Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 411 Going south!

Before dawn, the Black Iron Territory was as somber as iron.

Only the footsteps of patrolling knights echoed on the city walls, and the chill seeped into their bones through the gaps in their armor.

Count Doron, draped in a thick cloak, stood behind the wall, overlooking the plain swallowed by the night.

He didn't think anything would happen tonight. Even though the empire had been in turmoil recently, he simply regarded his nightly patrols as a routine or even a pleasure.

In particular, the fearful looks in the eyes of his people would make him subconsciously lower his head, which gave him a certain sense of satisfaction.

Because of the recent struggle for the crown prince position in the empire, although Lord Raymond ordered a state of alert throughout the entire territory, in Doron's eyes, the distant Grayrock Province would not be affected at all.

He had five thousand knights under his command, and he believed that any enemy who dared to come would die on this black soil.

But the real danger never came the way he had imagined.

At first, only the wind changed.

Doron frowned, about to call someone to check...

Immediately afterwards, a blinding white light fell on the southeast corner of the city wall, a corner that even knights usually didn't bother to patrol.

The next moment, a deafening explosion shattered the silence.

"Boom—! Boom—!"

"What?" Doron's heart skipped a beat.

The moment the flames fell, Doron thought it was just a test, but the explosive point was too sharp, like a nail precisely driven into a crevice, hitting the most brittle joint in one blow.

The city wall that had guarded the Black Iron Territory for hundreds of years, the massive black iron stone shield that had never bowed to fate in countless storms, was now trembling violently under an inexplicable force.

The tremors erupted from deep within the city walls, pushing outwards layer by layer, as if giants were pounding the walls with their enormous fists.

The roar kicked up dust, and the black iron stone cracked into three notches in the night.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!" The knights frantically grabbed their weapons and rushed toward the breach, but they stopped in their tracks halfway there.

Because something terrifying is surging forth from the darkness.

These dark figures moved in rows and columns, orderly and uniform, like a black wave, before dividing into three orderly branches and surging into the city.

Doron's throat tightened, and he stared intently at the opening from a distance, trying to figure out what it was.

They were a group of heavily armored cavalry!
The armored suits didn't reflect light in the darkness, and there were no torches to illuminate them, making it impossible to tell what kind of creature they were.

"What... what kind of unit is this? Where do they come from? How dare they cause trouble in Grayrock Province?" Doron gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, his palms sweating slightly.

He finally saw the armor of the cavalry in the front row clearly; it was all black and undecorated, with only a thin red mark etched on the chest. He still couldn't tell where they came from.

"Go up and stop them!" Doron roared, drawing his sword and rushing down from the city wall.

He leaped to the ground, his fighting spirit instantly radiating outwards, and gray light spread along the blade.

With a forceful swing, he forced the two enemy riders who were charging at him back half a step.

The knight opposite him looked up and met his gaze; it was a pair of cold eyes.

And from the gap in the man's armor, an icy blue light flowed.

The light seeped out from the cracks in his armor, cold and pure, piercing straight into his eyes.

Doron felt as if he had been struck by a heavy hammer, his mind buzzing and going blank for a moment.

Blue battle aura!
The Northern Winter is upon us!

For a moment, he even forgot to breathe.

This shouldn't be here! It couldn't possibly be here!
When the swords clashed again, the icy blue light surged up the metal, like a cold wave enveloping his arm.

His knuckles were so cold that he could barely hold the sword.

“No…it’s impossible…” Doron’s throat tightened, his voice choked, “Northern Knights? Three thousand kilometers away…how did they get here?”

Moreover, there were no alarm signals, no reconnaissance reports. Not a single sound alerted the army to their approach.

It was as if the entire army had emerged from the depths of darkness.

A fear that crept up his spine made him wonder if he was facing some kind of armored ghost.

This idea only lasted a few breaths.

As the mysterious iron cavalry crashed into his ranks, he witnessed his personal guards being chopped like firewood by a heavy axe.

The formation was torn apart swiftly and decisively, without the slightest hesitation.

Battle aura was meaningless to them; their impact seemed capable of crushing a person, armor and all, into the mud.

"Retreat! Retreat into the fortress!" Doron roared, but his voice was swallowed up by the clanging of armor.

He could clearly sense that the front lines had not been defeated, but rather completely overturned.

The enemy cavalry continued their advance in the darkness, without shouting, without panting, without any of the chaotic emotions that would normally arise in war.

It was as if some ghostly army, carrying the scent of deep winter, was approaching under the cover of night.

