Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The night was as heavy as congealed ink, and the mountains were swallowed by a bloody mist, leaving only a towering stone altar, standing atop steps made of piled bones.

Thousands of Snowsworn wore tattered armor or robes adorned with bone ornaments.

Their chests were carved with dense totems, like self-inflicted patterns, bearing piety and madness.

They knelt neatly before the altar, their heads bowed low.

An aged veteran, tears welling in his eyes, murmured with trembling lips: “Today is the festival of the gods’ return... We’ve finally waited for it.”

Young warriors, their eyes bloodshot, shouted: “Blood debts will finally be repaid! Our wrath will cleanse the earth!”

It was as if they were not attending a sacrifice, but embarking on a holy journey of vengeance.

Even more, some raised the severed heads of Imperial captives, smearing drops of blood on their foreheads, and yelled: “The ancient god’s sustenance is ready.”

Just at the peak of this frenzied prayer, the air suddenly solidified, and a suppressed chill surged onto the stone altar like a dark tide.

He appeared.

A half-mask interwoven with silver and black covered half of his face, while the exposed side was like an ice sculpture under the moonlight, cold and ruthless.

His long hair fell like night mist, swaying slightly in the wind, like the low whispers exhaled by the abyss.

With blood and snow as his carpet, his toes lightly stepped upon it, leaving no trace, as if even the earth dared not touch his presence.

On the altar, all was silent.

Everyone bowed their heads simultaneously, like believers welcoming a god, trembling in unison, calling out his title.

“Great Priest!”

“Apostle of the Cold Abyss!”

“Divine Envoy!”

Despair Witch did not respond, only slowly walked into the center of the altar, stood on the black pattern that was about to crack, and closed her eyes, enjoying this moment.

Just at that moment, a low rumble came from deep within the earth.

Like a heartbeat, like gnawing, like a sac bursting.

The entire altar trembled slightly, as if the world beneath their feet was awakening.

This massive and malicious writhing came from underground.

The Mother Nest beneath the seal was finally impatiently beginning to twist its body, crashing against its shell, waiting to break free and ascend.

Feeling the rhythm beneath her feet, Despair Witch slowly opened her eyes, a slight curve at the corner of her lips, and merely raised her hand, yet in this instant, thousands fell silent.

His voice was low and gentle, like a burning fireplace on a winter night, yet cold to the bone:

“You once knelt beneath the Empire’s iron boots, watched your loved ones hang from nooses, saw raging fires consume your homeland in Snow Country, gnawing on flesh in melting snow, just to survive.

They called you ‘barbarians,’ called you ‘sinful blood.’ But you never forgot—

He opened his eyes, and light, like a frosty blade, swept across the valley.

“But you never gave up on vengeance, because you are the children of Snow Country, the bloodline of the Cold Abyss, the avengers of fate!”

As his words fell, the Snowsworn trembled with excitement, their breathing rapid, yet they remained prostrate, not daring to interrupt.

Despair Witch spread her arms, as if to embrace the entire Northern Territory.

“And from today, we will no longer beg for mercy, no longer plead for fate. We will awaken the ancient god with blood, and awaken power with incantations. From today, snow will no longer be pure white; it will be stained red for vengeance.”

His voice gradually rose, like thunder piercing the silence, soaring to the heavens: “The Empire will kneel at the end of hell, watching you return to the Northern Territory, rebuild Snow Country, and ignite the last beacon of the Cold Abyss!”

Silence lingered for several breaths after the Witch’s words fell, as if heaven and earth were holding their breath.

But the next moment, a tidal wave of shouts erupted.

“Cold Abyss! Eternal and Undying!!”

“Avenge the ancient god!! Sacrifice for Snow Country!!!”

It was a frenzied roar that tore throats, mixed with weeping, howling, and prayer, sweeping through the entire Snow Valley.

Thousands of Snowsworn simultaneously knelt, hands raised high, the snowy ground soaked with blood and tears.

Young warriors struck their chests with battle axes, their eyes bloodshot, as if they heard the call of their ancestors.

Elder shamans tremblingly raised their bone staves, calling out ancient words to the gods again and again, sobbing uncontrollably.

The Snowsworn were like pilgrims driven to madness, tears, blood, roars, and pain intertwining into a terrifying sense of holiness, as if they /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ could truly see some invisible god looking down on them from afar.

They sincerely believed.

On the high platform, the black-robed Witch quietly looked down at the scene before him.

