Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 398 The Black Torrent
The massive black iron gate was slowly pulled up, and snowflakes slid off the threshold and into the darkness.

A moment later, a metallic roar that resonated throughout the chest rang out.

The iron hooves of the 17th Army Corps emerged from the shadows.

There were no horns, no drums, no ceremonies, only the deafening sound of stamping.

Thousands of heavily armored knights poured out of the gates, as if darkness itself had been cast into form.

They were covered in black steel plate armor, with the edges riveted with cold iron, and the shoulder armor was engraved with swirling patterns symbolizing storms.

Each knight was like a weapon forged from steel and fury, and their warhorses were clad in heavy half-body armor, their breaths rising like the breath of a ferocious wolf.

The ground trembled beneath their feet, the snow was torn apart and crushed, and ice fragments were kicked up and crushed into powder by their heavy hooves.

On the vast snowfield, they were not a team, but a whole moving black iron wall.

Oppressive, cold, and ruthless.

When thousands of spears were raised in unison, the clang of the spear tips striking the armor was like a thunderclap, shaking even the snow-covered pines on the distant mountainside.

Ackerman Greer rode in the lead.

His black-scaled warhorse was as tall as a demonic beast, its mane whipped about by the cold wind, its heavy armor flaring as its cloak billowed open in the snowstorm like a battle flag about to be set ablaze.

Behind him, a long, black-armored dragon, stretching for several kilometers, moved with him, its iron hooves rolling, its armor rubbing together, and its spear swaying, creating a soul-stirring sense of oppression in the wind and snow.

He felt his heartbeat being driven by the torrent of iron, the rhythm growing more and more rousing, as if urging him forward, ever forward.

This is power; this is his true source of confidence.

Upon entering the glacial plains, an iron torrent appeared on the other side of the battlefield.

Left Wing, 14th Army Corps - Iron Wall.

It was a well-organized and disciplined heavy cavalry phalanx.

Their steps were steady and heavy, each step forward was like a city wall slowly moving across the snow.

The shield wall was so tight that almost no gaps could be seen, and the spear formation was so orderly that it looked as if it had been measured.

Snowflakes drifted onto the armor, leaving only a thin layer of white frost, which was quickly shaken off by the lingering warmth and the knights' movements, revealing the cold, hard black steel beneath.

Right Wing, 7th Legion - Mad Wolf.

Although their armor styles differed, they all maintained the insignia and sequence of the Imperial regular army.

On the shoulder armor and cloak, one can see many spoils from the Northern Wastes: worn-white animal bones, dried manes, and mottled monster hides.

These are not crude decorations, but symbols left behind by the powerful enemies they defeated, representing the 7th Legion's many years of bloody battles against monsters on the border.

The three streams of knights slowly converged on the vast ice plain.

As the thunderous hoofbeats of the three armies resounded, a heavy rumble seemed to echo across the heavens and earth, suppressing even the howling of the wind, turning it into a mournful cry.

Although the 14th and 7th Legions together numbered four thousand cavalry, they were as subdued as two packs of hounds surrounding a lion king in the face of Ackerman's three thousand iron cavalry.

During the march, officers from all three sides completed a brief but hard-line tactical confirmation amidst the wind and snow.

The 17th Legion's heavy cavalry will act as the main force, directly ramming the gates and central defensive line of Frostspear City.

The Iron Wall formation of the 14th Army Corps was responsible for the left flank, forming a thick shield wall in the snow to prevent any surprise attacks.

The Mad Wolf Knights of the 7th Legion were positioned on the right flank, tasked with cutting off any possible escape routes, especially those of lords and their guards attempting to slip away via the hill trails.

In the eyes of these three legions, this tactic did not require any complicated deduction. They were not facing a well-prepared fortress, but a group of Northern troops who had been depleted by years of war.

More importantly, it was a surprise attack; the gentlemen in the North who were having a meeting had no idea they would be attacked so suddenly.

No one believed there would be deserters, because in their logic, for deserters to occur, there had to be at least one decent battle.

This time, however, it couldn't even be considered a war.

In the eyes of these battle-hardened regular soldiers, Frostspear City was nothing more than a piece of fat meat laid out on a chopping board, waiting to be cut open.

All they had to do was follow the predetermined route and crush everything into snow under the iron hooves and guns.

…………

Ackerman rode on the front line, the wind cutting like knives, but hitting his face only made him more alert and excited.

He reviewed the troop strength of both sides once more...

Seven thousand knights against a city that had just been rebuilt.

In the history of the North, there have only been battles of similar scale during barbarian invasions, but this time, the instigator was not a barbarian, but Ackerman.