Thirty minutes later.

In just thirty minutes, his pride and joy, the more than a thousand knights stationed in the city, were completely routed from the battlefield.

Even now, Doron still can't help but repeatedly question, how dare they?
How did they manage to arrive at the city walls so quietly?
It all seemed to be deliberately obscured by some force, and the more he thought about it, the more terrified he became.

Due to the continuous defeats of his knights, Doron had no choice but to lead the remaining guards back to the castle in a sorry state, with the sound of approaching footsteps echoing behind them.

He looked back at the city one last time.

The ghosts of the far north winter are silently engulfing the entire city.

…………

The shouts of battle coming from the city were intermittent, making it impossible to tell whether they were the wails of ghosts or the roars of humans.

Old Hans huddled in his little bakery, his body stiff as if frozen.

He's old, his legs aren't good, he can't dodge fast, and he can't run.

All he could do was stuff his youngest daughter into the vat in the cellar, close the lid tightly, and then sit on it himself.

"Don't make a sound, be good... don't make a sound."

His daughter was sobbing softly inside, and he could only hold the lid with trembling hands, afraid that the noise outside would frighten her.

The words Lord Raymond had been instilling in him over the years were buzzing in his head...

The people of the North are beasts, monsters that eat children. They break down doors at night, snatch babies from their cradles, and drink their blood like wine.

He never believed it, but tonight he does.

After the last few screams outside faded away, the street fell into an almost deathly silence.

Old Hans's heart sank to the bottom.

"It's over... The demons have entered the city. I pray to the Dragon Ancestor to protect me and, when they kill me... my precious daughter, please don't make a sound."

He gripped the rolling pin tightly, trying to use this weapon to give himself some confidence.

He knew that thing couldn't possibly hurt a fully armed knight, but when people are desperate, they always cling to something useless.

"Clang."

The bakery door was pushed open.

Old Hans froze, closed his eyes and breathed, waiting for the knife to fall.

The expected harsh roars and the stomping of iron boots did not occur.

Only one young, clear voice answered: "Is anyone here, boss?"

Old Hans froze, then opened his eyes. Standing in the doorway was a female knight, her armor stained with dried blood, but not the wild, savage woman he had imagined.

She stood upright, her eyes were clear, and her breathing was steady.

The female knight scanned the shop, finally settling on him: "We need to requisition your oven."

Old Hans almost knelt down and begged for mercy on the spot: "M-Miss, I...I don't have anything valuable here..."

“We are the knights of the Crimson Tide.” The female knight walked directly to the table and put down a large bag she was carrying.

A heavy lump.

Old Hans recoiled in fright, thinking it was some kind of trophy used for intimidation.

As a result, the bag opened up, revealing fine, shiny flour.

Refined flour? He's lucky if he gets his hands on that stuff once every few years.

"Here are the ingredients and the deposit." The female knight took out five silver coins and casually placed them on the table, as if she were discussing business. "We need two hundred loaves of bread before dawn. Once they are made, you will receive the other half of the payment."

Old Hans was completely stunned. He picked up the silver coins, his hands trembling violently. This deposit was equivalent to half a year's income for him.

The knights in the city always took what they wanted and left, and if they were in a good mood, they would consider it a favor if they didn't beat the person.

These northern demons not only didn't rob us, they even gave us money?

His lips trembled several times before he finally managed to squeeze out, "You...you really are...from the North?"

The female knight nodded: "The Red Tide Legion of the North. It's chaotic outside, so don't go out tonight. We'll bring order to the area."

She said nothing more, turned and left, her cloak fluttering gently against the doorframe in the night breeze.

Old Hans stared at the bag of white flour for a long time, his throat bobbing.

"This...this is really the legendary man-eating demon?"

From the cellar came the daughter's soft knocking: "Daddy..."

Old Hans took a deep breath, opened the lid, and carried her out: "It's alright, baby."

As he looked at the flour and silver coins on the table, a crack quietly appeared in something cold inside his heart.

"Perhaps... what has come is not a demon."

…………

When the council hall of Black Iron Territory was illuminated by firelight, it no longer belonged to Earl of Dorron.

The flags on the wall were taken down and replaced with the Red Tide flag.

The air still carried the metallic smell of battle, but it was quickly covered by a hushed sense of order.

Louis sat in the main seat, still in his armor, wiping the bloodstains from his sword.

He moved unhurriedly, as if this were just an ordinary meeting room in his Red Tide main city, rather than an enemy fortress that had just been captured.

