Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 360 Undercurrent
Frost Dragon reigns in the north, deep in the valleys, where snow is thick and white forests blot out the sky.

In this snow-covered land neglected by the North, a dying force is quietly awakening, preparing for its final counterattack.

Deep inside the cave, a dim, yellowish torch of animal oil burned, casting long shadows of dozens of figures.

They were draped in animal skins and carried iron blades. Some wore feathered helmets, some had ancient tattoos on their faces, and some were even barefoot on the ice, barely clothed. The cold wind seemed to have no effect on driving them away.

These were the remaining leaders and chiefs of the barbarian tribes.

To be precise, this was all that the snowfield could finally muster.

Uru stood by the fire, silently watching the crowd, his figure silhouetted against the flames.

His title was special envoy, a person temporarily selected by various tribes and sent to the prince's side to convey the barbarian opinions.

Outside the Ice Cave, nearly six hundred Boiling Blood Warriors from several factions, including Black Rock, Snow Wolf, and Lament, have gathered.

They excel at charging and close combat; they are raiders trained from childhood with numerous battle achievements, the elite of the barbarian tribes, carrying the memories of bloodshed.

These people are the remaining strength of the barbarians.

They were gathered together for only one purpose.

They didn't confront the Northern Knights head-on; such a confrontation would be gambling with their lives for an uncertain outcome.

What they wanted to do was to behead the nobles and decision-makers who were raising their glasses and laughing during the meeting, and to let them taste fear amidst the flames and chaos.

If this can be achieved, the North will descend into chaos, allowing them to seize food and land amidst the disorder and secure a glimmer of hope for the future.

Failure would mean utter destruction, and the name of the barbarians might be erased from the memory of this land.

Beside the fire, the eyes of the crowd held both fear and resolve.

The young warrior gripped his short axe tightly, while the old man whispered the names of his ancestors.

Everyone knows this is not a simple act of revenge, but a final gamble.

This was the final blow to the snowfield.

A gamble for survival, a surprise attack that could change one's destiny.

Uru was actually somewhat flustered and at a loss. His original plan was simply to relay Asta's orders back and let the tribes decide their own actions.

According to his initial plan, these clan chiefs would at most send people to harass the outer border of the Red Tide a few times, just to give the sixth prince face and exchange him for a few bags of grain.

But the situation was completely out of his control.

When he learned that everyone planned to take advantage of the meeting to attack Frost Dragon Territory and wipe out all the nobles, he almost thought he had misheard.

“You’re all insane,” Uru said in a low voice, sweat freezing on his forehead in the cold air. “That’s Frost Dragon Territory, not some minor noble’s land! Imperial knights are guarding it! If you make a move, it will mean the extermination of your entire clan!”

In the brief silence around the fire, even the older clan leaders began to hesitate.

“Perhaps he is right,” an old man murmured. “If we can get a little food, it will be enough for the tribe to get through the winter.”

Uru thought that the voice of reason would eventually prevail over that momentary madness, and was preparing to gradually analyze and relay Asta's intentions, allowing the tribesmen to weigh their options and make their own choices.

The young barbarian leader, who now commanded the most warriors, suddenly stood up, his toes scraping against the ice with a soft sound.

A fanatical glint appeared in Kalk's eyes, and his voice suddenly rose: "We've already come this far, are we going to retreat? Where are we going to retreat to?"

If we go back, they will laugh at us, trample our doorframes, burn down our stoves, and send our children to beg. That's not survival, that's just barely surviving. Waiting any longer will only lead to death.

This time, it's not for anyone's orders, not for a bag of flour, but for the future of young people and for the bones of our ancestors!
Overturn their table, let those in power taste fear—that's the right choice we should make!

Kark spoke with a powerful and resolute tone, as if he were making a desperate gamble after decades of repression.

After the words were spoken, there was a brief silence in the cave, followed by a series of whispers and responses that came like an avalanche.

The young leaders stood up almost instinctively, fists clenched, eyes gleaming with bloodshot excitement.

They had seen the imperial flags fly high and returned home in the dead of night covered in blood; Kark's words stirred their anger and longing.

The older generation remained silent for even longer.

An elderly man with white hair finally said in a low voice, "We cannot act rashly, but what can we do if we do not resist?"

The other clan chief's voice trembled: "All we want is to live."

Uru was caught in the middle, his hands hanging limply at his sides. He probably knew that he could no longer stop the operation.

