Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Ian huddled in the narrow isolation room.

The space was small, barely accommodating a few worn-out straw mats and one or two stiff blankets.

The air here was a mix of dampness and decay, as if permeated with the stench of death.

It was dim all around.

Suppressed sounds constantly reached his ears.

Some coughed, some groaned, some wept softly.

There were also those who raved, muttering names that didn't exist, or repeating strange dreams to themselves.

This was already the late stage of the illness; Ian guessed the person might not live much longer.

Ian wrapped his tattered blanket tightly around himself, shivering.

Although the air was hot and humid, he felt as if he were lying naked in ice and snow, every inch of his skin numb with cold.

His head throbbed violently, like a piece of paper slowly being torn to shreds.

Even moving a finger became a luxury.

Ian knew he didn't have an ordinary illness; this was the Snow Spirit Curse.

This was a long-standing nightmare in the Northern Territory, a tide of death that inevitably swept through every decade or so.

Ian closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, but it was too cold.

Every breath felt like inhaling shards of ice.

His blood seemed to stop flowing, and even his heart felt sluggish, as if frozen.

Suddenly, in the blurry darkness before his eyes, he saw Eileen.

This was his wife.

Her familiar and gentle smile stood at the door of the isolation room, gently beckoning him.

"Ian—" she called him.

Her voice was ethereal like a dream, yet carried a heartbreaking reality.

Ian's eyes welled up, and he almost wanted to struggle and crawl over.

But reason held him back firmly.

No, this wasn't real.

All of this was an illusion from the Snow Spirit Curse.

Just yesterday, in the adjacent isolation area, someone else had seen similar specters of deceased relatives, and then died the next day.

Ian gritted his teeth, digging his fingernails into his palm, trying to pull himself back to reality with the pain.

But his body was too weak; even the pain became dull.

Suffering, like a hand, slowly but mercilessly gripped his neck.

He was afraid, but not of death.

It was because he might never see Mia again.

His daughter.

That tiny figure chasing withered leaves in the autumn wind.

That little girl grinning by the bonfire.

That child who once cried from hunger, but now could finally sleep peacefully.

Mia was still so young.

And life had only just begun to get better.

Days ago, they even had a small house just for the father and daughter.

Mia could sleep soundly there, no longer waking up in the middle of the night.

Although the work was hard, as long as they worked diligently, they could earn work points to exchange for food and clothing.

Most importantly, Mia had also made friends, a few other children who had also been rescued; they always chased and played in the center of the camp.

At that time, Ian always stood in the distance, watching quietly.

Watching that long-lost smile, a feeling so warm it almost melted welled up in his heart.

It was as if—he could finally believe that the future would indeed slowly get better.

But now.

This damned infectious disease, like a merciless lightning bolt, shattered everything.

If he died like this, what would Mia do?

And would she, like him, be swallowed by this epidemic?

Ian's breathing grew faint, and a strong wave of dizziness surged over him, as if his entire being was being pulled into a cold abyss.

He was slowly, little by little, being consumed by cold and despair.

Outside the isolation room, the night was so thick it seemed to solidify.

The spread of White Slumber Fever was terrifyingly fast.

Almost everyone in every corner showed symptoms.

The isolation zone where Ian was located was completely sealed off.

Doctors and soldiers carried out Lord Louis's orders one by one, without any leniency, without any hesitation.

Everyone understood that the situation had become irreversible.

According to the order, everyone must wear protective gear and drink boiled water regularly every day to reduce virus transmission.

Infected people were isolated in batches, and every household put up canvas and wooden doors, effectively dividing the camp into isolated islands.

Even so, the effect was still minimal.

Everyone knew in their hearts.

The speed of this epidemic's spread was like an out-of-control flood, so fast that people barely had a chance to struggle.

All efforts, all defenses, were like withered branches in the wind, so fragile and powerless.

The situation was collapsing little by little.

Therefore, fear and despair, like a thick fog, silently seeped into every inch of air in the camp.

Just in this boundless despair, suddenly, outside the isolation zone, there was a rapid sound of horse hooves!

Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop!

A knight, covered in wind and snow, galloped in, his face flushed, shouting loudly: "Lord Louis has caught the Fireback Turtle! It's on its way! Is the steam room ready?!"

At that instant, everyone froze.

The logistics official's eyes instantly turned red, and he nodded sharply as if grasping a life-saving straw, his voice trembling as he shouted back: "It's ready!!"

The next morning.

A dozen knights, riding horses and pulling heavy cold iron cages, finally transported several huge Fireback Turtles.

Those Fireback Turtles had heavy shells, with dark red energy blocks growing on their backs, which were the key to saving lives.

But at this moment, due to the tranquilizer, all the turtles were unconscious.

Someone shouted out: "The Fireback Turtle is here!! There's hope!!"

The entire isolation zone erupted in cheers.

The long-suppressed sorrow and despair were shattered as if by a spring thunderclap.

Everyone thanked the great Lord Louis, embracing and weeping.

The dark days finally ushered in the first glimmer of dawn.

The Fireback Turtles were carefully transported into the renovated steam room.

However, °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° they remained motionless, and people were at a loss, having no idea how to wake them up.

Knight Mario stepped out of the crowd.

He remembered the task Lord Louis had given him: the Fireback Turtles needed to be "activated."

Mario took a deep breath, and his battle qi surged through his body, filling him completely.

Then he stomped fiercely on the shell of one of the Fireback Turtles.

"Thump!!" A muffled sound.

The unconscious Fireback Turtle jolted violently, and the energy blocks on its back instantly lit up with a crimson glow.

Immediately after, "Hiss—!!"

They all woke up, arching their shells and spewing out scorching white steam.

Rolling high temperatures quickly filled the entire steam room, dispelling the cold and deathly aura.

The doctors quickly sprang into action.

They shouted commands while carrying the most critically ill patients into the steam-filled room.

The warm, humid air enveloped every inch of cold skin, as if snatching people back from the hands of death.

Patients were brought into this warm space one after another, their tightly furrowed brows finally relaxing slightly.

The shadow of death was pushed back by the heat wave of the steam at this moment.