Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Many months ago, Grand Mage Jürgen Loken suddenly lost contact.

Thus, the Supreme Mage issued an order.

Twelve Silver Masked Mages, his direct subordinates, were dispatched to the Northern Reaches to uncover the truth.

Their objective: the border of the Northern Reaches and the tribal ruins further north.

Due to the vastness of the area, the twelve of them split into four groups, each with one team, to search separately. This wasn't supposed to be a very difficult task; it was just about finding someone. At least, that's what everyone thought at first.

But reality quickly made these resolute Silver Masked Mages understand what “no leads whatsoever” truly meant.

The wind in the icy lands was cold, and the clues even colder.

Weeks flew by, but they found no ruins, no bodies, not even a trace of residual magical fluctuations.

“This place is really starting to feel like a ghost wall,” Leixier muttered, frowning at the map and casually igniting a ball of magical flame at his feet.

The three of them sat around a campfire by a small stream, pulling out their hardtack and chewing it expressionlessly.

“I’ve always said that getting into management is the true path in life,” Modi grumbled, chomping on bread so hard it could kill someone. “Being a Silver Masked Mage sounds glamorous, but what’s the difference between us and cattle? One word from an Archmage, and we have to run all the way to the Northern Reaches forest to find someone we can’t even find after a month.”

“If you want to become a Gold Masked Mage, you first have to learn to kiss ass,” Leixier shot him a glance, his tone flat.

“Then I’ll pass,” Modi retorted, giving him a sidelong look.

Fulavia said nothing, only tearing at her hardtack, as if deep in thought.

Her gaze occasionally drifted to the shadows in the forest; the wind there felt a little off.

The firelight flickered, and the interplay of snow and forest shadows created an indescribable sense of oppression. “Speaking of which, do we really need to go on? There’s not even a trace of magical residue,” Modi asked in a low voice.

Leixier didn't answer, only gazing into the depths of the forest.

“We’ve come all this way; we can’t turn back now,” he said softly. “Let’s go ask the nearby residents later.”

And as they chatted idly, the forest wind subtly changed.

What should have been merely the rustling of leaves and branches in the mountains suddenly mingled with a strange cacophony—a grinding, creaking sound, like bones scraping against each other, or rusted metal dragging across ice, dull and distorted.

“Wait,” Fulavia stopped speaking, her brow furrowing, and her gaze sharply swept behind her.

“Something’s coming.”

The next second, the tree shadows split open, and five or six figures burst out of the dark forest.

They were clad in tattered leather armor, their cloaks ragged like scraps of cloth, yet their footsteps were eerily synchronized, unnervingly fast.

Their faces were expressionless, their eyes unfocused, as if their entire countenances were filled with a certain deathly stillness.

Dark purple totems appeared on their chests like birthmarks, pulsating as if alive, like hearts beating outside their skin, emitting a rhythmic “thump, thump.”

Most terrifyingly, their muscles didn't contract but writhed, like masses of leeches rolling beneath their skin.

Translucent silken threads constantly crawled from the corners of their eyes and mouths; some could even see the worm-like bodies writhing beneath their skin, as if a nightmare had burrowed into their bones.

“These aren’t people,” Fulavia’s voice was barely audible. “No heartbeat—like empty shells, controlled by worms to walk.”

Leixier’s brows were tightly furrowed; he silently donned his silver mask, and fiery magical runes appeared on his palm.

Modi had already stood up, ready for battle: “Never mind what they are, just make them stop.”

“Armor Manifestation Spell: Stone-Skin!”

With a low roar, gray patterns rapidly climbed over his entire body, and he rose like a stone soldier. The next moment, the ground beneath his feet exploded, and he shot forward like an arrow from a bow!

“Haaah—!!”

A powerful punch sent a Worm Soldier flying, crashing through two trees before slamming into the ground.

But with a “clack-clack-clack,”

The Worm Soldier made a strange sound, like teeth grinding, and flipped out of the crater. With a sharp crack, its neck rotated 180 degrees, its eyes directly facing Modi, and it actually swung its sword horizontally!

“Holy crap!”

Modi raised his arm to block, the blade striking sparks against his stone-hard arm, and the recoil made him slide back half a step.

This wasn’t the strength of a puppet; this was real combat power that could kill.

“Prepare for crowd control!” Leixier barked, flicking his right hand.

“Fireball: Chain!”

Three Fireballs flew out, hitting three Worm Soldiers and exploding into towering flames!

As the fire waves swept over them, the Worm Soldiers tumbled to the ground like charred corpses.

But the next second, several of them rose from the flames, their axes still clutched tightly in their hands, their bodies charred but rushing forward without any sign of pain.