“Louis…” Ackerman chuckled in a low voice, “It’s just bad luck that you met me during this special time.”

Ackerman's intelligence reports were overwhelmingly positive:
The main force of the Crimson Tide was not in Frostspear City at all; what remained in the city were only about two thousand noble cavalrymen cobbled together from various places.

The new fortifications were not yet fully installed, and the city walls had only been painted with the last layer of protection. They were like half-dried mud walls, unable to withstand the impact of heavy cavalry.

This is no longer Frostspear City, the once indestructible city, now it's soft flesh that crumbles at the slightest touch.

Ackerman had already envisioned the future: Frostspear City would fall, the Northern nobles would be all under his control, and the lifelines of steel and coal would be in his hands. When the throne changed hands, he would be the first to have achieved such merit.

Ackerman Grell, Duke of the North!
In the wind and snow, he raised his spear and pointed it at the northern city: "Haha! Forward!"

The iron tide roared, echoing across the earth.

The largest military buildup in the North in thirty years was crushing Frostspear City like a behemoth awakening. Ackerman was certain that the outcome was already decided.

…………

The wind and snow still howled over Frostspear, as if to remind all visitors that this place was once the most desolate ruin in the North.

However, the main conference hall was warm and inviting, as if two worlds were separated by a door.

The heavy crystal chandelier cast a bright golden light, while the newly installed steam heater on the wall slowly released heat, making the air as gentle as a spring night in the south.

Outside the window, the wind was biting cold, but inside, the sweet aroma of pastries and the pungent smell of strong liquor filled the air.

The long table was covered with a fine velvet tablecloth, and the artisans from the Red Tide Territory had arranged the dishes so exquisitely that they resembled works of art.

Pastries, black tea, spirits, candied fruit... piled high, almost making one forget that this place was once the focus of war.

This Northern Reconstruction Conference is the most complete in decades.

Apart from the great nobles, even the lesser barons who were pioneers sat in the outer seats.

There was constant talking in the room, mostly casual conversation.

Some people discussed this year's grain prices, some exchanged hunting tips, and others joked about how energetically the dancers performed last night.

It seemed as if the North had truly ushered in peace and prosperity.

No one mentioned Gareth Morcan; it was as if he had vanished from everyone's memory.

Nobody wants to get into trouble in such a lively setting.

However, beneath all the relaxed conversations lurked a shared anxiety: Louis hadn't arrived yet.

At the far end of the conference table, the high-backed head seat remained empty. The higher the rank of the nobleman, the more frequently he glanced towards it. Ten minutes passed, then twenty…

Some of the old nobles began to grow impatient, deliberately lowering their voices to complain: "He's just a kid, he's forgotten his manners after being a lord for a few years."

"Let us all wait for him. Who does he think he is?"

However, no one dared to speak too loudly yet.

After all, Frostspear City is now the territory of Crimson Tide Territory, and the strength of Crimson Tide Territory is so great that everyone is wary of it.

Just as the discussion was spreading, the door was pushed open from the outside.

Everyone reflexively stopped talking and looked up in unison.

As expected, Louis Calvin walked in.

Today, he was completely different from the nobles in formal attire in the hall. He was wearing light armor in the style of the Red Tide, the black steel gleaming coldly under the lights, and the edges of his shoulder armor were still covered with snow mud that had not been completely wiped off.

He didn't disguise himself as a respectable nobleman or change into formal attire; he simply strode into the meeting hall with an air of nonchalance.

His steps were steady, as if he could turn around and rush to the battlefield at any moment, as if using this equipment to remind everyone that peace in the North has never been maintained by etiquette.

Bradley and Isaac followed behind him.

The old butler was meek and obedient, but strictly adhered to etiquette.

Isaac held his head high, his eyes filled with the nervousness and pride unique to a young man, as he entered to listen to the proceedings as Duke Edmund and the future master of the North.

Louis walked to the head seat, but did not sit down immediately. Instead, he held onto the edge of the table and said politely but with a touch of ease, "I apologize for keeping you all waiting. I had to deal with a small matter, which caused the delay."

His voice wasn't loud, but it instantly silenced the entire conference hall.

"Thank you for your hard work, sir!"

"Your Excellency Louis is too kind!"

"It is our honor to have you here."

The nobles rose to greet each other as if welcoming a grand feast. Louis smiled and took the seat of honor.

However, instead of opening the meeting agenda that mentioned business cooperation, he lightly tapped his fingers on the table, giving off an unsettling feeling.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Louis continued, “before we discuss how to make money, I must first tell you…a little bit of bad news.”

