Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 424 Raymond's Choice
In the dead of winter, freezing rain fell relentlessly in the Limestone Province.

Rain mixed with nascent wet snow fell layer by layer from the low-hanging gray clouds, turning the road at the edge of the misty swamp into a pot of cold, muddy mess.

The grayish-white fog reduced visibility to an extremely low level, swallowing up the light of torches a little further away, leaving only a blurry shadow swaying in the wind.

The marching column stretched out in a very long line.

The heavy wheels sank into the mud again and again, followed by suppressed curses.

The wounded soldier was placed in the middle of the column, wrapped in a soaked cloak, leaning against the edge of the carriage, his breathing filled with obvious pain.

Occasionally, a sharp, short whistling sound would come from afar, tearing through the fog before quickly disappearing.

That was the sound of a magic explosive bomb slicing through the air.

Each such howl would take away several knights.

Every time it appeared, it made the entire team involuntarily tense up.

Raymond's army had long lost its elite status.

The knights' armor was covered in mud and water, and their faces were pale and tired.

The queue was still there, but few dared to look up and face the line.

More attention was instinctively drawn to the reed beds and deep woodlands on both sides of the road, as if something unseen might burst out of the fog at any moment.

Duke Raymond stood on the command vehicle, his brow furrowed. The harsh weather and the occasional appearance of the Red Tide Knights had left him mentally exhausted.

The view from above did not bring him much peace of mind.

As he scanned the deliberately slowed-down section of the road ahead with his binoculars, he quickly realized that if things continued this way, they would only be gradually eroded.

“We can’t drag this out any longer.” He put down his binoculars, beckoned to an adjutant, and explained his carefully planned scheme.

The bait was quickly set up.

More than a dozen supply wagons loaded with grain and fodder were deliberately positioned at a road corner, and their axles broke in full view of everyone, forcing the convoy to a standstill.

There were only a few dozen exhausted-looking knights escorting them, and the defense was so loose that it was almost perfunctory.

Beneath the mud on both sides of the road, hundreds of elite knights clad in heavy armor had already crouched down.

Forced to abandon their horses, they lay in ambush as heavy infantry in the icy mud, their armor soaked in cold water, the weight pressing down on their bodies, making each breath slow and difficult.

Duke Raymond stared at the grain wagon: "Come on, Louis."

His voice carried a hint of gritted teeth.

Soon, the sound of horses' hooves could be heard through the mist.

Raymond leaned forward slightly, his hand already on the hilt of his sword.

However, the sound of horses' hooves did not approach the decoy vehicle.

It swept past the woodland on the flank at great speed, without even changing direction.

The grain carts were completely ignored.

Raymond's pupils contracted sharply.

At almost the same time, he realized the other party's true goal.

It was a low-lying area located to the right rear of the army, seemingly safe and far from the main road.

The Black Eagles scouts' tents were stationed there, and they were responsible for providing intelligence and early warning to the entire army.

The sound of horses' hooves stopped there.

Lambert led his knight to a concealed spot 700 meters away and pulled on the reins, not daring to approach any closer.

They did not draw their swords.

Instead, he took out a silver sphere from his pouch; this was the seventh-generation portable magic explosive bomb.

Portable magic bombs engraved with dangerous runes were quickly loaded into makeshift alchemical grenade launchers.

Without orders, these knights were extremely skilled.

Dozens of spheres were launched simultaneously, tracing elegant parabolic arcs through the mist before landing precisely in the scout camp's tent area.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!..."

The next instant, a dark blue alchemical flame suddenly erupted.

The shockwave spread across the low-lying area, engulfing tents, stakes, and scouts who hadn't had time to put on their armor.

The air was forcibly stirred by magic, and violent shockwaves swept up mud, water, and severed limbs, slamming them violently in all directions.

The screams lasted only a very brief moment before being completely erased by the aftershocks of the explosion.

The knight who threw those magic bombs had vanished without a trace with the sound of the explosions.

Raymond stood there, watching helplessly as the low-lying area turned into a rolling sea of ​​fire.

The decoy vehicle remained parked at the corner, unharmed.

Meanwhile, the two hundred heavily armored knights who were lying in ambush in the mud remained in place.

Prolonged periods of stillness allow cold water to seep into the joints.

Before any orders were given, some of them began to tremble uncontrollably and even lost consciousness.

