Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Of course, Duke Edmund didn't fully believe it at first.

He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly to scrutinize Eduardo, his gaze as sharp as a blade.

His voice was calm and low: "You said there were over a dozen seeds. This means this isn't the only Mother Nest."

The air seemed to freeze in that moment.

"Yes." Eduardo didn't flinch. His answer was crisp and direct, though a hint of exhaustion from the divine backlash flickered in his eyes. "Those insect eggs didn't appear by chance; they were deliberately planted—"

A fleeting flicker of suspicion crossed Edmund's eyes.

Are you lying?

He was one of the most powerful men in the Empire, the Lord of the Northern Territory, accustomed to lies and betrayal on both the battlefield and in politics.

The more tense the moment, the less one could easily believe a sudden "truth" that emerged.

But he immediately realized a point: this kid had no reason to lie.

Eduardo was a descendant of the Calvin Family, Louis's half-brother, and the Calvin Family had just formed a marriage alliance with him.

Speaking like this now would not only bring no benefit but could very likely make him wary of their alliance.

If this was a setup, what could it possibly frame him for?

"Duke," Louis saw his hesitation and poured oil on the fire, "I just remembered something. You once said that the insect plague three years ago was also incredibly rampant, but the insect corpses back then weren't organized and disciplined like they are now."

He paused, then continued, "And now, these insect corpses are not only vast in number, but they have a clear 'nest,' with signs of sacrifice, organization, and unified action. Duke, do you think it's possible that the same Mother Nest grew for three years? Or rather—"

"It's a completely different 'Mother Nest,'" Edmund interjected, his voice deep. "Otherwise, the change in behavior cannot be explained."

He closed his eyes, his thoughts churning. He began to ponder: if this were true, it would mean that there were at least two, or even more, undiscovered Mother Nests in the Northern Territory.

What kind of disaster would ensue if these Mother Nests erupted simultaneously?

The Snowsworn rebellion was merely swords and blades, but this was decay and despair.

"If there truly are over a dozen—" He opened his eyes, and in that instant, his gaze held a hint of suppressed fear. "The Northern Territory will cease to exist."

The wind grew colder, and grayness and putridity swirled in the air.

Duke Edmund stood in the wind, which carried the remnants of the decaying Mother Nest past his shoulders, like some invisible omen.

His gaze was deep, his thoughts racing, like a cold machine forged for war, beginning to weigh, plan, and respond.

"A special operations unit must be formed." This thought first materialized in his mind.

It had to be an absolutely mobile, absolutely loyal squad, with the mission of eradicating anomalies.

A special force that could traverse the Northern Territory's dark forests and swamps, penetrate dangerous areas, and execute the most secret and dangerous missions.

Vik Grantham, Northern Territory Quick Blade.

It was he who, this time, led a team of thirty Elite Knights deep into the dense fog of the Corrupted Forest and found traces of the Mother Nest.

If Vik were still alive, he would undoubtedly be the most suitable person to handle what was to come.

It was just a pity.

And now, he didn't have any talent in this area, so he could only seek help from the Imperial Divine Blood Pool.

Moreover, it had to be reported upwards. He looked up at the distant, dim sky, as if the Imperial Capital's cloud-shrouded throne was vaguely in sight.

Both the Emperor himself and the Imperial Council must be informed of this matter.

Even if it attracted too much attention, it was a true disaster compared to information being delayed and the truth being concealed. Then there were the local nobles of the Northern Territory, each controlling crucial military forces and resources. If they were not informed in advance,

Once multiple Mother Nests erupted simultaneously, they might not even have time to react.

He had originally intended to recuperate this year, but the current situation required them to act quickly and enter a wartime state.

While Duke Edmund's expression was grave and he quickly outlined the Imperial-level response strategy, Louis remained quietly by his side, also thinking about what to do next.

It wasn't grand or pretentious.

His thoughts weren't as grand as the Duke's; they focused only on the Red Tide Territory before him and his six subordinate territories.

Or expanding to the entire Snowpeak County, anything beyond that was outside his sphere of influence.

Moreover, he wouldn't hope for others to save his land, nor would he entrust the Red Tide Territory, those six sub-territories he built brick by brick, to the promises of others.

The battlefield's scorched earth had not yet cooled, but the memory of the Mother Nest's core was cruelly and clearly etched in his mind:

Burning, explosion, insect tide paralysis. The prophecy mentioned: "The evil cultivated by the Snowsworn is stirring."

Now, it seemed, it was almost certainly referring to this swarm of insect corpses and Mother Nests hatched from the abyss.

What did this mean?

It was simple: all subsequent preparations had to revolve around the Mother Nest.

He quickly listed several key pieces of information in his mind:

The Mother Nest fears high temperatures and flames.

After being breached, all insect corpses will be paralyzed.

It can release mental disturbances and has a defensive mechanism of ascending tentacles.

The Red Tide Territory's only effective weapon currently is the Red Amber Magic Bomb, ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ with limited stock.

This was far from enough.

"We need to accelerate the research of new weapons," Louis murmured, his voice as sharp as cold iron. "Not just Red Amber Bombs, but also flame-throwing devices capable of penetrating the Mother Nest's tissue structure, distributed explosive guidance, and even a complete restructuring of Knight tactics."

