Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The freezing rain of Grey Rock Province fell mercilessly in the heart of winter.

The rain, mixed with unformed sleet, fell in layers from the low-hanging gray clouds, turning the roads on the edge of the Misty Swamp into a mess of cold mud.

The grayish-white fog compressed visibility to an extreme degree; the light and shadow of torches slightly further away would be swallowed up, leaving only a blurry shadow swaying in the wind.

The marching column was stretched very long.

Heavy wheels sank into mud pits time and again, followed by irrepressible cursing.

The wounded were placed in the middle of the column, wrapped in soaked cloaks and leaning against the edges of the wagons, their breathing marked by obvious pain.

Occasionally, a sharp, short whistle would come from the distance, tearing through the mist before quickly disappearing.

That was the sound of Magic Bombs slicing through the air.

Every such whistle would take away several knights.

Every time it appeared, the entire column would involuntarily tense up.

Remont's army had long since lost its elite appearance.

The knights' armor was plastered with mud, and their faces were pale and exhausted.

The formation remained, but few dared to lift their heads and look straight ahead.

More gazes were instinctively directed toward the reed marshes and deep woods on both sides of the road, as if something invisible would pounce from the fog at any second.

Duke Remont stood on the command carriage, his brow furrowed; the foul weather and the intermittent appearance of Red Tide Knights left his spirit weary.

The high vantage point did not bring him much peace of mind.

As his telescope swept over the stretch of road ahead where they were being deliberately slowed down, he soon realized that if they continued like this, they would only be constantly whittled away.

"We can't drag this out any longer." He put down the telescope and summoned an adjutant, relaying a carefully planned ruse.

The bait was quickly set out.

A dozen supply wagons fully loaded with grain and fodder were intentionally positioned at a bend in the road; an axle snapped in plain sight, forcing the convoy to a halt.

Only a few dozen exhausted-looking knights were escorting them, the defensive line so loose it was almost perfunctory.

Yet beneath the sludge on both sides of the road, several hundred elite knights in heavy armor had already hunkered down.

They were forced to abandon their horses and lie in wait in the freezing mud as heavy infantry, their armor soaked in cold water, its weight pressing down on their bodies, making every breath slow and difficult.

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

His voice carried a hint of gritted teeth.

Soon, the sound of hoofbeats came from the mist.

Remont's body leaned forward slightly, his hand already resting on the hilt of his sword.

However, that sound of hoofbeats did not approach the bait wagons.

It swept past through the woods on the flank at extreme speed, without even a change in direction.

The grain wagons were completely ignored.

Remont's pupils shrank suddenly.

Almost at the same time, he realized the opponent's true target.

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

The tents of the Black Vulture Knight Scout Battalion were stationed there, responsible for providing intelligence and early warning for the entire army.

The hoofbeats stopped there.

Lambert led the knights to pull their reins at a hidden spot seven hundred meters away, not approaching any further.

They did not draw their blades.

Instead, they took silver spheres from their saddlebags—these were Seventh Generation Portable Magic Bombs.

The portable Magic Bombs, inscribed with dangerous runes, were quickly loaded into simple alchemical grenade launchers.

Without needing a command, these knights were extremely proficient.

Dozens of spheres were launched simultaneously, tracing elegant parabolas through the mist to land precisely within the scout battalion's tent area.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!..."

In the next instant, blue-black alchemical flames suddenly erupted.

Shockwaves spread through the hollow, swallowing tents, wooden stakes, and scouts who hadn't had time to don their armor.

The air was forcibly churned by magic, and violent air currents whipped up mud and severed limbs, slamming them into the surroundings.

Screams existed for only a brief moment before being completely erased by the aftershocks of the explosions.

And the knights who had thrown these Magic Bombs had already vanished along with the sound of the blasts.

Remont stood where he was, watching helplessly as that low-lying area turned into a rolling sea of fire.

The bait wagons remained at the corner, unscathed.

Meanwhile, the two hundred heavy-armored knights lying in wait in the mud remained face down.

The long period of lying still had allowed the freezing water to seep into their joints.

Before any orders could be given, some among them had already begun to shake uncontrollably or had even lost consciousness.