Gray stepped into the hall, his armor still bearing the scorch marks from the burning of the inner fortress.

He walked up to Louis, knelt on one knee, and whispered, "My lord, I have failed in my duty. We were a step too slow when we stormed the inner fortress... That old fox released the Gale Bird. News of the raid has probably already spread."

Louis didn't look up, only giving a soft "hmm".

Gray's forehead was beaded with sweat: "Your subordinate is willing to accept the punishment."

Before he could continue, a figure with his hands tied behind his back and blood at the corner of his mouth was dragged in by a knight; it was Earl Doron.

His armor was stripped off, and he staggered as he walked, yet he stubbornly held his head high, like an old wolf whose fangs had been cut off but who still tried to roar.

“Louis!” he hissed. “Do you know what you’re doing? This is invasion! The Grayrock Province will not let you get away with this! Duke Raymond’s army is right here…”

Louis paused for a moment as he wiped the blade.

“Relax, Gray,” Louis said without even looking up, as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. “What are you so nervous about? The Grey Rock Province is so big, we can’t keep hiding forever.”

He sheathed his sword and seemed to finally have the mood to look up at Gray: "The initial silent attrition is a quarter complete, that's enough."

Gray was stunned, realizing that Louis was deliberately grooming him.

His fighting spirit talent has a slightly lower ceiling compared to the monsters Saco and Wel.

But Louis's intelligence system once gave an extremely rare comment: "Possesses strong leadership qualities."

So before setting off, Louis called Gray over and personally pinned the adjutant's armband on his shoulder, hoping to take this opportunity to groom a successor to Lambert.

From that moment on, Gray was as tense as a bowstring, afraid of betraying that trust.

He always stood ramrod straight, taking notes of every word, order, and habit of Louis.

His own fighting spirit talent wasn't particularly outstanding, but Louis was willing to hand over the position of adjutant to him, which meant that he could embark on a completely different path.

Gray's palms were sweating, but his tone was firm: "I understand."

Hearing Louis's words, Count Doron's expression changed from anger to hesitation: "You...you said something about nibbling away...?"

Louis raised his hand and casually pointed at him: "As for him, he's too noisy. Drag him out and chop him up."

Doron stared wide-eyed as if struck by lightning: "No! I'm a nobleman! According to the rules, I'll pay the ransom! Ugh!"

The knight gagged him and dragged him away, his boots scraping the ground and leaving a trail of messy footprints.

Louis didn't even glance at him.

Noble status? Ransom? They meant nothing to the Red Tide, which was about to launch a blitzkrieg.

Deterrence is more valuable than prisoners.

Louis walked toward the larger map of the graystone province against the wall.

The candlelight flickered on the wall, casting his shadow long.

The vast gray rock territory looked like a cold iron plate in the firelight, but now, in Louis's eyes, he had divided it into hunting grounds with red lines.

Louis raised his hand, his fingertips lightly touching the edge of the map.

According to the original plan, he should first stabilize the northern border, stockpile grain, expand the army, build ports, and repair roads, allowing the Red Tide to slowly grow into a behemoth in the north of the empire.

But the intelligence system rewrote all of that.

That early morning, several messages that popped up on the screen pushed his focus directly into war: Duke Raymond was caught in the vortex of succession, and seventy percent of his main force and all of the Dragonblood Death Warriors were being mobilized to the capital.

The Limestone Province has become an empty shell, and he must consider whether this will be his only chance to possess it in his lifetime.

Moreover, if Raymond waits until he has established himself in the capital before turning back, the North will likely be his first target.

Waiting passively will only lead to death; since that's the case, we should take advantage of his weakness and kill him.

Louis's fingertip glided along the map, landing at the intersection of three thin red lines.

That was the route of the Red Tide Army's three "ghost advances".

Relying on the planning of the intelligence system, they bypassed patrols and outposts, infiltrating through side roads, forest trails, and gaps in the river network, and quietly swallowed up a quarter of the territory.

He let out a breath.

"This level of stealth is enough."

Gray realized then that the lord didn't care about being discovered; he was simply calculating the best turning point.

Louis turned around, his gaze calm and resolute.

“Now that the news has been leaked,” he said, pressing his hand against a city in the center of the map, “we’ll stop sneaking around.”

Louis removed his gloves and slowly fastened the hilt of his sword.

The candlelight reflected in his eyes, like a murderous intent stretched into thin lines: "From this moment on, we enter full-on offensive mode."

(End of this chapter)