Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 287 Before the Final Battle
The heavy oak door closed slowly behind us, completely shutting out the noise and debate in the conference hall.

The corridor was silent, save for the steady, heavy thud of the Duke of Edmund's boots echoing through the empty space.

The words from the battle reports still churned in my mind. Every unit forced to retreat south and every town that fell felt like a cold block of ice pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

He then went back to his room, pushed open the heavy wooden door, and saw the warm fireplace inside, its flames flickering and casting a soft golden glow on the stone walls. A faint floral scent filled the air, the holly and dried lavender that Mrs. Elena loved.

The Duke of Edmund struggled to suppress the heavy emotions that had accompanied him throughout the journey, managing a kind smile.

The huge scar on his face gave his smile a somewhat strange look, but he tried his best not to look like someone who had just returned from the battlefield.

Mrs. Elena sat by the fireplace, holding their one-year-old child in her arms, gently patting the little back and humming a lullaby.

Hearing the door open, she looked up, a glimmer of light in her eyes.

On the table lay a letter from Red Tide Territory, sent by Emily, with a few tiny snowflakes still clinging to the envelope.

Edmund stepped forward, bent down, and took the child.

He tried to shake it gently, but the child stared at him with curious eyes for a few seconds, then reached out a soft little hand, grabbed his beard and pulled hard. The force was not light, and it made him tilt his head back slightly.

The child giggled, like the clear sound of a wind chime.

Edmund simply lowered his head and gently touched the child's forehead with his own, eliciting a cheerful babbling in response.

Seeing this, Mrs. Elena couldn't help but chuckle and gently tapped the little guy's nose with her finger.

“He was much more energetic than usual today,” she said. “Before his afternoon nap, he even insisted on climbing up the curtains.”

Edmund raised an eyebrow: "With that kind of drive, he might just end up following me to the battlefield someday."

"He should be a good knight."

"Hmm... well, I'll have to learn how not to pull my beard first."

Then they talked about the venison stewed in the kitchen that day, the fruiting trees in the greenhouse, and even how Elena had recently had the servants try growing mushrooms in the cellar.

The fire crackled in the stove, and the wind and snow continued to howl outside the window, but inside the house was as warm as a small island isolated from the war.

Only then did Elena seem to remember something, raising her hand to point to the envelope on the table: "Oh right, Emily's letter, it arrived this morning."

She sat back down in the chair by the fireplace and unfolded the letter.

"Emily almost won the equestrian exhibition match at the Red Tide Spring Games... but in the end, her horse was attracted by the candy stand on the sidelines and ran straight to eat candied hawthorns."

Edmund couldn't help but laugh when he heard this.

The smile was a little stiff at first, as if he was not used to showing such an expression during wartime, but it was quickly softened by the imagery.

He could almost see Emily angrily pulling on the reins, while the horse contentedly chewed on a candied hawthorn.

"Isn't that girl pregnant? This is too ridiculous." He shook his head, but his tone was full of undisguised doting.

Elena casually picked up a slice of warm honey cake and gently placed it in his palm.

Edmund's fingertips relaxed slightly in the steam of the honey cake; the sweet aroma seemed to dispel the chill that had accompanied him throughout the journey.

Outside the window, the wind and snow continued to howl. Inside, however, the fragrance of flowers and the soft light kept the cold night at bay.

The warmth of this moment almost made one forget the northern lands outside the door, a land consumed by blood and fire.

After a while, Edmund’s gaze fell into the depths of the fire, and he said in a calm but heavy voice, “Take the children and stay in the south for a while.”

Elena paused, a look of unease and doubt flashing in her eyes.

She understood what this meant; Edmund wouldn't let her leave Frostspear City for no reason, much less send her to the south.

But she took a deep breath, suppressed these feelings, and ultimately just nodded gently.

After sitting for a while, Edmund stood up and gently placed his hand on his wife's shoulder.

Without saying a word, he simply gazed at the sleeping child in her arms for a moment, then straightened his cloak, concealing the last trace of a smile between his brows, and walked toward the door.

“I’ll go take another look at the cordon setup,” he said casually.

Elena didn't stop her, but said softly, "It's windy on the road, put on your cloak."

The door closed gently.

The moment the heavy door closed, it was as if it locked the warmth that had just been inside the room.

The moment Edmund stepped out of the room, his smile vanished, replaced by a cold, battle-hardened expression.

