Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 441: Chapter 282: Fall (Part 2)

They were entwined with living vines, their muscles bulging, and where bones were exposed, vine armor wrapped into bizarre patterns.

They ran with beastly roars, their fists like hammers, stomping the ground like drums, each step causing the rocky walls of Windflame Valley to tremble slightly.

Through his binoculars, Rudolph could see clearly, yet his expression remained unchanged, merely snorting coldly: “Scary tricks.”

He gestured and said, “Continue holding the line, focus on the big targets first.”

Magic Explosion Bullets were fired again, rocks rolled down, fire rains poured.

Yet, those Frost Giants stepped into the fire line almost fearlessly, flames licking the vines on them, yet did not halt their pace at all.

The vine armor they wore seemed to possess high heat resistance and physical defense, and in the flames, some Giants’ vine armor quickly regenerated, entwining, crawling like a living thing.

The Empire’s archers fired, and the magic burst array struck as if hitting a moving mountain.

Effective, but far from enough.

Meanwhile, the Barbarian Race’s rear army surged like a flood.

Magical Beasts charged with roaring aggression, mutated cavalry raised spears, weaving through the gaps between giants, one wave after another, seemingly endless.

The battlefield turned into a tidal wave crashing against a stone dam.

Rudolph’s face changed slightly, a hint of unspeakable fear flickered in his heart: “These lunatics… Why did they suddenly empty their nest? Why are these beasts growing more numerous… and stronger? Did I… come to the wrong place?”

He clenched his teeth, swung his hand fiercely, and roared angrily: “Order! Silver Wing Corps, three thousand knights, attack!”

Horn answered the call, echoing through the canyon, like angry thunder rolling over the silversnow mountain walls.

The heavy gates on the eastern side of the canyon opened, and a tide of silver armor surged out.

Three thousand Imperial Knights lined up on the forefront, armor shining in the sun, battle flags flapping fiercely.

Fighting Energy burned on them, like eagles spreading wings, like dawn slicing through fog.

Silver Wing crest shone with cold light, warhorses neighed, iron hooves struck the ground, three thousand knights whipped up a steel vortex!

“Empire, victorious!”

Roars surged, the Knights’ Corps rushed from the flank like a sword light cutting into the chaotic frontline.

Blades and swords clashed, slashing through the air, crashing into the red killing ground.

Red and silver, flowers and blood, Fighting Energy and rage clashed violently in the valley.

Initially, the momentum of the charge caused the Barbarians’ forefront to retreat several steps, yet what followed was a situation these knights couldn’t figure out despite racking their brains.

Hunter was a member of the Empire’s Third Corps Silver Wing Knight Order, having participated in dozens of battles against the Jade Federation, his long sword stained with enemy blood, but he had never encountered such foes.

They charged smoothly at first.

Wherever spears reached, beast blood splattered, Fighting Energy scorched vines, warhorses neighed in flames, everything seemed like a regular victory.

The Barbarian Army was fierce, but in the narrow valley terrain, they couldn’t execute a real charge.

Hunter once thought victory was within reach, until he struck down a Northern Barbarian cavalryman’s head.

Blood sprayed onto the silver-white cloak, Hunter hadn’t even had time to shake off the blood from his sword, when suddenly the fallen corpse ignited.

Not ordinary flames, but a twisted spark of plant and flesh burning.

The corpse seemed like a “fire seed” for some plant propagation, releasing scorching red mist the moment it fell, instantly spreading and covering several nearby Northern Barbarian Warriors.

Next moment, those Barbarian Soldiers’ roars shot up sharply!

The few charging Northern Barbarians, their eyes suddenly turned red, their bodies expanded, muscle surfaces erupted with ironwood-like textures, vines grew crazily from armor gaps binding their limbs, as if they were ’buffed’.

They could even tear long spears with bare hands, slam warriors riding horses into the air.

“They… absorbed their comrade’s death energy!?”

Not far away, another Northern Barbarian Warrior fell, another violent explosion ignited a cluster of red mist, and three nearby tribesmen suddenly roared up, vine armor abruptly expanded into humanoid beasts charging forward madly.

“The more they die, the crazier they get!!”

Hunter heard someone screaming, but it was already too late to think.

A teammate beside him had just chopped down an enemy, yet in the next moment was slashed off horseback by an ’enhanced state’ Northern Barbarian, thrown airborne with the horse, landing heavily on the vine-covered ground.

How is this a battlefield?

It’s an altar, a sacrifice!

It’s living blood and bones, summoned to awaken a storm of vines and fury.

Moreover, every fallen corpse seemed to complete a bizarre sowing at the moment of death.

From the remnants, vine seeds burst instantly, spawning new vines and flowers.

Red light surged like blood mist, writhing vines like snakes danced wildly, grew crazily, tangled horse legs, tore knight armor, seeped into flesh through cracks.

Every drop of blood was irrigation.

Every deceased person was fertilizer.

The entire battlefield resembled a living garden, a garden of rage nurtured by the Empire and Northern Barbarians’ flesh and blood, growing madly, twisting, dancing in the smoke.

Above the high platform, Rudolph watched all this.

His silver hair quivered in the wind, the layer of usual contempt in his eyes was being swallowed by shadow.

He witnessed firsthand, the Silver Wing Knight Corps, the three thousand elite that once terrified enemy armies, now seemed caught in a blood web tightening with every battle.

Their every charge fed the opponent supplements.

Their every inch of advance was met with even more frenzied counterattacks.

“Impossible.” Rudolph clenched his teeth, gripped the railing tightly, as though talking to himself, “They are just Barbarians… just savages…”