All of this was absurd to the point of cruelty.

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

His face was a mix of mud and blood, and his voice trembled incessantly from cold and fear.

"Lord Duke... the Black Vulture Battalion is completely gone."

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

"An urgent report just came from the vanguard; their pontoon bridge was blown up while crossing, and an entire squadron of heavy cavalry... fell into the swamp."

Remont did not speak.

The adjutant lowered his head, his voice almost breaking.

"This is the thirtieth attack. Five days... only five days. We haven't even seen the boundary marker of Grey Rock Province, and our military strength has already been reduced by a third."

A deathly silence fell around the command carriage.

Remont slowly spread out the marching map.

At this moment, he finally understood.

Every arrangement he made, every thought he had, even every seemingly safe corner, was as if it had been seen through in advance by some invisible gaze.

"He knows..." Remont murmured in a low voice, "He knows everything... no wonder..."

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

It was as if he had been stripped of all his armor and clothing, standing naked in a lit-up clearing.

And deep within the mist, Louis was standing there... What the outside world saw was only the fall of Grey Rock Fortress and the successive setbacks of Remont's army in the Misty Swamp.

But what truly sustained this war was within the Red Tide Army—it was an intelligence network that Louis had never made public.

The battle for Grey Rock Fortress had not been won easily.

The tempo of the blitzkrieg had been pushed to the limit; the knights had fought continuously, and their mental and physical strength were being rapidly depleted.

The steam chariots were forced to operate at high intensity in the heavy rain and cold current; the terrain and low temperatures forced nearly half of the chariots to be grounded for maintenance.

Furthermore, the supply lines were stretched thin, and maintenance teams rotated day and night; the entire legion still looked intact, but it was /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ already approaching its load limit.

If Remont chose to press forward head-on at any cost at this time, the outcome would not be in doubt.

The Red Tide Army would still win, but it would be an uneconomical victory.

A head-on collision meant a war of attrition.

It meant trading knights, chariots, and time for an army that had already lost its strategic value.

Even if Remont were eventually completely crushed, the Red Tide Army would not gain more resources, population, or territory; it would only overextend its own strength in the most unsuitable season.

Louis would not accept such a victory.

In his judgment, the true risk was never whether Remont could fight, but whether he was worth fighting.

Therefore, this front was not designed for annihilation from the start.

The 【Daily Intelligence】 was constantly refreshing.

The Remont legion's marching routes, logistical nodes, scout deployments, and even the psychological changes of the high-level command were broken down into calm and specific pieces of information.

Louis did not need to completely control the opponent; he only needed to control a few key nodes.

Like when Remont would feel that this path was no longer viable.

Before Lambert set out, Louis said three words to him: "Make him bleed."

What Louis wanted was not a decisive battle, but an illusion.

He wanted Remont to feel that the path ahead was not a thoroughfare that could be forced through, but a meat grinder that had already begun to turn.

With every step forward, he was losing blood, yet he could see no end.

Thus, the Red Tide Army's actions were deliberately kept within a blurry boundary.

The guerrillas only cut at vital points and never lingered.

Attacks always occurred where Remont was most reluctant to lose: scouts and logistical nodes.

Every precise attack was enough to make any veteran commander draw connections.

Their own movements were completely transparent; there was a traitor in their midst.

Ahead might be hidden even larger forces, intact heavy artillery positions, or even a pre-arranged battlefield just waiting for them to step in.

This pressure would compound with every attack.

If Remont was directly worn down in this process and the entire army disintegrated under constant harassment, that would be the ideal result.

If not, then at least he had to be beaten back.

Let him do the math himself.

Continuing forward would only mean using an already shaken army to crash into an invisible wall.

Retreating would at least preserve nominal integrity.

This was the option Louis had truly prepared for Remont.

Not victory or defeat, but a choice between what to keep and what to give up.

On this invisible front, the Red Tide Army never tried to hide its purpose... Inside the central command tent, the air seemed to have solidified.

The charcoal in the brazier burned brightly, yet it could not dispel the chill pressing against Duke Remont's chest.

The generals stood in the tent; no one spoke, and even the slight friction of armor was deliberately suppressed, leaving only the occasional crackle of the oil lamps.