"If it's just harassment, and it can be exchanged for a few bags of grain and a few grazing rights, that would be enough for many people to live a stable life for the rest of their lives." Uru's rationality made a last stand.

But Kalk did not back down. He walked to the fire, bent down, picked up a torch, and held it in his hand like a flag.

The firelight danced on his young face, casting a long shadow.

"You're all right, maybe staying alive is important. But what's the point of living if we have to bow our heads every day?"
We are not vassals of the empire; we must remind them that the snowfields can also determine their own destiny.

There was no resentment in his voice, only a firm resolve that transformed despair into determination.

The young people's voices grew louder and louder, the cave like a wilderness swept by the wind, the sound advancing layer by layer, eventually overwhelming the hesitation.

Several senior clan leaders exchanged glances, and after a long silence, they slowly nodded.

That wasn't a passionate initiative, but rather a sense of helplessness.

Some people whispered incantations to protect their ancestors, while others patted the shoulders of the young people next to them with their rough hands, as if entrusting their blessings and fears together.

Uru closed his eyes, feeling an even deeper chill within him.

He felt the crimson tide rising inside the cave and heard the resounding echo of young footsteps.

His expression was complicated. Seeing that all the clan leaders tacitly agreed, he finally compromised and could only reveal all the information he knew.

Uru pointed to the rough map spread out on the ground, his voice hoarse and cautious: "The Red Tide elites are guarding the south."

The east gate was the camp of the old aristocratic group. The only entrance to the main hall, the north gate, was guarded only by the Fourth Prince's troops. We have an inside man there who can open two secret passages.

He paused, then added, "Moreover, there's the Red Tide fireworks festival the day after tomorrow, which is a kind of magical explosive bomb for show. It's loud and can cover up any other activity. If we really want to take action, that's the only opportunity."

After hearing this, the clan leaders began to discuss in hushed tones, their shadows swaying and intertwining around the fire.

“Then let’s get started,” Kalk concluded. “While the nobles are gathered in the main hall, the first step is for our inside man to open the secret passage in the north gate while the fireworks are going off.”

The second step was for the Blood Boiling Warriors to storm the main hall and seal the four doors with oil. The third step was for me to personally lead a strike team to attack the key figures: Asta and Louis, the two most powerful people in the North right now. Killing either one would be a bonus for us.

The plan was crude, yet deadly enough.

Everyone understood that even if they couldn't destroy all the nobles, killing the strongest few would surely throw the North into chaos.

At that time, they will be able to scatter and flee, plunder and rebuild their tribes.

After everyone dispersed, Uru sat alone on the ice cliff, gazing at the lights of Frost Dragon Territory in the distance.

The wind and snow lashed against his shoulders, and ice shards stung his cheeks like needles.

He looked up at that faint light, wondering if it was the last chance or the prelude to the true extermination of his race.

…………

Camille had a very comfortable year.

The cold winds of the North were merely background noise to him outside the banquet hall.

The Fourth Prince Asta treated him as an honored guest, with daily banquets, dances, delicacies, and beautiful women, making him almost forget that he was merely a special envoy sent to oversee the capital. The people here called him the eyes and ears of the capital, and he was happy to pretend that he still held the authority of the Imperial Censorate.

As he drank the wine of the North and listened to the hypocritical laughter of the nobles, slowly, even that terrifying memory faded.

But fate loves to play tricks. When the Red Tide Knights' iron hooves trampled into Frost Dragon Territory, Camille's hands began to tremble again.

At today's banquet, Louis was very polite to him.

His smile was restrained, his manners impeccable, and he showed no hostility whatsoever, which ironically made him even more afraid.

Because he didn't know what Louis wanted him to do.

He knew Asta was no match for Louis.

This young prince, who talked about reconstruction and ideals, was nothing but a court joke in his eyes.

The center of gravity of Frost Dragon Territory had already shifted the moment that Crimson Tide Iron Cavalry entered the city.

Moreover, Louis only needed to say one sentence to let the Emperor know that he was a spy for the Emerald Federation.

After the party, Camille drank too much and needed alcohol to drive away the maddening unease.

Back at the official residence, he staggered.

The candlelight was dim, and the room was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat; a chilling atmosphere enveloped the room.

A letter lay neatly on the bed, its envelope pristine white, the seal bearing the emblem of the Red Tide.

