Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 715 - 401: Aftermath and New Bad News

Gray Stone Fortress · Ackman’s command study.

The night is like iron, the wind howls through the gaps in the stone walls.

The flickering firelight casts the magical beast heads on the wall into a sinister and horrifying display; originally, these decorations were meant to showcase Ackman’s martial prowess and deterrence.

But now, these shriveled wolf heads and snow bear teeth seem to be grinning wildly, mocking the two living beings clinging to life inside the room.

The ground is a mess, expensive wine bottles are rolling everywhere, a pungent mix of strong alcohol and burnt smell akin to vomit fills the air.

Bart is curled up by the fireplace, like an old dog stripped of all courage.

He clutches a bottle of Ackman’s treasured spirits, his hands trembling like dead branches in the wind, choking with every sip.

"That... that’s not..." His teeth chatter, voice cracking.

"Did you see that? How did they go crazy? They’re cutting down their own people... that’s sorcery... we’re, we’re doomed..."

He mutter nervously, like a child overly frightened: "We didn’t join the battle... we were just out for training, right?

Louis can’t kill us, we’re Imperial Legion commanders... we’re regular troops... regular troops..."

Sol kicked a wine bottle angrily, although his face looks no better than a dead man’s, he tries to maintain the last shred of dignity as the Iron Wall Legion commander.

"Shut up! Be a man!" He roars, his voice trembling slightly out of fear, "That fool Ackman sought death himself, this has nothing to do with us! We were observing from the flank, didn’t even make a sound!"

He takes a deep breath, feigning calm: "As long as we claim we were deceived and even coerced by Ackman, Louis wouldn’t dare touch two legion commanders. Empire law will protect us."

Bart suddenly lifts his head, lips pale: "Sol... should we surrender? Kneel and beg him? Offer up all our legion’s equipment! Doesn’t Louis love money?"

Sol sneers: "Surrender? Forgot how Ackman’s head fell off? And you think Louis would leave anyone alive?"

He walks over to the large Northern Territory map on the wall, pointing at the position marked Gray Stone Fortress, regaining some confidence.

"Listen, here is Gray Stone Fortress, the strongest natural peril in the Northern Territory." Sol lowers his voice, as if he’s shouting to himself, "Those iron boxes of Louis might be formidable, but they are too heavy! They can’t climb up that cliffside road!"

Bart immediately nods, scrambling up with the wine bottle: "Yes, yes, yes! They can’t take the mountain road! They’ll get stuck! They’ll collapse! They’ll fall off the cliff! Haha... We’re safe, we’re safe..."

Sol plunges a dagger into the map fiercely: "As long as we close the Dragon Slayer Stone gate, even if he has a hundred tanks, he’ll be staring blankly from below the wall! We’ll defend right here, waiting for the Imperial Capital to send reinforcements!"

The two exchange glances, seeing hope in each other’s eyes, looking less like dead men.

Bart even raises his trembling hand to lift his wine cup: "Cheers... cheers to the indomitable Gray Stone Fortress..."

Sol also raises his wine cup.

Just as the rims are about to touch.

"Wong——!"

The wine liquid on the table shakes violently, splashes out of the cup edge.

Sol’s face turns pale: "An earthquake...?"

"Boom!!!!"

It’s as if the heavens and earth explode next to the ear, the entire command hall lifted by a giant beast.

The chandelier on the ceiling falls off, crashing into the ground, shattered into fragments, dust cascades down like a waterfall.

The personal guard outside stumbles in, face full of blood, crying out: "Sir! The gate! The gate is gone!!!"

Sol roars in anger: "Nonsense! That’s the Dragon Slayer Stone! What siege hammer can break it?!"

The personal guard kneels on the ground, voice trembling to a pitch break: "Not broken... it was... it was blasted open!!!"

......' .....'

The first ray of morning sunlight crosses the ramparts of Frost Halberd City, illuminating three heads slight swaying in the morning breeze.

They are hung in a triangle formation atop the city gate tower.

In the center is Ackman, his face still frozen with the ferocity and anger before he died, seeming ready to curse at any moment.

And the cold light shines upon his eyes still refusing to close, like lighting a sarcastic candle for his gone ambition.

On the left is Bart, his mad dog-like face now twisted out of shape, like a beast skull broken apart, the fear before death had ripped his features apart.

On the right is Sol, his expression almost blank, as if before death, he’s still contemplating how Gray Stone Fortress was opened.

The cold wind blows, the three heads gently sway in unison.

Appearing to greet the passing people below.

Also seeming to admit, the old era has ended.

Cloaked in black, Louis moved with a composure befitting a man who owned the very ground he walked upon.

Supporting troops formed orderly lines on either side, meticulously clearing the remnants of battle, while columns of prisoners were marched through the city in a steady procession.

The atmosphere hung heavy, a potent mixture of spilled blood, lingering oil, and the sharp bite of the morning's frost.

A half-body length behind him, Lambert strode with polished armor gleaming, his steps possessing a crisp, almost breezy rhythm.

A thick bundle of parchment, heavy with vital reports, was held firmly under his arm as he rapidly relayed the newest intelligence.

"The Seventeenth Legion's count is complete. Initial strength stood at three thousand men; over a thousand have been confirmed dead or gravely wounded.

The remaining two thousand are all under detainment. However... the impact of the Soul Devourer has severely fractured their minds. The majority now curl into fetal positions and wail at any sudden noise, with some seemingly lost to all emotion."

Louis didn't even spare a glance backward. "Mental trauma? Let labor be the cure. Sort them based on their compliance. Those who still possess a defiant glare, those who harbor thoughts of rebellion, shall have their Fighting Energy stripped, bound in chains, and dispatched to the deepest iron mines. That mining region is, after all, in dire need of fearless laborers."