Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 716 - 401: Aftermath and New Bad News (Part 2)

The scattered remnants of the opposing forces will be integrated into the reserve labor reform camp. They will be tasked with road repairs for a duration of three months, with excellent performance earning them the privilege to wield swords once more.

Lambert offered a nod, then shifted his attention to another report. He drew a breath of the crisp, cold air, as if deliberately seeking to organize his thoughts and prevent burgeoning excitement from clouding his judgment.

"Regarding Gray Stone Fortress... the situation deviates significantly from our initial expectations," he stated, his voice remarkably low. "After the arrival of the Magic Explosion Bullet unit, they conducted only four test firings of the siege magic cannons, adhering to the most fundamental operational protocols."

Lambert cast a fleeting glance at Louis before quickly averting his gaze. He recognized that the true object of reverence at this juncture was the young lord beside him, whose exceptional foresight had enabled Hillco to develop such a devastating weapon.

While the destructive capabilities of the Magic Explosion Bullet had been confirmed through prior experimental trials, its actual deployment in warfare, the resultant impact, and the sheer magnitude of the shock it delivered felt profoundly distinct.

"Upon the impact of the first projectile, the fortress's city wall developed visible cracks. When the second shot struck the upper rampart of Dragonstone Gate, the entire fortress wall began to shed debris."

"The third and fourth shots..." Lambert paused momentarily, adding, "...directly pulverized Dragonstone."

He omitted any dramatic embellishments of the awe-inspiring details, instead presenting the facts directly: "Even before the settling dust had fully cleared, elements from the 14th and 7th legions emerged, brandishing white flags...

They swiftly presented the heads of Sol and Balter, proclaiming it a preemptive purging of traitors within their ranks and declaring their fervent desire to join the Red Tide."

The remaining deputy commanders and their adjutants expressed their complete willingness to be reconfigured, articulating that compared to Ackman's brutal methodologies... Lord Louis's system represented the only viable path to survival."

Louis emitted a soft chuckle, displaying neither surprise nor discernible pleasure.

Lambert continued, "My Lord, in total, we have acquired approximately six thousand highly trained regular knights. This number..."

Louis finally ceased his movement, his gaze drifting sideways towards the contingent of prisoners being escorted.

Once-arrogant Imperial Knights were now huddled together, resembling toothless wolves, utterly devoid of their former valor.

"Six thousand," Louis stated with composure. "While other nobles may hesitate to incorporate them, I shall not. Dispatch them to the Red Tide for comprehensive re-education."

Lambert responded instantly, "Understood, my Lord."

"Issue instructions to the instructors: I do not require Imperial Knights. What I desire are soldiers of the Red Tide. Within three months, I expect them to don red cloaks and to feel a profound sense of unfamiliarity with the standards of the Old Empire,"

Louis articulated with calm certainty, confident in the efficacy of his strategy.

The Red Tide system, meticulously constructed by him over many years, encompassed far more than mere discipline or rigorous training; it was a holistic process designed for fundamental belief reconstruction, offering a distinct new trajectory.

Within this transformative process, the inherent pride, lingering anger, pervasive confusion, and ingrained loyalty of a seasoned knight would be completely redefined.

They would come to comprehend the purpose of their combat, the cause for which they fought, and rediscover the inherent dignity of a sworn protector, thereby enabling them to forge a new beginning from the remnants of the preceding era.

Lambert turned his attention to the final page of the report: "Regarding our casualties..."

He inhaled deeply, his voice steadying, though it still betrayed a note of astonishment.

"Five chariots sustained damage, all of which are repairable. Personnel losses amounted to thirty-two fatalities and eighty-five individuals with varying degrees of injuries, primarily incurred during the pursuit phase."

"To relinquish five chariots and the lives of several dozen soldiers in exchange for consolidating military strength in the Northern Territory and integrating three elite legions..." Louis mused, nodding in affirmation afterward.

The group resumed their forward movement, now arriving at the steps preceding the entrance to the City Lord’s Mansion.

Within, all the assembled nobles from the Northern Territory awaited their summons to the meeting.

Louis casually adjusted the collar of his attire.

Weir reached out to open the imposing door, its heavy oak panels groaning in protest, revealing a harsh interior light that spilled from the gap, silhouetting Louis as if he had emerged directly from the dawn.

At that precise moment, the entirety of the meeting hall seemed ensnared by an unseen force, its collective tension palpable.

"Swish—"

Hundreds of nobles rose in unison.

The scraping of chairs against the floor was a deafeningly synchronized sound, reminiscent not of a leisurely noble gathering, but of knights steeling themselves for an impending engagement.

Not a single soul dared to remain seated as they welcomed the young lord who had so recently annihilated three entire legions.