The golden sun pattern gleamed faintly in the candlelight, as if mocking him.

Camille's hand froze in mid-air, her breathing becoming rapid.

My throat felt like it was being choked, and I couldn't make a sound.

He turned around abruptly, his gaze sweeping across every corner of the room. The windows were tightly closed, there was no shadow in the corners, and even the air seemed normal.

He rushed outside and asked the guard, "Has anyone come in just now?"

The guard looked bewildered: "No, sir. No one came near."

Camille remained silent for a few seconds, then slowly retreated back into the room.

He stared at the letter, his pupils trembling, his fingers shaking. After hesitating for a long time, he finally reached out his hand.

…………

After the banquet ended, the hall of Frost Dragon Territory still retained the warmth and aroma of wine.

Asta Auguste sat in the main seat, his wine glass empty, yet he lingered there, reluctant to put it down.

Outside the hall, the snow fell softly, and one by one the lights went out, leaving him all alone.

He recalled the scene just now: in the banquet hall, the light cast by the crystal chandelier swayed, and the silk curtains exuded the aroma of warm wine and spices.

The nobles from the North, the old families, and the envoys from the capital, all dressed in magnificent robes, gathered in a circle around the young count.

Laughter mingled with the clinking of silver glasses, servants brought out aged spirits, and maids' skirts gleamed gold in the candlelight.

The whole place was as lively as a banquet in the capital, except that the focus wasn't on him.

Asta sat in the main seat, watching as the people turned to Louis, offering compliments, pleasantries, and smiles.

At that moment, he felt like he was just part of the scenery, an extra shadow in that grand feast.

“That’s my home turf…” he murmured softly, his tone tinged with bitterness.

Louis Calvin's name was now etched into his heart like a nail.

That guy didn't need to say much; just by standing there, everyone couldn't help but look at him.

Asta gripped his glass tightly, his lips trembling.

If this reconstruction conference is still dominated by the other side, the order in the North will belong entirely to the Red Tide, not to him, the so-called royal envoy, and he will have no chance to turn things around.

A suppressed anxiety churned in his chest; if he failed, he would be nothing.

Asta suddenly stood up, put on his coat, and ordered someone to bring Uru to see him.

Uru arrived quite a while later, carrying with him a chilly aura.

Asta looked at him anxiously and asked, "How are the preparations for the attack on Red Tide Territory going?"

Uru stood still, his expression as calm as ever: "Everything has been arranged according to Your Highness's orders. The troops have gone back into hiding and are awaiting further orders."

Asta tapped his fingers lightly on the table: "Have they identified their target?"

“The Red Tide Territory’s defenses are lax. We will launch a surprise attack at the right moment, giving them no chance to react.” Uru’s voice was dry but firm, and his eyes never blinked.

Asta stared at him for a few seconds, his eyes flashing with unease.

His lips twitched slightly, as if he was suppressing something.

After a moment, he raised one hand and said calmly, "Step back, Uru."

Uru bowed slightly, then turned and left.

The door closed gently behind him, leaving Asta alone in the room.

The air seemed to freeze, and his smile gradually disappeared, leaving only a suppressed, almost distorted emotion churning in his eyes.

He wasn't like this from the beginning.

From the moment the emperor disappeared, Asta's world seemed to collapse.

He suffered from insomnia every night, filled with anxiety, always feeling as if an invisible hand was choking him in the darkness.

He was afraid that when he woke up he would be forgotten, abandoned, or killed.

In order to survive and to prove that he was still worthy of being called a "prince," he began to frantically win over others.

He courted Camille, bribed old nobles, and even traded with barbarians...

He paid too high a price for it: wealth, fame, and power.

He even ceded the trading rights and mining rights that the southern nobles coveted most, just in exchange for resources and support.

Just to make themselves stronger, instead of being an ant that can be crushed at will.

But there was always one person standing in his way—Louis Calvin.

That guy is his own inner demon.

“Very good,” Asta said in a low voice, his tone tinged with suppressed rage. “Very good… This time, it must succeed, or else…”

As he spoke, he chuckled repeatedly, the dry, harsh sound seeming to dispel the chill within him.

But the laughter stopped quickly, and he abruptly raised his hand to cover his eyes, his fingertips trembling slightly.

His breathing quickened, and he murmured, "If I fail... I'll make everyone pay with their lives."

At that moment, his expression was almost manic.

(End of this chapter)