Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 451: Chapter 286: Calamity of the Northern Territory (Part 2)

In the sky, several Scavenger Crow Beasts with bony wings circled low, diving down to peck out the eyes of the strugglers.

Alchemy firearms frequently jammed in the extreme cold and wet snow, the damp powder unable to ignite.

Petroleum canisters were thrown out but were flung back by the enemy with live vines.

The flames instantly engulfed a section of the wooden wall, and the defending soldiers screamed and fell in the firelight.

In less than an hour, the defense line was completely torn apart.

The Barbarians stormed into the town, axes chopping down wooden houses, and vines erupted from the ground, climbing like venomous snakes over the walls and roofs, uprooting entire buildings.

In the chaos of the blizzard and flames, Astha saw his town being ground to ruins bit by bit.

It was no longer a battle but an unstoppable slaughter.

Within two days, eight villages and towns on the outskirts of Frost River Valley fell one after another.

Flames churned in the night and blizzard, illuminating charred beams and collapsed stone houses.

In the snow, charred wheat rolled about, once stored in granaries, now carried by the wind to the sky, accompanied by the choking smell of burning.

Jerky and salted fish burst in the flames, grease flowing down the steps of the storage house, mixing with the snow water to form a foul-smelling brown stream.

The fur blankets, boots, and thick robes for keeping warm were dragged outside by the Barbarians, some thrown directly into the fire, others trampled into the snow and mud, then crushed with spiked boot soles.

They were not here to plunder, but to wipe out every condition for survival.

Retreat route? None.

The valley entrance had long been trapped, a barrier woven of live roots and black vines, with root systems thick as stone pillars intertwined.

A knight trying to charge out had barely cut through a few vines before being ensnared and dragged back into the snow.

His scream echoed sharply in the snow mist, then was drowned by the crisp sound of vines snapping his neck.

The original two thousand troops now were halved.

Engineers, Alchemists, construction craftsmen… almost all these precious technical personnel were wiped out.

The once wooden stone structures, shelters against the cold, and orderly streets had now all turned to scorched earth.

A year’s worth of Astha’s governance achievements were utterly obliterated by this storm and flame.

Not even a patch of clean snow could be found; the ground was either blood, ash, or trampled corpses.

The beams of the council hall cracked ominously in the flames, the roof might collapse any moment.

Astha gripped a sword stained with blood and snow, surrounded tightly by twenty-nine of his guards.

Heavy footsteps and the rustling of vines approached from the doorway, the Barbarians closing in were several times their number, the air thick with the smell of charred wood and flesh.

In the next instant, the heavy wooden door shattered.

Wind and snow poured in, followed by a troop of nearly a hundred Silver Dragon Knights.

They were clad in half-frozen armor, their shoulders and arms wrapped with battle scars, their spears flashing a sharp, cold light in the snow mist and firelight.

“Cover His Highness!” someone shouted hoarsely.

Spears and blades simultaneously thrust out, pinning the first row of Barbarians against the burning beams.

The narrowness of the battlefield meant that every swing sent splinters flying, and vines twisted on the ground, crackling sharply as they caught fire from the petroleum.

Astha, escorted by guards, dashed out of the ruins, flames exploding behind him, illuminating the giant silhouette in the snow mist.

The colossal figure wielded a bone-made Giant Hammer, smashing aside three knights covering him, their armor and blood sprayed onto the snow, swiftly buried.

The rescue team fell one by one under the assault of the Barbarians and parasitic vines.

The original hundred-plus knights, only about fifty remained when they broke through, their armor full of cracks and ice.

Astha looked back, at the Frost River Valley territory he had built single-handedly, now all that remained were flames, thick smoke, and ashes blown by the wind.

And of his troops, not even one-third remained.

When he led the remnant guards through the gates of New Frost Halberd City, they were the only survivors crawling out of the ruins.

……

In the wartime council hall of Frost Halberd City, the heavy doors and windows were sealed tight, leaving only dim oil lamps flickering their light onto every weary and tense face.