When the first urgent report was delivered, Remont was still standing.

The messenger knelt on the ground, his voice hoarse.

Grey Rock Fortress had fallen; Kyle was dead.

Remont's fingers twitched slightly.

This was a dull pain, like having flesh and blood forcibly gouged out.

Grey Rock Fortress was not just a city.

It held his family cemetery, his bloodline's memories, and the traces he had left from his youth all the way to today.

His kin, his old subordinates and soldiers, and those he regarded as his fallback were all now under Louis's control.

More importantly, the underground laboratory was completely destroyed; the stores, ledgers, alchemical data, and the secrets and wealth accumulated by the family for three hundred years had all fallen into Louis's hands.

But this was only the beginning of the nightmare.

The second piece of intelligence was practically slammed onto the table by Duke Remont.

To the southwest, the Emerald Federation had completed its mobilization, and a large number of mercenaries were launching a cross-border offensive into the Southwest Province.

At the same time, abnormal movements appeared on the border of the Holy Eastern Empire, where the Fifth Prince's banner and the Holy See's emblem were raised simultaneously.

The scent of a chaotic era had finally torn away the fig leaf completely.

Remont did not look up.

His gaze fell on the map, on those provincial boundary lines that he was supposed to control.

They were being pressed, divided, and pulled by unfamiliar fingers.

Then came the third piece of intelligence.

The spy almost crawled into the tent, the wounds on his body still seeping blood.

A secret order from the Imperial Capital.

His Majesty the Emperor, that puppet whom Remont had personally helped onto the throne, had issued an order to transfer Remont's elite garrison units left around the Imperial Capital to the southwest front in order to escape his control.

Nominally, it was to support the Empire; in reality, it was to fill a hole.

Using Remont's last knights to fill the gap created by the Emerald Federation's offensive.

Hearing this intelligence, Remont slowly closed his eyes; he understood everything.

This was a complete case of 'killing with a borrowed knife'.

That so-called new Emperor wanted him to be dragged to death in Gray Rock by Louis, his home base to be hollowed out, and his knights stationed in the Imperial Capital to be exhausted in the meat grinder of foreign enemies.

By the time he might luckily return to the Imperial Capital alive, it would have already changed masters.

His family, his bloodline, his path of retreat... not a single thing remained.

"Ungrateful little brat!"

Remont snapped his eyes open, his fury finally spiraling out of control, his voice sounding like it was squeezed from the depths of a wounded beast's throat.

He snatched up the message tube on the table.

It was the message tube that had already been sealed with wax and was originally prepared to be tied to the leg of a Gale Bird.

As long as it was released, the order to advance into Gray Rock would spread through the army in the shortest time possible.

He could still turn back at any cost to fight Louis to the death.

"Crack." The message tube was crushed in his hand.

The metal edges cut into his palm, and blood dripped through his fingers onto the map, staining the location of Grey Rock Fortress red.

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

Remont stared fixedly at that spot, his eyes bloodshot, almost as if they were dripping blood.

"Louis..." His voice was terrifyingly low, "You poisonous snake."

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

Forcing him to choose between two options.

No one in the tent dared to make a sound. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

Remont's chest heaved violently a few times as he forced his breathing to stabilize.

Reason was like something being pulled bit by bit out of torn flesh.

If he went back to Gray Rock now, what would he get?

An empty city that had been thoroughly looted, a remnant army worn down by winter and ambushes, and a dead end being pressed upon simultaneously by the Imperial Capital and the southwest.

That wasn't revenge; that was suicide.

Remont raised his hand and drew his sword.

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

"Relay the order." His voice was hoarse, yet exceptionally clear. "The entire army is turning around."

The generals looked up sharply.

"Lord Duke!" someone cried out, "That is our home!"

Remont did not look at him: "Home is already gone."

When he spoke those words, his tone was terrifyingly calm.

"If we go back now, we will only lose our lives there as well." He pressed his blood-stained hand onto the center of the map. "We are returning to the Imperial Capital."

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

He wasn't looking at the Imperial Capital, but past the bloodstains on his fingertips, falling once again toward that northern region that had already been stained red.

He said nothing more.

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

He would definitely come back.