All of this is absurd to the point of being cruel.

The adjutant almost stumbled as he ran to the command vehicle.

His face was covered in mud and blood, and his voice trembled with cold and fear.

"Your Grace... the Black Eagles are all gone."

He took a deep breath, as if gathering all his courage, before continuing:

"An urgent report just came from the vanguard battalion: the pontoon bridge was blown up while they were crossing, and an entire company of heavy cavalry... fell into the swamp."

Raymond did not speak.

The adjutant lowered his head, his voice almost cracking.

"This is the thirtieth attack. Five days... only five days. We haven't even seen the boundary markers of the Gray Rock Province yet, and we've already lost a third of our military strength."

The area around the command vehicle was deathly silent.

Raymond slowly unfolded the marching map.

At this moment, he finally understood.

Every arrangement he made, every thought he had, and even every seemingly safe corner seemed to be seen through in advance by some invisible gaze.

“He knows…” Raymond murmured, “He knows everything… No wonder…”

In this cold and unfamiliar wasteland, Raymond suddenly had an unprecedented illusion.

It felt as if I had been stripped of all my armor and clothing, standing naked in a brightly lit open space.

And deep within the fog, Louis stood there.

…………

What the outside world saw was only the fall of Grayrock Fortress and the repeated setbacks suffered by Raymond's army in the Misty Swamp.

But what truly sustained this war was the Red Tide Army's internal intelligence network, which Louis never made public.

The battle of Grayrock Fortress was not won easily.

The blitzkrieg's pace was pushed to the limit, and the knights were fighting continuously, rapidly depleting their mental and physical strength.

Steam-powered tanks were forced to operate at high intensity in torrential rain and cold waves, and the terrain and low temperatures forced nearly half of the tanks to break down for maintenance.

Moreover, with the supply lines extended and maintenance teams working day and night, the entire legion still appears intact, but it is already approaching its capacity limit.

If Raymond had chosen to launch a direct, all-out attack at this point, the outcome would have been a foregone conclusion.

The Red Tide Army could still win, but it would be a defeat that wouldn't be worthwhile.

A head-on collision means a war of attrition.

It means exchanging knights, chariots, and time for an army that has lost its strategic value.

Even if Raymond is eventually completely defeated, the Red Tide Army will not gain more resources, population or territory; it will only overdraw its strength in the most unsuitable season.

Louis did not accept this victory.

In his opinion, the real risk was never whether Raymond could play, but whether it was worth playing.

Therefore, this battle line was never designed for annihilation from the beginning.

[Daily Intelligence] is constantly being updated.

The marching route, logistical nodes, scout deployment, and even the psychological changes of the high command of the Raymond Legion were all broken down into calm and specific pieces of information.

Louis doesn't need to completely control the other party, only some key moments. When will Raymond realize that this path is no longer viable?

Before Lambert went to war, Louis told him three words: "Bite him hard."

Louis didn't want a decisive battle; he wanted an illusion.

He needed to make Raymond feel that what lay ahead was not a path he could force his way through, but a meat grinder that had already begun to run.

With every step forward, I lose blood, yet there seems to be no end in sight.

Thus, the Red Tide Army's actions were deliberately controlled within a vague boundary.

The guerrillas only target vital points and never linger.

Attacks always occur in the places Raymond least wants to lose: scout and logistical nodes.

Each precise strike was enough to make any veteran think twice.

Our own movements have been completely exposed; there is a traitor on our side.

Ahead might lie an even larger force, well-preserved heavy artillery positions, or even a decisive battlefield already set up, just waiting for one to step into it.

This pressure will increase with each attack.

The ideal outcome would be if Raymond were to be worn down in the process, and the entire army were to disintegrate under constant harassment.

If not, then at least we should drive him away.

Let him figure out the cost himself.

Continuing forward will only send a wavering army crashing into an invisible wall.

Going back would at least preserve the nominal integrity.

This is the option that Louis truly prepared for Raymond.

It's not about winning or losing, but about making choices.

On this invisible front, the Red Tide Army has never tried to hide its purpose.

…………

Inside the central command tent, the air seemed to freeze.

The charcoal fire in the brazier was burning brightly, but it couldn't dispel the chill that pressed down on Duke Raymond's chest.

The generals stood in the tent, no one spoke, even the faint sound of armor rubbing together was deliberately suppressed, leaving only the occasional crackling of the oil lamp burning.