The bad news didn't cause much of a stir in the hall.

Some people frowned slightly, but only responded casually. Most nobles took it as Louis's usual dry humor and waited to hear a joke or gossip.

After all, how bad could it be with such a lighthearted tone?

Louis paused for a second, his tone still calm: "At this very moment, the Seventeenth Legion, the Fourteenth Legion, and the Seventh Legion, a total of seven thousand fully armed knights, have crossed the Birch Forest defense line."

He raised his eyes slightly and added, "If there's no traffic, they should arrive in Frostspear City in about a day and... begin the massacre."

The air froze instantly.

Three seconds later, the noise exploded like gunpowder being ignited.

"Seven thousand knights?! Are you crazy? How are we supposed to fight this?!" A skinny little baron, as thin as a stick, suddenly lost his balance and his buttocks hit the floor with a dull thud.

On the other side, an elderly count with white hair slammed his fist on the table, sending silverware flying an inch into the air: "Louis! Did you drag the entire North into this?! Do you know what this means?!"

"It's all over...it's all over..." a nobleman muttered to himself, slumping back in his chair as if his bones had been removed.

Some people completely broke down, suddenly standing up and knocking over the chair behind them: "Quick! Send an envoy! Send one now! Open the city gates! Tell Ackerman we weren't involved and we know nothing!"

Fear spread like a plague, and everyone's voice rose uncontrollably.

The entire conference hall was like a shipwrecked after hitting a reef; screams, arguments, and frantic running filled the air, and all elegance was torn apart by fear.

Amidst the chaos, Louis sat quietly, showing no anger or panic, and even took a sip of red wine.

The nobleman who shouted "surrender" was the loudest and even tried to rush to push open the door.

Louis put down his glass, his tone as calm as if he were scolding a child who had made a mistake: "Surrender? Negotiate? Are you sure Ackerman will spare your lives?"
When Morkan went to reclaim the requisitioned goods, he was beheaded on the spot. His head is now hanging on the walls of Graystone Fortress.

As he spoke, he pulled a roll of parchment from his pocket and tossed it onto the table.

The parchment scroll was unfolded, revealing a dense array of red markings.

“Gentlemen, you have two choices,” Louis said, holding up one finger. “First, fight yourselves. Be picked off one by one. Your entire family will be wiped out.”

He then held up a second finger: "Second, immediately and unconditionally hand over to me the private soldiers, guards, and all military command of the territory you brought. The Red Tide will then be in unified command."

He leaned back in his chair, his tone still gentle, yet sending chills down one's spine: "Now, let's vote. Those who agree, sit down. Those who disagree, the door's over there; you can go and greet Ackerman."

The door suddenly became as terrifying as the entrance to death.

No one moved.

Even the nobleman who had just shouted to surrender was rooted to the spot as if his legs were made of lead, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

A few seconds later, the first nobleman raised his hand, trembling.

Then the second, the third...

Many people nodded silently, many dared not raise their heads, and many expressed their submission through silence.

No objection.

Louis nodded in satisfaction, his gentle smile returning to his face.

"very good."

Louis stood up, straightened his cuffs, and said in a light tone as if he had just finished an ordinary afternoon tea party: "Since everyone agrees... the meeting is adjourned. Now, it's time for war."

Louis left those words behind, his coat fluttering slightly in the breeze, and strode straight toward the door.

Hundreds of nobles stood frozen in the hall, as if their souls had been ripped out, their wide eyes blankly following his retreating figure.

Isaac followed behind, his small steps almost requiring him to jog to keep up.

He tried to remain calm, but his taut lips betrayed his unease.

As they walked out of the hall, he finally couldn't help but tug at Louis's sleeve and whisper, "Brother-in-law... are you really alright? There are seven thousand knights outside..."

Louis stopped and looked down at the little guy who was trying so hard to appear mature. The coldness in his eyes softened instantly.

He reached out and ruffled Isaac's hair.

“It’s alright.” His tone was as casual as if he were answering a question about the weather: “No matter how many people Ackerman brings, he has already lost.”

Isaac was stunned: "But we...aren't we in great danger right now?"

Louis smiled, a smile that carried the certainty of someone in complete control: "I'm here today only to have them hand over military power to me themselves. Without this battle, they won't do it willingly."

He patted Isaac on the shoulder: "As for Ackerman... the truly great wars are not those that begin when the enemy arrives, but those that end before the enemy even moves. This meeting is also part of the battlefield."

After he finished speaking, he continued walking forward with steady and relaxed steps, as if the threat of the seven thousand knights was nothing more than a move he had already arranged on his chessboard.

(End of this chapter)