Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 712 - 400: Elegy of the Old Era

At the ambush point on the flank, Oser seemed frozen on his saddle.

He had already drawn his sword, ready to lead the Silver Fang Knight Order down from the highlands whenever the Seventeenth Legion broke free from the mire, to cut off their rear.

But when he saw with his own eyes those hundred steam war machines push through the fog side by side, firing simultaneously, erasing nearly a thousand Black Steel Knights from existence.

His sword was held high in the air, but he could not bring himself to swing it down.

"What... what kind of monstrous thing is this..."

Oser’s throat tightened, and thirty years of experience became completely invalid.

The appearance of such things was not a tactical advantage, but a rift in the entire era.

He had never witnessed a weapon that didn’t require Fighting Energy, without incantations, and not reliant on a commander’s orders to cause such large-scale destruction.

That wasn’t a siege engine; it didn’t even seem like Magic.

It was more akin to a group of monsters driving out from a steel Hell.

As he stood dazed, a steady and cold hand slapped onto his shoulder armor.

Felan’s voice, like a heavy hammer on a winter night, cut through: "Oser, put your jaw away. If you don’t charge now, Lambert is going to steal all the credit."

Oser jolted awake, as if kicked from a dream, his face suddenly flushing.

To cover his previous lapse, he abruptly raised his sword high above his head, his voice hoarse yet thunderous: "Silver Fang Knight Order! For Lord Louis!! Charge!!"

On the highland, over a thousand silver capes fluttered violently, the knights descending like a sharp blade cutting down the snowy ridge.

On the opposite side, the Cold Iron Knight Order moved steadily, like a descending iron curtain, advancing in synchronization.

Nearly two thousand Frost Halberd Knights, under the command of Felan and Oser, encircled downward from the two flanks, their blades pointing firmly at the remaining scattered soldiers of the Seventeenth Legion, who had dispersed and fled after being crushed by the steam war machines.

Like iron currents converging from different directions, they cornered all the retreating enemy troops, completely sealing off the last escape route for the Ackman Knights.

......

Ackman was covered in mud, his armor shattered as if bitten by a giant beast, his Fighting Energy swirling chaotically, unable to form a complete shield anymore.

The air was thick with the smell of blood and burnt flesh, surrounded by mangled corpses, flattened warhorses, and the roaring steel tracks spewing heat.

He stood unsteadily, like an old lion with severed limbs still yearning to slaughter the enemy.

He was already insane, his eyes bloodshot, breathing heavy like the last gasp of a bellows.

"Louis—come out!!"

His roar seethed with throat-ripping despair and fury: "Is this your glory? With bombs? With these monsters? What kind of knights are you!!"

As he screamed, a steam war machine directly in front of him came to a halt.

The tracks emitted "clack clack" metallic retraction sounds, as if a steel giant beast was overlooking this dying human lion.

Beside the war machine, a figure cloaked in a Red Tide cape rode a horse, slowly emerging from the steam.

Lambert seemed to stroll through a tranquil courtyard, forming a glaring contrast with Ackman’s filthy and wretched appearance.

Ackman stared at him, his expression shifting from madness and pain to a... strange joy.

He chuckled lowly, his laughter filled with desolation, "At least... it’s a knight who came."

Though he had never met Lambert, the feeling of Fighting Energy was unmistakable; the other was a Transcendent Knight, a fitting end for him.

Ackman seemingly grasped at the last straw, roaring as he charged over, his Fighting Energy exploding on his Broken Sword, like igniting the last flame of his life.

"Come!! Let me see! Can young people today still fight a dignified battle!!"

Lambert merely raised an eyebrow.

He didn’t even draw his sword.

He untied a pouch next to his saddle and took out three silver-white lightweight Magic Explosion Bullets.

Ackman widened his eyes, finally realizing...

The knights of this era no longer needed to draw their swords.

"You—!" His furious shout turned into a torn roar.

Lambert spoke calmly: "Times have changed, Lord Ackman."

His wrist trembled, and three bullets fell in a "p" shape around Ackman.

Time only allowed Ackman to widen his eyes.

Boom!!! Boom!!! Boom!!!

The triple explosion overlay formed a visible air current vortex, stripping Ackman off the ground entirely.

His Fighting Energy shield shattered like glass, his armor torn into curled edges by the Shock Wave.

He crashed hard into the steam war machine’s armor, the metal denting into a deep pit, while his body slid down like a flattened sack.

Blood flowed through armor gaps, staining the snow beneath red.

Lambert dismounted, walking to the front of his fallen body.

Ackman's consciousness teetered on the brink of oblivion, his lips quivering as if desperate to utter a final word.

Yet, speech eluded him. The last image imprinted on his vision was Lambert's gaze, chillingly devoid of warmth.

It was a look that mirrored the nascent flames of a new epoch surveying the remnants of the past.

A flash of silver light cleaved the air.

Ackman's head detached, tumbling onto the pristine snow. It rested there, still bearing the imprint of his final moments – a mixture of lingering ambition, sheer bewilderment, and the primal fear of an era's irreversible transition.

Lambert extended a hand, retrieving the head while it still held its warmth. He raised it casually. "Let his head be displayed before the war machine. It is a message for Lord Louis."

With a renewed roar of steam, the colossal war machine began its ponderous advance.

Ackman's head, impaled upon a long spear, became a grim banner. His once fervent gaze was now extinguished, leaving only the spectral echo of a bygone age.

......

Meanwhile, across the vast expanse of the highlands, at the observation post shared by the Fourteenth and Seventh Legions, an unnerving silence fell.

Sol, whose composure was as steadfast as the mountains, and Bart, notorious for his volatile temperament, both found themselves frozen on their mounts.