Their gazes conveyed an intricate tapestry of emotions...

From the complete and utter capitulation and reverence of Count Albert, to the profound relief of minor nobles who had narrowly escaped peril, and then there were those... whose eyes betrayed a disquieting flicker of apprehension and outright fear.

Louis proceeded to the far end of the long table, towards the seat formerly occupied by Duke Edmund.

He drew out the chair, settled himself upon it with deliberate calm, interlaced his fingers, and rested them gently upon the polished surface of the table.

Only after a three-second interval subsequent to his seating did the nobles slowly resume their own seats, their movements executed with a delicate gentleness, as if they harbored a fear of disturbing some dormant, powerful magical entity.

The atmosphere grew so thick with unspoken tension that the distinct rhythm of each individual heartbeat became almost audible.

Louis surveyed the room, a familiar smirk gracing his lips.

"Thank you all for your patience," he began, his tone deceptively casual when he added, "There was some vermin outside the city that required… disposal earlier, leading to a minor delay."

None of the assembled nobles dared to offer a contrary opinion, nor even betray a flicker of emotion on their faces.

Louis continued his address, "The favorable news is that the garrisons for the 17th, 14th, and 7th legions have been disbanded. Commander Ackman, along with his three subordinate commanders, have all met the executioner's blade. Their draftees have been integrated into the Red Tide forces. Consequently, all security concerns within the Northern Territory are now thoroughly neutralized."

His nonchalant delivery served as the final thud of a hammer, signaling the end of an old epoch.

Even though the outcome had been largely anticipated, hearing Louis personally pronounce it "neutralized" sent an involuntary shiver down the spines of many nobles.

These were three elite legions he so casually dismissed with the word 'neutralized'?!

Just as a fleeting sense of 'at last, some peace' began to settle in the hearts of the attendees...

Louis's smile vanished abruptly, replaced by eyes as profound and cold as a frozen lake.

"However, before we proceed with the meeting's agenda, I must, with regret, share some further…" He paused, letting the silence stretch. "…unpleasant tidings."

The atmosphere in the hall immediately turned frigid.

Seven thousand knights on standby were bad news, the annihilation of three legions was a mere trifle, so what further calamity could there be?

Louis leaned forward subtly, his voice dropping in volume but each word resonating with immense weight:

"It has been confirmed that the Empire's Regent King, His Highness Arens, passed away at the stroke of midnight last night."

A wave of stunned silence washed over the assembly hall.

One individual, barely daring to believe the announcement, inquired, "My Lord… how credible is this intelligence?"

Louis's gaze swept over the questioner, frigid and unyielding. "Within a few days, your own intelligence networks will corroborate this news."

The entire hall was plunged into a moment of stunned disbelief.

No one wept, nor did anyone display outward signs of grief befitting a national tragedy.

For these provincial magnates of the Northern Territory, the Imperial Capital felt like a world away; the identity of the ruler on the throne held little immediate consequence for them.

The Regent King's demise was more like the fall of some distant mythical deity – surprising, certainly, but without any direct impact on their daily lives.

Someone couldn't suppress a whispered query, "Then… who will ascend as the new Emperor?"

Yet, the expressions on the faces of the more astute nobles had already undergone a visible shift.

Louis perceived this change and coolly stated, "I understand your thoughts precisely: the capital is too remote, why should it concern us, correct?"

He rose from his seat and approached the expansive map depicting the Northern Territory.

His finger traced with deliberate force the single artery connecting the Imperial Capital to their own domain.

"At present, no single successor has been universally accepted. The Regent King's passing signifies a shattered equilibrium. The various Princes will undoubtedly turn on each other with immediate ferocity."

He lifted his head, his voice now clear and somber. "Esteemed Lords and Ladies, do you truly believe this is merely an affair for the Imperial Capital to manage? Consider this carefully: once a full-blown civil war erupts...

Will the Northern Territory still receive its allocated military provisions? Will the vital shipments of grain and textiles from the South continue their flow unimpeded? Will the Imperial Trade Bureau's requisitions for your mineral resources remain valid?"

Each question landed like a splash of icy water, shocking the assembled nobles.

Their harsh land, the Northern Territory, had long been dependent on external support from the South.

Should the Empire descend into internal conflict, the Northern Territory risked becoming an isolated, forgotten outpost.

The nobles finally succumbed to a palpable sense of panic:

"If the grain supply is cut off, how are we expected to survive the coming winter?"

"To whom shall I market my ore?

"Without Imperial directives, I cannot even maintain my private militia!"

"We are finished… What if these Princes, desperate for funds to fuel their armies, decide to impose exorbitant taxes upon the Northern Territory then?"