Moreover, this Mother Nest was not a complete entity; it was an experimental subject.

Then the true Mother Nest might be several, ten, or even a hundred times stronger than this one.

As for intelligence on the Mother Nest, he had no starting point; the entity known as the "Witch of Despair" was simply too mysterious.

He could only hope that the Daily Intelligence System would push more relevant information, or that the Duke's side could investigate something quickly.

These were all matters for the future.

Strategy, weapons, enemies, insect nests—all had to be put aside for now.

Right now, there was something more important than all of that: going home.

He had to go back and reassure those who were worried about him.

Louis stood at the edge of the battlefield, looking in the direction where the gray dust had dispersed, and instructed a few trusted retainers to stay behind and handle the aftermath.

"Remember to seal off that area. Don't touch the Mother Nest residue carelessly."

"All insect corpses are to be incinerated uniformly. Don't leave any hidden dangers."

He didn't say much, but every instruction hit the key points.

So, the group embarked on their journey home, the vast procession like a long steel serpent, slowly returning to Red Tide City.

By the time he reached the city gate, the sky had darkened by three points.

And she, as expected, was already waiting there.

Emily, lightly dressed, stood under the porch, her hands clasped together, her eyes filled with anxiety, caution, and emotions she could barely suppress.

As soon as she saw that familiar black cloak emerge from the crowd, she rushed forward like an arrow released from a bow, embracing him without regard for the setting.

"You, you're finally back—I—"

Her voice was a little choked, her nose rubbing against the shoulder plate on his chest, as if to confirm that he was still alive, that he was standing before her, whole and unharmed.

Louis hadn't expected her to react so strongly. He froze for half a second before raising his hand and gently stroking her head: "I'm back."

Madam Elena was standing under the porch nearby, covering her mouth, secretly smiling.

"Oh, this isn't like our Emily. Isn't she usually the most dignified?"

"Mother!" Emily suddenly looked up, her face instantly turning crimson.

Louis found her flustered appearance a bit amusing but still said softly, "I'm tired. I'll go back to my room and rest first."

This was originally just a simple truth, but for some reason, as soon as it left his mouth, the air suddenly became a little subtle.

Emily's face flushed even more, almost from her neck to the tips of her ears, and she stammered softly in response: "Then, then I—I'll accompany you—"

Before she finished speaking, she realized how strange that sentence sounded and quickly lowered her head, not daring to look at anyone.

Louis, however, showed no reaction, maintaining his calm demeanor, walking into the house as if nothing had happened.

Only as he passed by Elena, she winked and whispered into Emily's ear: "Hmm—it seems I'm going to have a little grandson?"

Emily: "Mother!!!"

Louis: "?"

Flesh was dripping.

No, the walls were breathing.

It wasn't a stone cage, but a space that seemed to come from within some massive living organism.

The four walls writhed, damp and sticky, as if countless limbs and internal organs were intertwined and stacked to form an arch, while the floor was covered with wrinkled, red-black tissue like rotten tongue moss. With every step, a "gurgling" pulsation responded.

In the center of this living hall—he sat on a throne made of vertebrae and nerves.

The Witch of Despair.

Stunningly long legs crossed, skin as pale as bone china, draped in a blood-red gown as tattered as a spiderweb.

Her features seemed sculpted by a god, so exquisite that one dared not look directly.

Yet, her eyes were lifeless, like glass marbles floating in putrid water, devoid of all human warmth.

When he spoke, it was not a woman's voice, but a deep, soft, almost gentle male voice.

Like a lover's whisper, yet with a nauseatingly distorted cadence.

"—Oh, bad news."

He had already sensed that the insect nest had been destroyed.

"It was still discovered—tsk tsk tsk."

His brow furrowed slightly, as if annoyed, but it only lasted for an instant.

The next moment, she chuckled, the curve of her lips so beautiful it was almost harmless: "Well, it doesn't matter."

The flesh walls vibrated with her laughter, as if in resonance.

"That was just an experiment that was supposed to fail anyway. A half-finished product blown up like that, tsk, what a barbaric way to deal with it."

He lowered his head, toying with a still-twitching insect limb in his hand, as gently as caressing a lover: "But, you see, the 'finished product' is almost ready."

His tone was light, like a child anticipating a gift. With a sudden flick of his fingers, the insect limb exploded into a mist of blood, splattering on her face, but she inhaled deeply as if it were perfume, revealing an intoxicated expression.

"By then—every inch of the Northern Territory will become my 'stage.'"

He slowly rose, his long gown trailing on the ground, his steps light, like a noble young lady about to attend a banquet.

The camera slowly zoomed out.

In his "audience," rows of figures sat, some human, some non-human. They were long dead, their bodies reshaped into a bizarre, semi-living, semi-dead form.

Some had twisted faces, some had cracked skulls, and some even had their faces replaced with chimeric insect shells.

Among them, one figure knelt motionless, a large hollow in his chest, but the silver-black armor and the grayish-blue pupils...

It was still recognizable as the Northern Territory Quick Blade, Vik Grantham, who had already fallen in battle.