Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 700 - 395: A Minor Incident Before the Meeting

Summer in the Northern Territory hardly resembles true summer.

A chill wind bears hints of light snow, while faded yellow wild grasses hug the earth tightly, and atop the lofty slopes, the initial thin snow blanket emerges, akin to winter's tentative grasp extending ahead.

Gareth hunched over on his mount, shoulders drawn in tight.

Once an Official Knight serving the Morkan family, he had been selected by the Baron due to his sharp wit and skill in managing matters, tasked especially with overseeing the trade paths.

Skilled in manners and social dealings, he outshone fellow knights in negotiating with garrison soldiers, watchposts, and toll stations. Over time, the full management of the caravan fell into his hands.

Throughout more than ten years, he led every convoy personally, protecting these crucial supplies that the Baron swapped for grain, and knowing full well the Northern Territory's harsh truth: unattended goods disappear in an instant.

For over a decade, he had navigated this trade path, confident that all toll points and garrisons were fully secured under his arrangements.

Lord Ackman from Gray Stone Fortress even took multiple loads of red-black iron from him each year without payment.

Thus, he assumed this year would proceed without surprises too.

Holding these thoughts, Gareth noticed the ominous canyon entrance ahead.

Rough barricades of chevaux-de-frise fully obstructed the forward trade route.

Twelve knights clad in black armor, all Elite Knights, formed a steadfast line amid the melting snow, like iron figures sprouting from a raging blizzard.

Gareth’s escorts drew their blades on reflex.

“Stop!” Gareth shouted in panic, voice cracking, “Sheathe those swords! Are you courting death?”

He leaped from his horse and dashed ahead, acting as though a moment's delay might cost him his head.

Forcing a rigid smile that locked his features, he presented the hefty pouch of coins readied in advance.

“Sirs, tough work out here! I hail from the Morkan family caravan and have settled matters with Lord Ackman already. This coin... it’s for the lads to get wine and thaw out.”

The pouch smacked into the palm of the black-armored leader “Battleaxe,” emitting a dull clink of metal.

Battleaxe hefted it, sneered mockingly, and flung it back to a subordinate, showing no sign of clearing the way.

“Sir Knight...” Gareth inquired warily, “May we proceed now?”

Perched tall on his steed, Battleaxe jabbed a finger toward the caravan below: “People pass. Goods remain.”

Gareth’s grin crumbled at last, jolted awake like from icy water: “Sir, these are vital supplies for bartering winter grain... I’ve paid the toll to the Legion commander! The custom demands that once the coin’s taken, passage is granted...”

Battleaxe murmured deeply: “Rules?”

Spurring his horse closer, he declared: “Within the Seventeenth Legion’s domain, my hammer sets the rules.”

Instantly, the massive Warhammer gripped long-handled and charged with Fighting Energy slammed into Gareth’s shoulder brutally.

“Crack—”

Bone-snapping noise rang sharp through the canyon, sending chills crawling over scalps.

Gareth crumpled straight to his knees in the muck, pain silencing him utterly, mouth merely jerking at the edges.

Fury blazing in their eyes, the guard knights rushed in, only to fall reaped like fields of grain.

Ruthless and disciplined, the black-armored knights struck with lethal precision and economy, wasting no motion.

Trembling in agony, Gareth rasped out defiantly, “You... you’re breaking Imperial law, this zone isn’t wartime... no plundering Nobility’s possessions...”

Battleaxe swung down from his mount and yanked Gareth’s hair, smashing his face into the dirt.

“Empire?” he scoffed, “The Imperial Capital lies thousands of miles distant; let it ride here to rescue you.”

With those words, he crushed down again, pulverizing Gareth’s knee.

A harrowing shriek tore from Gareth, reverberating off canyon walls yet muffled by the relentless snowfall.

Battleaxe gestured lazily at the earth: “You lot, start digging. Make it quick.”

The surviving Morkan family knights paled, fingers shaking as they scraped at the rock-hard frozen ground with daggers and bare hands.

Hauled to the side, Gareth teetered on unconsciousness from torment yet desperately held onto his Fighting Energy, clutching it like a final lifeline, forcing its weak glow to flow through him.

Yet amid shattered bones and biting gales, the Fighting Energy wavered like dying coals scattered by gusts, enduring scarcely a minute before fading to nothing.

When the guards had at last finished digging the pit, the feeble Fighting Energy inside Gareth had totally faded away, letting the sharp chill of the Northern Territory’s summer truly seep into his flesh.

The knights clad in black armor hauled him straight up into the hole, allowing the slushy muck to bury him clear to his chest.

Icy slop squeezed against his innards, every inhale like gulping down jagged bits of rusted metal.

Snowflakes drifted into his blood-veined eyes, stinging like needles, yet his neck was locked rigid by frost, preventing any upward tilt.

His mind wavered between choking gasps and sharp awareness; screams longed to burst out but turned to feeble moans, until he plunged fully under.

Battleaxe spotted a young Apprentice Knight next, terrified enough to soil his trousers and drop his blade.

Battleaxe seized him by the collar, hauling him toward the valley’s mouth, and jabbed a finger toward Frost Halberd City: “Get lost! Tell those big shots preparing to hold the rebuilding conference...”

He bent in close, blood trickling from his armor’s joints: “In the Northern Territory, to survive, learn to kneel and present your offerings.”

The young knight fled scrambling into the blizzard.

The black-armored knights rolled out with wagons heavy with ore, carving lasting ruts into the snow.

Within the canyon, just that head stuck out above the drifts, eyes staring wide as if denying this summer as his tomb.

......

Early autumn’s gales and snow in the Northern Territory rained down like icy white blades from above, piling densely beyond Frost Halberd City.