Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 442: Chapter 282: Fall, Part 3

But this is not the Barbarian Race; it is a… war group infected by some uncontrollable force, a monster army that feeds on death.

He originally thought this would be an easy defensive battle.

He would achieve glorious military honors on this peaceful frontier, then transfer back to the South, retire as true nobility of the Imperial Capital, and live an elegant life.

But now he stood at the edge of the valley, watching an Empire frontline that was spiraling out of control, collapsing, and rotting, staring foolishly as his knights were swallowed by flowers.

He violently flung away his cloak, turned around, and ordered loudly, “Deploy all knights to block it! Just hold on for a few more days, and reinforcements will come!”

Adjutant Thalion hesitated for a moment but ultimately accepted the order and went.

Meanwhile, Rudolph quickly ascended the command platform of the Main Castle, staring intently at the burning frontline.

The Imperial Army lasted only two days.

Two days and nights, all arrows shot, Magic Explosion Bullets exhausted, and the Catapult Platform utterly ruined from repeated launches.

The knights charged in wave after wave, one team falling, only for another to take its place.

But the enemy’s main forces still never appeared.

Throughout this war… they had only faced the vanguard.

Even so, the Third Imperial Army continued to retreat, step by step.

The Northern Barbarians’ vanguards grew wilder and more ferocious with each battle, even thriving amidst death. Both the blood of their kin and that of the Imperial People became fuel for their raging spirits.

They seemed to fear no death. Each corpse seemed to be an offering that drove them further into madness in battle.

This was a sacrificial rite, madness, and Purgatory.

And the knights of the Empire, though well-trained and steadfast, were still human.

They would tire, they would fear, they would watch helplessly as comrades died, consumed by floral vines.

They would, in certain moments, be shattered by psychological collapse.

Finally, before dawn on the third day, the defense line was breached.

A gigantic shadow leaped from behind the mountain, and several massive logs came whistling through the air.

“Block it—!!”

Before anyone could finish shouting, the Main Castle’s front gate shattered amid a thunderous crash, dust rising like mist.

Vines surged in through the cracks like a tide, Frost Giants wielding giant hammers smashed down arrow towers.

Barbarian Race knights followed close behind, warhorses stepping into the camp.

The first fortress of the Northern Territory, fallen!

By this time, Rudolph had already discreetly retreated, donning his war cloak and leading his remaining Personal Guard in a hasty retreat through the southern mountain path.

He had once shouted, “Just hold on for a few days and reinforcements will arrive,” but he abandoned his knight subordinates and chose to flee.

Amid the billowing smoke, some followed him, some roared at his disappearing figure, while others couldn’t even curse before being entangled into the earth by raging vines sprouting from below.

In the distance, atop a rocky outcrop, a flower-like entity quietly bloomed.

It was not a flower, yet it possessed an allure more sinisterly bewitching than any flower.

Petal-like flesh veined with blood threads slowly opened, emitting a beam of white light that enveloped the entire scene.

A brief silence descended.

Countless people inexplicably paused their actions, eyes wide as they stared in the direction of that flower.

Their bodies trembled, their gazes filled with fear, as if they had seen something unspeakable.

But this fear did not become chaos; instead, it gradually… ignited.

At first, the soldiers instinctively shouted, roared, trying to dispel the fear within.

But soon their breathing grew rapid, eyes reddened, bodies heating up, their blood like it was set aflame, and fury rolled up from the deepest part of their souls!

“We are the abandoned ones.”

“The Empire discards us like weeds, yet these monsters… make me feel power!”

“If this is the will of the flower… I am willing to fight for it!”

Underneath the breath of that blooming flower, some of the Empire soldiers, once gravely wounded and near death, suddenly struggled to rise, clad in charred armor, dragging blood-stained swords, and in the astonished eyes, turned and swung their blades at their former companions.

“Madness! They’ve gone mad!”

“Stop, we are knights of the Empire!”

“Their eyes show no reason… no, something has taken it from them!”

But it was too late.

The faces of these fallen ones were ferocious, their rage uncontrollable, they no longer chanted slogans, nor hailed the glory of the Empire.

They shouted nothing, only wreaked havoc on the battlefield.

As if to turn past shame, fear, and pain into blood on their blades.

Vines and blood flowers began to entwine upon them, they tore apart their Empire uniforms, stitching new clothes from animal hides, joining the army entwined with blood flowers and raging vines.