Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 726 - 406: Monster

John was his original name, a name unexceptional in its commonality.

Faintly, he recalled his upbringing in a humble village situated beyond the expanse of Graystone Fortress.

His childhood home was poorly built, letting in the wind; his mother suffered from a persistent cough, and his father met his end that winter in a tragic mine collapse.

When famine later descended, villagers began to surrender their children to the so-called "Charity Garden," rationalizing that at least sustenance would be guaranteed there.

He was among the final group to be sent away. By then, his mother clung to life with but a final breath, her only plea for him to be good and to live well.

Initially, the place did offer ample food and drink; in those early days, he genuinely believed the individuals in white robes, illuminated by the lamplight, were benevolent.

This belief shattered the day he was forcibly laid upon a cold, metallic table.

Instruments of chilling metal, restraints that bound him tight, a needle aggressively piercing his spine... his screams were smothered, choked back as if he were submerged beneath water.

Eventually, even his voice seemed to vanish entirely.

The sensation of pain was severed, his memories were systematically hollowed out, and his name was completely erased.

All that remained was a number: No. 2371.

His entire world was brutally reduced to a stark, unyielding set of imperatives:

Ascend, obliterate all in your path, destroy...

Earlier today, he was extracted from his confinement cell. A metallic tube was inserted into the juncture between his chest and collarbone. As fluid was injected, his entire being felt as if it were consumed by an internal inferno.

A vial of dark crimson potion, more opaque than ever before, was administered.

Beneath his skin, the tubes pulsed with a visible tremor.

It felt as though his very blood had been infused with something alien and potent.

His heart rate surged uncontrollably, his stomach clenched violently, and his senses of smell and hearing were thrown into disarray.

This was merely the final stage of a completed experimental process.

A command echoed powerfully within No. 2371’s mind: Ascend, ascend, ascend...

Thus, he began his ascent up the black, steel ramparts of the Imperial Capital wall, his limbs contorting in unnatural ways, moving with the silent, uncanny grace of a colossal gecko devoid of any voice.

His fingernails dug into the rock crevices, producing a faint, almost inaudible clicking sound.

No. 2371 detected an aroma of blood... the scent ignited a restless agitation within the dark mist swirling in his chest.

A thin, scarlet mist began to seep from beneath his skin, flowing through his veins and out to his extremities, surging with a life of its own.

This was unadulterated, corrupted blood-colored fighting energy.

With every beat of his heart, the crimson mist expanded outwards by half an inch, casting the shadows of the wall in a deep, bloody hue.

The muscles in his forearms tensed, distorted, and beneath the skin’s surface, structures that resembled scales began to emerge.

It was as if the residual essence of some ancient draconic lineage was stirring within him, emitting a low, guttural rumble.

The potion’s internal heat continued its relentless upward climb.

His chest would periodically experience a fleeting void of sensation, akin to his heart momentarily forgetting its rhythm.

His breathing grew increasingly shallow, and his back and shoulders twitched intermittently.

These were the tell-tale signs of the "Terminal Agent" taking effect.

At this current dosage, his survival was projected to last no more than two days.

However, such information was beyond his comprehension; it was not a matter he needed to grasp.

His sole purpose was to execute the directives that Raymond himself had indelibly imprinted upon his consciousness.

Ascend.

Eliminate all opposition.

Destroy.

And so, he pressed onward, his knuckles scraping against the dark steel stones, emitting faint sparks.

Suddenly, a searing liquid rained down from above.

It was an acidic concoction, the venom of a green dragon. A typical human wouldn't even have time to cry out before dissolving into a pool of bloody water; even the potent fighting energy of elite knights would be thoroughly eroded by such a corrosive substance.

Yet, No. 2371 remained utterly still.

Or rather, this minor assault was insufficient even to trigger his basic survival instincts.

The acid cascaded onto his back and shoulders, his skin emitting a piercing, sibilant hiss.

But in the very next instant, the dormant power within him surged as if in defiance, his very bones creaking under the strain...

Shielded by the crimson fighting energy, dense, grayish-black keratin scales rapidly materialized, like the lingering aura of ancient dragon blood awakening beneath his skin.

These scales not only hardened but also acquired a subtle metallic sheen, resembling a secondary exoskeleton forged for the crucible of battle.

The acid met this new defense, only to be forcefully deflected, leaving behind a faint wisp of white smoke.

A single scale would be corroded, only for another to instantly emerge in its place.

Corroded again, only to regenerate.

No. 2371 experienced no pain; he simply followed his orders... continuing his relentless climb.

A brilliant flash of light suddenly illuminated the wall’s summit.

This signaled the activation of the defensive array.

Golden lightning, a manifestation of holy protection, erupted directly above his head. The magical energy seared his scales, crackling audibly like meat upon a fiery grill.

Thunderous energy coursed from his back throughout his entire body. Any ordinary knight would have succumbed, their senses collapsing, their bodies bleeding from every orifice.

Yet, No. 2371’s progress faltered for less than the briefest moment.

His muscles and bones rapidly adapted, strengthening under the electrical onslaught. He even seemed to intuitively map the pathways of the lightning to minimize the impact of subsequent bolts, but his ascent never ceased.

The concept of pain was entirely alien to him.

Scales scorched by the lightning bloomed anew, even tougher than before.

Closer.

Positioned above, the holy protection array's node, a silver apparatus adorned with complex etchings, was embedded in the wall.

Number 2371 extended his hand, which was no longer a hand but the nascent form of a dragon's claw.

"Kacha!" he exclaimed, snapping the metal latch affixed to the node.

Lifting his head, he clamped down on the exposed magic conduit stone.

With sharp fangs sinking deep, "Kala!" a burst of magic erupted within his mouth.

The array node was wrenched free by force.

At that precise moment, the surrounding magical power in the nodes experienced a complete cessation, as if a fearsome beast had severed its very spine.

The mage observing from the wall stood aghast, stammering, "Mon... Monster—!"

His terrified cry barely escaped his lips before Number 2371's vertically slitted pupils had already fixated upon his location.

......

The knights, initially struck with terror at the sight of the dragon-blooded youths scaling the walls, found their fear quickly eclipsed by an even more profound dread.

This was because the encroaching darkness beyond the wall was being forcefully rent apart by the sound of approaching hoofbeats, newer and far more disciplined than before.

It was the synchronized march of the knight legion.

Thousands upon thousands of soldiers, their armor reflecting the meager light of the night, advanced like an inexorable tide surging towards the walls of the Imperial Capital.