He looked around the corridor, and immediately an armored guard stepped forward and knelt down on one knee.

Edmund's voice was deep and icy: "Make sure it is delivered safely."

Then he slowly took out several sealed letters from his pocket.

He personally pressed the wax seal on each letter, and the edges of the letters were slightly yellowed, indicating that they had been written several days ago.

He handed out the letters one by one, his tone leaving no room for doubt: "Give them to the lady when they arrive in the South."

The guard accepted the letter without a word, his hands trembling slightly from the pressure. He knew what these letters meant.

"Go as fast as you can, bypass the main road, head south through the forest line, and don't take the trade routes. You and your men... wait until the fighting is over before returning together."

The guard simply bowed deeply and said, "Your subordinate understands."

He turned and left, his boots stomping on the stone slabs, one sound after another, fading into the distance.

The corridor fell silent once more, leaving Edmund alone in the interplay of shadow and firelight.

He leaned against the cold stone pillar and slowly exhaled.

At this moment, he was not wearing armor or a helmet; he was simply a middle-aged man, a father who knew his fate.

He muttered to himself, as if speaking to himself: "This is my only selfish desire."

This was his only selfish motive; generations of the Edmund family had guarded the northern border for the empire, and their bloodline had long been ingrained in this icy wasteland.

From grandfather to father, from eldest brother to eldest son, one after another, cold tombstones stand on the snow-covered hillside.

He didn't want his children to witness the end of the family once again.

With loyalty as his sword, he was ultimately buried in the snow.

At that moment, his daughter's smile appeared in his mind.

Emily, that stubborn, headstrong girl, was more like his daughter than anyone else.

She was in the Red Tide Territory, not far from the front lines, and was newly pregnant.

Thinking of this, Edmund felt a slight tightness in his chest and thought, "I hope they can survive."

However, Edmund slowly raised his eyebrows, and a smile that was almost self-deprecating appeared on his lips.

Louis, that young man, may look frail, but he is actually decisive and ruthless, possessing a rare composure and fierceness.

He is much calmer and more ruthless than he was when he was younger.

Maybe... he really can protect Emily.

...The night, like a torn animal hide, shrouded the ruins of the broken fortress, where blood and mud mingled, flowing into a rotten, foul-smelling river.

A headless knight's corpse hung from a broken catapult, its silver armor shattered, its chest torn open by some enormous object, its internal organs swaying in the night wind.

His spear was still stuck in the ground, the tip broken off, but the butt was tightly gripped in his bare hand with exposed finger bones.

That was Ravento, the vanguard commander of the Sixth Legion of the Empire and a superhuman knight.

He once led hundreds of elite knights to break through the beast tide and defend the Northern Wilderness Ridge for three days and nights.

Now his head hangs on the flagpole, his eyes pierced by thick iron nails, and nailed to the blood-stained battle flag.

The sound of footsteps shook the ground as they approached.

The giant's heavy hooves cracked the stone slabs as he stepped into the heart of the ruins.

It was ten meters tall, its skin like cracked black ice, with vines sprouting from its shoulders, neck and elbows, wrapping around its limbs and dragging countless bloodstained remains.

And on its shoulder is Tistu, the king who conquered the northern barbarians.

But now he is merely a vessel for rage.

Anger burned behind him like an inextinguishable crimson vine, its roots growing from his spine, arm bones, and deep into his eye sockets, tugging at his bones and muscles like maggots, urging him to take the next step of slaughter.

His pupils were gone, leaving only two burning, blood-red spots of light, scorching the world.

“Kill—” he growled in a low voice, like the panting of some wild beast.

He did not issue any orders, nor did he need to.

The raging fury of the resonating vines had already connected him with all his warriors.

The next instant, the nightmare legion from the North surged forth from the mountain valleys and ravines like a tide.

Those inhuman creatures ran and shrieked, each one covered in vines, its body swollen and deformed, clutching broken swords, axes, and shields snatched from the corpses of its enemies.

Some, dragging unhealed broken legs, could still run like the wind under the scorching heat of "shared fury," while others, with hollow chests and exposed ribs, still charged forward laughing.

"Ah! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!!"

The shouts, like the howls of wild dogs, rose from the blood of the dead.

The elite Imperial Knights attempted to organize a defensive line. Six heavily armed riders charged through the ruined streets, their spear tips slicing through the night like silver snakes.

