fifty by the time they successfully broke through the encirclement, their armor riddled with cracks and ice.

Asta looked back at the Frost River Valley, the territory he had built with his own hands, now reduced to flames, thick smoke, and charred ashes swirling in the wind.

And less than a third of their military strength remained.

When he led the remaining guards through the gates of New Frostspear City, he was left with only the survivors who had crawled out of the ruins.

…………

In the wartime conference hall of Frostspear City, the heavy doors and windows were sealed shut, leaving only the dim yellow oil lamps flickering and illuminating every tired and tense face.

Battle reports were brought by the Swiftbirds and landed on the long table, where they were quickly opened and read aloud by the deacon.

And almost every single one of them was bad news…

"The northwest defense line was attacked by barbarians at dawn. The enemy broke through the gap on the south side of Winterhold Ridge, and the defenders lost 70% of their strength. Earl Hill was killed in battle."

The remaining troops of the Third Army Corps retreated south to south of the Shichui River. The enemy did not pursue them, suggesting a larger relocation was underway.

To the northeast, four cities have lost contact, and the knights sent there have not returned; it is suspected that the entire city has been wiped out…

As the story drew to a close, a somber silence filled the hall, broken only by the low murmur of wind and snow pounding against the city walls.

As the meeting grew increasingly silent, the Duke of Edmund gestured to his deacon to deliver another letter, this one from Louis.

As the letter was unfolded, the strong scent of ink wafted gently under the oil lamp, and the intelligence officer read it aloud slowly:

"...Red Tide Knights suffered a quarter of their losses... Five thousand barbarian knights were annihilated."

In an instant, the entire conference hall seemed to freeze.

Everyone was stunned at first, then they all looked up, their eyes shifting from the letter to the Duke, exchanging incredulous glances.

In the past few days, all they have received is news of defeat and fall.

The defenses collapsed, the town fell, and the Knights were annihilated.

Almost every battle report was proof of the bloodshed that had taken place in the North.

And now, suddenly, someone has defeated a full five thousand barbarian knights in this desperate situation.

“...How could this be?” a gray-haired old general murmured, as if afraid that speaking out would shatter a beautiful dream.

“That’s five thousand!” A count almost gasped. “And that’s the size of Viscount Calvin’s army in the Red Tide Territory…”

He didn't say anything more, but everyone present knew that the standing army there was simply not enough to confront the main force of the barbarians head-on.

One of the nobles frowned in disbelief: "Could it be... an exaggeration?"

Asta remained silent: "How...did he do that?"

The intelligence officer flipped through the transcribed report in his hand, his voice hoarse: "According to multiple investigations, this number should be accurate... but the specific details of the battle losses have not yet been fully ascertained."

Duke Edmund pondered for a moment, then said in a low voice, "Louis is a genius of war. If he really does kill five thousand barbarians, that would be a remarkable feat."

But... I suspect he underestimated his own losses. It was more to reassure us.

But in fact, Louis deliberately wrote up many casualties to avoid exaggerating the casualty ratio, and in reality only more than thirty people died.

The letter also included a brief suggestion: the monsters were driven by rage, and one could try using spirit-based weapons or spells to interrupt their berserk state.

Edmund sighed and instructed his steward, "Reply to Louis and have him continue to hold the southeastern border of the North."

The subsequent deductions quickly descended into argument.

Some advocated sending troops to rescue the vassal cities in the northeast to prevent the barbarians from further expanding the encirclement, while others insisted on holding the existing fortresses and waiting for imperial reinforcements.

Others suggested a direct retreat to the northern border to preserve the nobility and core forces.

However, this proposal immediately drew fierce criticism and ridicule.

"We're not getting any reinforcements!" an old general slammed his hand on the map. "At this rate, the entire northern frontier will be nothing but scorched earth!"

“What we need is a counterattack, not a retreat!” Another young viscount almost drew his sword and slammed it on the table.

"Counterattack? What are you going to use to counterattack?!"

The arguments were incessant, with each proposed solution seemingly having a fatal flaw.

Finally, Duke Edmund stood up and pressed heavily on the map of the North on the long table.

The candlelight illuminated the scar on his face: "Enough. Since we can't wait for reinforcements, we'll create our own opportunity."

His finger pointed to a narrow valley on the map.

The terrain there is treacherous, easy to defend but difficult to attack, yet large enough to accommodate a large-scale decisive battle: "This is the place to confront those monsters head-on."

We must fight this battle with our backs against the wall! Eliminate these monsters before they spread. Otherwise, the North will be completely swallowed up this winter!

The entire conference hall was silent, with the wind howling outside the thick city walls, as if tolling a death knell for the impending bloody battle.

(End of this chapter)