He did not speak or move, the snow wind swept through his silver and black hair, as if time stood still at his feet.

Beneath the half-covered face, a slight smile curved his lips.

But it was not gentle; it could even be called ironic.

“Hmph, what good children, but an act must be played out fully.” He whispered in his heart, with a hint of biting mockery.

Despair Witch slowly raised his hands, like a saint accepting worship, his black robe flapping in the snow wind.

And the thousands below immediately erupted again in a mountain-shaking roar, shaking the heavens, as if even the mountains were trembling.

Just at this moment, a “thump.”

A low thud, like a tolling bell, came from deep within the altar beneath his feet.

The bloodstone-inlaid floor tiles trembled slightly, and visible cracks quietly snaked across them.

“Thump—thump-thump—”

It was not the sound of rocks cracking, but more like a giant heart, slowly awakening and beating underground.

A wet, sticky squirming sound came from deep within the earth, like a giant beast covered in mud turning over; or as if thousands of insect eggs were hatching at the same time, colliding and tearing at each other.

The Snowsworn below were completely unaware, thinking that this tremor was the ancient god responding to their prayers, cheering even more frantically, some even directly kneeling on the ground and weeping loudly:

“It’s God! The ancient god heard us!!”

“Grant me vengeance! I will burn every stone of the Empire!!”

“God is here! The Mother God has responded!!”

The shouts were like sparks falling into dry tinder, instantly igniting the fanaticism of the entire altar.

Thousands cheered, roared, wept, and warriors on their knees struck the stone slab with their heads, praying for a “miracle” to descend.

But slowly, something began to feel wrong. “Thump... thump——thump-thump-thump—”

A strangely rhythmic vibration came from deep underground; it was not the response of a god, but a hungry rhythm.

The cocoons began to pulsate violently, and dense insect eggs burst from the crevices, while blood-colored tentacles broke through the cocoons and slowly entwined themselves around the stone bones and magic arrays, rolling like a tide.

A bloody mist began to seep from the ground cracks, and the air became humid and warm, as if falling into some living body cavity.

At this moment, the clamor suddenly stopped.

The crowd seemed to have their voices drained.

Someone opened their mouth wide, wanting to continue cheering, but only a trembling gasp escaped.

Someone unconsciously took a step back, quietly pulling the arm of a companion next to them, an unknown fear appearing in their eyes.

“...No.” A senior Snowsworn’s lips moved slightly, muttering.

Immediately after, an indescribable “wail” came from underground.

Not one sound, but thousands, tens of thousands of sounds superimposed on each other.

The sound was like countless infants crying simultaneously in the darkness, and also like the last whimpers of devoured souls before death:

“Ah—ah-ah-ah————ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah—”

The center of the bloodstone altar split open.

A towering giant Mother Nest slowly rose from the bloodstone abyss, as if a fallen Holy Mother conceived from the womb of hell.

Its body presented a pathological beauty of maternity.

Its upper body was like a twisted humanoid, with arms outstretched, welcoming the return of the devout like a holy icon.

However, this embrace did not offer warmth, but was stained with death, as if to welcome the destruction of all things.

The face, almost human female, had features that seemed to be a fusion of countless tormented visages, the corners of its mouth curved in a weeping-like smile, its eyes tightly closed, and milky white liquid continuously flowed from the corners of its eyes.

But it was not tears, but incubating fluid seeping from insect eggs and plasma.

There were no eyeballs in its eyes, but dense swarms of insects crawling and writhing, and with every blink, it was as if thousands of lives were wailing and crying.

Below its waist, it gradually disintegrated into flowing fleshy ovaries and reproductive organs, and from the abyss constructed of flesh and blood, sticky egg sacs and twisted tentacles continuously spewed forth, producing “offspring” without end.

Those not yet fully formed insect corpses rolled and struggled in blood plasma and mucus, emitting sticky hisses like the cries of infants.

The entire surface of the Mother Nest was covered with human faces, mostly those of former sacrificial victims.

And supporting all of this were dozens of thick, segmented tentacles that grew from underground, deeply embedded in the earth like spider legs, chewing and rooting between flesh and rock.

On the altar platform, Despair Witch quietly gazed up at the blood-and-flesh colossus that rose from the ground, as if looking at a finally completed work of art.

“Truly perfect.”

His voice was gentle to the point of distortion, yet there was no human compassion in his tone, only cold ecstasy.