Dispatches were brought in by Gale Birds, landing on the long table, hastily opened and read by the Deacon.

Almost every report was bad news…

“The northwest defense line was raided by Barbarians at dawn, the enemy forces broke through the southern gap of Winter Fortress Ridge, the defending troops lost seventy percent, Count Hill died in battle.

The remnants of the Third Legion retreated south to the south of Stone Hammer River, the enemy did not pursue, suspected of a bigger mobilization.

Northeast, contact was lost with four cities, the knights sent did not return, suspected total city annihilation…”

At the end of the reading, oppressive silence filled the hall, only the low murmur of wind and snow against the city walls could be heard.

As the meeting grew ever more silent, Duke Edmund motioned the Deacon to deliver another letter, this one from Louis.

As it unfolded, the rich scent of ink wafted gently under the oil lamps, as the intelligence officer slowly read aloud:

“…Red Tide Knights, a quarter lost… destroyed five thousand Barbarian Knights.”

In an instant, the entire meeting hall seemed frozen.

Everyone stood stunned at first, then gradually lifted their heads, eyes moving from the letter to the Duke, exchanging looks of disbelief.

In the past days, they’d received nothing but news of defeat and fall.

Defense lines collapsed, towns fell, Knight Orders annihilated.

Almost every dispatch was proof of the Northern Territory bleeding inch by inch.

And now, suddenly someone, in this desperate situation, had defeated a full five thousand Barbarian Knights.

“…How is that possible?” an old gray-haired general murmured softly, as if afraid that speaking would wake him from a beautiful dream.

“But that’s five thousand!” a Count nearly stopped breathing, “And it’s Red Tide Territory, Viscount Calvin’s troop size…”

He didn’t continue, but everyone present knew that the regular army there was hardly enough to clash head-on with the Barbarian main forces.

Suspicious, a noble furrowed his brow, “Could it be… an exaggeration?”

Astha remained silent, “How… did he do it?”

The intelligence officer pored over the report copies, voice hoarse: “Based on multiple investigations, this number seems real… but the specific battle loss situation is not fully cleared.”

Duke Edmund pondered for a moment, then spoke in a low voice: “Louis is a war genius. If he truly took down five thousand Barbarians, it’s a great achievement.

But… I suspect he’s underreporting his own losses. More to assure us.”

However, Louis had deliberately overstated the losses to avoid too exaggerated a battle loss ratio; in reality, only over thirty perished.

The letter ends with a brief suggestion that those monsters are driven by rage, and attempting to use psychic weapons or magic to interrupt their frenzied state might be worthwhile.

Edmund sighed and instructed the Deacon, “Reply, telling Louis to continue holding the Southeast Northern Territory line.”

The ensuing discussion quickly entangled in arguments.

Some advocated splitting troops to aid the Northeast vassal city, lest the Barbarians further expand their encirclement, some insisted on firmly defending the existing fortress, waiting for the Empire’s reinforcements.

Others proposed directly retreating to the Northern Territory, preserving the Nobility and core strength.

But such a suggestion provoked fierce rebuke and mockery.

“Can’t wait for reinforcements!” an old general harshly pounded the map, “At this speed, all that will remain of the Northern Territory is scorched earth!”

“We need a counterattack, not to cower!” another young Viscount nearly drew his sword to strike the table.

“Counterattack? With what do you counterattack?!”

The clamor rose and fell, seemingly every plan had fatal flaws.

Finally, Duke Edmund stood decisively, pressing heavily on the Northern Territory map on the long table.

Candlelight highlighted the scars on his face: “Enough. If reinforcements won’t come, then we’ll create our own opportunity.”

His finger pointed to a narrow valley on the map.

The terrain there was perilous, easy to defend and hard to attack, yet spacious enough for a large-scale decisive battle: “This is suitable for a direct confrontation with those monsters.

We must fight with our backs to the river! Before they spread further, eliminate these beasts entirely. Otherwise, the Northern Territory will be devoured by this winter!”

The entire council hall fell silent, the wind howling outside the thick city walls, like a death knell heralding the impending bloodshed.