“They can charge even while crawling!?” Leixier gritted his teeth in a low voice.

One Worm Soldier’s lower body had been blown off, yet it crawled with its arms like a snail, its speed surprisingly not much slower than a normal person’s.

Silken threads danced from the corners of its mouth, carrying a nauseating, eerie grin as it lunged at Fulavia.

“That’s disgusting,” Fulavia muttered a spell while dodging.

“Swift Blessing: Heavy Ward, Modi!”

Magical light swirled, and Modi’s entire body accelerated again, instantly flanking the Worm Soldier. A downward chop-punch slammed it into the ground, the sound of shattering bones accompanied by the squelching pop of bursting worm sacs.

A faint, acrid smell of worm pulp wafted through the air.

“Leixier, there are two more behind us!” Fulavia shouted a warning.

“Got it,” he responded in a deep voice, unleashing spells with his left hand.

“Fireball!”

Another wave of fire roared out, its scorching impact illuminating the dark shadows in the forest.

But the Worm Soldiers had no instinct to dodge whatsoever; they weren’t “fighting”—they were “executing orders.”

Even with severed limbs, melted eyeballs, or half their bodies gone, they still instinctively bit, slashed, and closed in.

They felt no pain, no fear of death; in fact, they didn’t even operate within the concept of “death.”

Like walking corpses, yet fiercer, faster, and stronger than any corpse.

The true horror wasn't that they lacked consciousness.

It was that they retained a warrior’s combat instincts, yet were completely unbound by “death.”

Although the Worm Soldiers were unnaturally tough, the three Mages were not novices. To become Silver Masked Mages meant they were already elites among Mages.

Numerous life-and-death missions had etched experience, skill, and reflexes into their very flesh and blood.

Even facing these monsters, they advanced cautiously, step by step, fighting steadily.

Modi charged head-on, drawing the frontal fire, his heavy fist-blades constantly smashing enemy bodies.

Leixier precisely controlled his fire, exploding spells every three seconds, never wasting a single wisp of magic. Fulavia calmly chanted spells, continuously adding shields and ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) speed buffs to the other two.

Their coordination was almost perfect. They fought and retreated, heading towards a small gully to the south, attempting to use the terrain to break free from the entanglement.

But accidents often arrive silently amidst the most familiar rhythms.

“Swift Incantation—Third Stage Activate!” Fulavia was chanting in a low voice.

Just then, a Worm Soldier suddenly lunged, pressing close, face-to-face, without any warning!

“Fura!” Leixier exclaimed.

The next second, the Worm Soldier’s chest violently burst open.

“Pop!!”

With a sickening, terrifying rupture, an entire worm sac exploded into pulp, releasing corrosive green-black liquid,

accompanied by countless translucent, tiny worms that sprayed out like falling raindrops!

“Ahhhhhh!!”

Fulavia couldn’t dodge and was covered head-on, screaming as she fell to the ground!

Her clothes instantly melted into countless holes by the corrosive fluid, sizzling sounds filling the air. Large, red, swollen blisters appeared on her shoulders, neck, and arms, her skin burned into patches of ghastly white and red!

Even more terrifying was what came next!

Those sprayed-out worms “drilled” inside!

Several translucent, leech-like worms writhed, sliding into her body through her ear canals, nostrils, and even her throat!

“Cough, cough, cough—!!!”

She coughed violently, her body convulsing, her consciousness seemingly instantly scrambled.

Fulavia suddenly rolled over, her fingernails digging desperately into the earth, spitting out a few drops of blood-tinged mucus, her eyes already starting to glaze over.

She could feel something “gnawing” at her brain, her bone marrow, even her soul.

Modi roared, swinging his sword, striking down the incoming worm-shadows one by one, almost sprinting back to the cover behind the ruins.

“Fulavia?!”

The girl’s body was curled on the ground, convulsing uncontrollably as if scorched by flames, her skin flushed red like boiling water.

“Damn it, what did you get hit by?!”

He rushed forward, scooping her up, but suddenly froze.

The trembling stopped.

She was terrifyingly quiet, as if her soul had been drained.

“Fura—hold on—!”

He instinctively tried to retreat, but before he could steady himself, the girl in his arms suddenly moved.

No, she stood up.

She slowly straightened her body, her movements as mechanical as a puppet controlled by strings.

On that familiar face, there was no longer any warmth or vitality, only a deathly stillness.

“Fulavia—?”

Modi stared at her blankly.

Her eyes now glowed with an eerie purple light, like a ghost emerging from the abyss.

And the magical fluctuations gathering at her fingertips were, without a doubt, Fulavia’s magic.

But it was extremely chaotic, horribly distorted.