“More elegant, more efficient than the previous two generations, possessing a complete independent personality and decision-making ability. No longer needing me to constantly feed it, no longer a tool, but an ally, even—the ‘God’ of the future.”

This was his years of painstaking effort, the unique complete form of the Mother Nest—the Doomsday Mother Nest.

The first and second generation Mother Nests? They were like primitives compared to this complete form.

It was not only stronger, but also possessed a “quasi-personality core,” with heaven-defying abilities such as self-learning, mimicry induction, and spreading mental pollution.

And the Snowsworn below, who had just been shouting “God’s arrival” and “blood sacrifice,” now stood frozen in place, one by one.

Although each of them was battle-hardened, such bizarre things clearly exceeded their comprehension.

The crowd began to retreat, no longer in excited pushing, but in instinctive avoidance, and in the chaos, some fell, some screamed.

“This... this isn’t right. This isn’t the ancient god—not the form we worshiped...”

A young warrior knelt on the ground, clutching his spear, but trembling all over, like a child stripped bare.

Another old man’s lips quivered, trying to recite ancient prayers, but not a single word came out, only broken moans remained.

And the first to react was their leader—Shiro.

He was not overwhelmed by fear like the others, but his entire body suddenly stiffened, like a beast that had finally realized the existence of its cage.

“What exactly is this——” He stared with wide eyes, his pupils trembling violently, murmuring, looking back at the bizarre Mother Nest,

Then at the Witch in black gauze on the high platform.

Rage swept from his chest like a blizzard on the snow plains, and he roared like thunder: “You lied to me! You lied to all of us! This is not God! Not the ancient god of the abyss—this is a monster! A calamity!

Why—why was I swayed by you for so long!”

He was once the most steadfast spark of faith, a symbol leading his people to worship the “gods,” and had personally lit the first torch of sacrifice.

Now his voice tore through heaven and earth, proving his own foolishness.

He finally awoke from the beautiful dream woven by the Witch’s illusion.

But it was all too late.

Despair Witch merely smiled slightly, as if he had heard something extremely ridiculous.

His lips curved, like a benevolent mother watching a rebellious child’s struggle.

“It’s been too long since anyone shouted at me so loudly—”

He lightly snapped his fingers, and softly uttered a sentence: “Then, let the blessing begin.”

The next instant, the entire world seemed to hold its breath.

“Crack—”

A distorted, slimy crunch sounded, the sound of some forbidden creature slowly opening.

What followed was a nauseating sound like a ruptured eardrum—the Mother Nest’s abdomen slowly bloomed with dozens of spiral-shaped fleshy fissures.

Each one was like a mouth yearning for lactation, or a blooming evil flower, the fleshy membranes writhing and curling, dripping thick spore plasma.

Petal-like chambers slowly vibrated in the black spore plasma, and a foul stench wafted forth.

It was a scent mixed with blood, decaying embryos, and fermenting spores, so intense it made one feel lightheaded.

“It, it moved...” A worshipper mumbled incoherently, staring at the huge flesh flower, as if sleepwalking.

But before more people could voice their doubts, a faint, translucent mist slowly floated out from the depths of those cracks—it was not ordinary mist, but a sticky “insect mist.”

It rotated and drifted in the air like water, each wisp seemingly possessing some consciousness, unaffected by the wind, snaking past the high platform like a snake, slowly spreading across the sky.

“How strange. It’s talking to me... I hear it calling me...” Someone mumbled, their eyes unfocused.

The mist began to descend, slowly covering the entire altar plaza, silently settling on the heads, shoulders, and breaths of every worshipper.

They failed to notice that within those seemingly harmless mists, countless “corpse insects” as fine as dust were hidden.

Each corpse insect was smaller than a grain of rice, completely transparent, with faintly visible internal organs, like a newly born insect embryo, floating, crawling, and lurking within the embrace of the mist.

They silently attached themselves to people’s skin, nail beds, ear canals, and nostrils.

Initially, no one noticed, until the first scream rang out.

“It————It’s crawling in my eyes!!” A Snowsworn suddenly screamed, throwing his head back, frantically clawing at his eye sockets, blood gushing, as if trying to dig out his entire eyeball.

But what was chilling was that he suddenly stopped.

His body was still twitching, but his expression became calm, as serene as an infant, yet his eyes were empty.

The next moment, on the ground, by the steps, under the stone pillars, people successively began to tremble, twitch, and vomit.