Raymond was still standing when the first urgent report was delivered.

The messenger knelt on the ground, his voice hoarse.

Grayrock Fortress fell, and Kyle was killed in battle.

Raymond's fingers trembled slightly.

It's a dull pain, like having your flesh and blood ripped out.

Grey Rock Fortress is more than just a city.

There is his family cemetery, his bloodline memories, and the traces he left behind from his childhood to the present day.

His relatives, his former soldiers, and those he considered his backup plan were all now under Louis's control.

More importantly, the underground laboratory was completely destroyed, and the storehouses, ledgers, alchemical data, and the family's secrets and wealth accumulated over three hundred years all fell into Louis's hands.

But this was only the beginning of a nightmare.

The second intelligence report was practically slammed onto the desk by Duke Raymond.

In the southwest, the Emerald Federation completed its mobilization, and a large number of mercenaries crossed the border to attack the southwestern province.

At the same time, unusual activity occurred on the border of the Holy Eastern Empire, with the Fifth Prince's banner and the Holy See's emblem being raised simultaneously.

The stench of chaos has finally been completely torn away from its facade.

Raymond did not look up.

His gaze fell on the map, on the provincial borders that should have been under his control.

They are being held down, separated, and pulled by unfamiliar fingers.

Then came the third intelligence report.

The spy practically crawled into the tent, his wounds still bleeding.

Secret order from the capital.

His Majesty the Emperor, the puppet who was personally placed on the throne by Raymond, has ordered the transfer of Raymond's elite garrison troops left around the capital to the southwestern front in order to break free from his control.

Nominally, it's to support the empire; in reality, it's to fill the gaps.

Use Raymond's last knight to fill the gaps left by the Emerald Federation's attack.

Upon hearing this information, Raymond slowly closed his eyes; he understood everything.

This was a complete case of using someone else to do the dirty work.

The so-called new emperor wanted to be dragged to his death by Louis at Grayrock, to have his stronghold emptied, and to have his knights stationed in the capital exhausted in the meat grinder of foreign enemies.

Even if he were to miraculously survive and return to the capital, it would already be under a different master.

His family, his bloodline, his escape route... none of them remained.

"You ungrateful little brat!"

Raymond opened his eyes abruptly, his anger finally spiraling out of control, a sound like a wounded beast squeezing from the depths of its throat.

He grabbed the mailbox from the table.

That was a letter tube that had already been sealed with wax and was originally intended to be tied to the leg of the Gale Bird.

Once launched, the order to enter the limestone area will spread throughout the army in the shortest possible time.

He could still turn back and fight Louis to the death, regardless of the cost.

"Crack." The mailbox was crushed in his hand.

The metal edge cut his palm, and blood dripped from between his fingers onto the map, staining the location of Gray Rock Fortress red.

That was where he was born, and it was also the biggest failure of his life.

Raymond stared intently at that spot, his eyes bloodshot, almost as if they were about to bleed.

“Louis…” his voice was terrifyingly low, “you viper.”

He calculated the season, the terrain, his thoughts, and even the betrayal of that foolish prince.

They forced him to choose between the two options.

No one in the tent dared to utter a sound.

Raymond's chest heaved violently several times as he forced his breathing to become steady.

Reason seemed to be being pulled out bit by bit from torn flesh.

If he goes back to Grayrock now, what will he get?
A deserted city ravaged by looting, a ravaged army worn down by winter and ambushes, and a deadly predicament looming from both the capital and the southwest.

That wasn't revenge, that was suicide.

Raymond raised his hand and drew his sword.

With a flash of cold light, a corner of the table was chopped off and fell to the ground.

"Give the order," his voice was hoarse but exceptionally clear, "the entire army turns around."

The generals looked up abruptly.

"Your Grace!" someone cried out, "That's our home..."

Raymond didn't look at him: "The home is gone."

When he said those words, his tone was frighteningly calm.

“Going back now will only mean losing our lives.” He pressed his bloodied hand to the center of the map. “Let’s go back to the capital.”

Raymond's gaze lingered on the map for a moment.

It wasn't looking at the capital, but rather past the bloodstains on the fingertips, falling once again towards the area to the north that had already been stained red.

He said nothing more.

But in that brief silence, a thought was firmly nailed to the bottom of his heart.

He will definitely come back.

(End of this chapter)