“You’re still in there, right, Fura! If you can hear me, then—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Fulavia suddenly raised her hand.

Without a hint of hesitation, a purple glow instantly shot through the air.

Modi’s pupils contracted sharply.

The spell pierced his chest.

His body jolted, hot blood gushed from his mouth, his gaze still fixed on the empty expression on her face.

“So you’ve already—”

He could no longer stand, falling heavily, losing all signs of life.

Fulavia remained standing perfectly straight, like a walking corpse puppet, purple light slowly emanating from her palm, like a silent, malevolent flower blooming in the cold night.

Leixier froze in place, watching Modi fall, watching that figure who had once fought alongside him now twisted into some grotesque vessel.

“No, it’s impossible—”

His heart felt as if it had been pierced by a blade; for a moment, he even forgot to breathe.

Fulavia slowly walked towards him, her steps heavy, yet extremely steady.

Her eyes still glowed with that eerie purple light.

Without emotion, only command.

Behind her, five or six Worm Soldiers also quietly approached, their forms distorted, their faces blank, like extended limbs of a single will.

“Collective Consciousness!”

A terrifying term Leixier had once read in a secret tome.

They were forming some kind of resonance, a fusion on the spiritual level.

He gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, forcibly suppressed the grief and fear in his heart, and violently swung his staff.

“—Wind Repulsion—Blaze Burst!”

Wild wind and fierce flames intertwined, sweeping forward, creating a scorching wall of fire that temporarily forced back the approaching Worm Soldiers, buying him a brief moment to breathe.

However, his actions were ultimately a step too slow.

—!!

A slimy, foul-smelling hiss struck, hitting his left shoulder hard.

His armor instantly corroded and collapsed, acid burning into his flesh along the seams, and the next instant, several finger-length worms writhed and burrowed into his wound!

“Ugh, ahhh!!”

Excruciating pain exploded in his mind like thunder. Leixier stumbled back, his face instantly pale.

He could feel those worms frantically moving inside him, as if searching for gaps between nerves and meridians—they wanted to control him! They wanted to corrupt him!

“I can’t fall yet!!”

He roared, biting his tongue, and with his last shred of clarity, forcibly gathered his magic, setting up a temporary barrier to seal his meridians.

Even if it backfired, even if it drove him mad with pain, he absolutely could not become the next puppet!

“Teleportation!”

Blinding light swallowed his figure, and the next second, Leixier appeared dozens of meters away, collapsing heavily to the ground. The wound on his shoulder tore open, splashing a deep crimson.

He struggled to his feet, crawled a few steps, and finally stumbled into a crack in a mountain wall, scrambling into a rock cave hidden behind vines.

Deep inside the cave, it was dark and damp, the stone walls covered in moss and blotches, the air filled with a damp, musty smell, as if no one had set foot there for many years.

The wind outside was sealed away, leaving only his heavy breaths echoing in the silent space.

Leixier leaned against the rough rock wall, covered in blood, even his trembling incomplete.

His body temperature fluctuated wildly, his skin a strange pallor, only his eyes still holding a faint, unwilling glimmer.

Gritting his teeth, he maintained the barrier, the faint magic temporarily forcing back the worms that had invaded his body.

But that was merely a stopgap measure; the longer he delayed, the heavier the price.

“Ha—ha ahh—”

Leixier’s breathing was already mixed with blood foam, the crimson spilling from the corner of his mouth like withered petals scattered among the broken stones.

The veins on his forehead bulged like snakes, the magic within him surged like a tide, over seventy percent already used to seal meridians and suppress corrosion.

He had only the last thirty percent of his magic left, barely maintaining consciousness.

But the moment he tried the beacon spell, it collapsed into a cluster of faint light.

“Still—no good.”

Leixier’s hand dropped, as if all strength had been drained from him, sliding weakly onto the rocky ground beside him.

Time seemed frozen. Every single second dragged him closer to the edge of death.

One day and one night.

No water, no food, no light.

Only the “worms” relentlessly gnawing inside him, and a will almost shattered by torment.

Leixier had once thought he would die on the battlefield, at the glorious end of some campaign.

He never imagined he would rot quietly in this dark cave, like a discarded rag doll.

The dawn of the second day had not yet arrived.

The worms, finally, fell silent.

Perhaps they were suppressed to their limit, perhaps their instincts receded, or perhaps they merely slept.

He finally managed to catch his breath, his taut nerves suddenly collapsing like broken strings.

His entire being felt emptied of all flesh and strength, slowly sliding to the ground, his vision turning black.

“Is this the end—?”

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as if in self-mockery, or perhaps resignation.

Just before his consciousness completely sank into darkness,

He heard a voice: “Are you alright?”