But the enraged barbarian warriors did not shy away from the attack. They spread their arms and even used their bodies to meet the spears, knocking their warhorses to the ground.

Even with entrails splattered all over the ground, their hands still gripped the knight's throat, fighting to the death.

Titus stood on the shoulders of the giant, silently overlooking the land he had burned.

He felt no joy, no pain, and no thrill of victory.

Only a deeper layer of emptiness.

A mindless beast will not cheer for victory.

He was merely a vessel driven by anger.

That scorching, kingly vine had completely taken control of his will. His soul, like the bones of the dead, was being devoured inch by inch by the crimson roots, utterly annihilated in this endless slaughter.

And this was just the beginning of the surging tide of "anger".

…………

The afternoon wind from the southeast valley carried the scents of mountains and forests and the stench of blood, fluttering as it swept across the banners of the Red Tide Legion and the allied knights of various noble families.

The battle to clear the area had been going on for three hours, and the last remaining barbarian soldiers in the valley were routed by the knights' charge.

The traces of the ritual of fury still lingered on them, their eyes still bloodshot, but they had no organization or support. Like fish stranded after the tide receded, they struggled, roared, and then fell silent in the dust.

At Louis's suggestion and under pressure, the lords of the southeast had already gathered and reorganized their remaining knightly orders, with the Red Tide Royal Guard leading the battle lines, forming a temporary but efficient "Southeast United Knights Order".

These nobles were initially wary of the young lord.

However, after several campaigns to eliminate the Red Tide, they had to admit that, in terms of both strategic planning and battlefield pace, the Red Tide Lord was currently the most reliable military and political core in the southeastern part of the northern border.

The Knights are no longer acting independently, and no one is trying to seize command anymore.

Everyone knew that after the situation deteriorated and the vassal system collapsed, only this young man's accurate and almost frightening judgment could pull them out of the disaster.

The entire southeast has now tacitly agreed that the Crimson Tide Lord is the ruler of the southeastern part of the northern border.

Louis stood on a rocky hill, his battle robe stained with fresh blood, yet his eyes and brows remained calm and serene.

He gazed at the direction where the column of smoke was rising in the distance, remaining silent for a long time.

Sif rode closer on her white horse, her eyes already fixed on Louis's face: "What's wrong with you today?"

She couldn't wait any longer and came along, but Louis only allowed her to participate when things were finalized.

Louis paused for a moment before speaking, "I just didn't sleep well last night."

Sif squinted at him, disbelieving his flimsy excuse, but didn't ask any further questions.

Louis pondered for a moment, then beckoned Lambert over.

“Tell Hilko,” Louis said in a low but unquestionable tone, “that all but the three pairs of Soul-Eating Lizards that must be kept for breeding are slaughtered to make Frostbite Soul-Shaking Bombs.”

“Furthermore,” he continued, “I will summon half of the elite knights of the entire army to accompany me north.”

"Yes." Lambert didn't ask any further questions, bowed, and left.
Louis was left standing alone on the rocky outcrop, the wind whipping his cloak high like a burning red banner.

He did this because of a piece of intelligence he received from the daily intelligence system this morning.

The brief prophecy, though only a few words long, was chillingly cold: "Ten days later, the Northern Alliance's siege will fail, Duke Edmund will be killed in battle, and the Scorching Vine Court will sweep across the entire North, wiping out less than one in a thousand of its population."

Louis knew that this intelligence would unfold as it had always been, and if he chose to stand idly by, the outcome would be irreversible.

He is not a saint, but if the entire Northern Territory collapses, the Crimson Tide Territory will be no exception, and everything he created and protected will be destroyed.

"If there's even a glimmer of hope, I'll take the gamble myself."

He has a "daily intelligence system," and that's his trump card.

Others cannot see the future, but he can glean a few clues; others can only wait for fate to arrive, but he can lay the groundwork in advance.

If he can obtain pivotal tactical intelligence at a critical juncture.

Perhaps the ending won't be as tragic as this somber prophecy foretells.

He thought of Edmund, the old man who had supported him when he first arrived in the North and married his daughter to him.

I think of Emily, and the unborn child in her womb.

If they lose, they will retreat to Red Tide Territory, taking Emily, Sif, and their unborn child with them, and flee south.

But if they win, the North can still be saved.

(End of this chapter)