Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 735 - 410: Heading South!
Previously on Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence...
The domain of dark iron before dawn felt as heavy as any metal.
Only the clatter of patrol knights' boots echoed on the city walls, the biting cold seeping into their very bones through the smallest gaps in their armor.
Covered by a thick cloak, Count Doron stood behind the battlements, his gaze fixed upon the vast plains consumed by the night.
He harbored no expectation of any significant event occurring tonight; despite the recent unrest within the Empire, he viewed the nightly patrols more as a ritual, almost a form of leisure.
Especially satisfying was the instinctive lowered gaze of his subjects upon seeing him; those looks of fear granted him a peculiar sense of fulfillment.
Due to the ongoing imperial succession dispute, Lord Raymond had commanded heightened vigilance across the entire territory. However, in Doron’s estimation, the distant Gray Rock Province remained virtually untouched by these affairs.
He commanded an army of five thousand knights, and he was confident that any would-be aggressors would perish on this somber land.
Yet, the true peril did not manifest as he had anticipated.
Initially, a subtle shift in the wind was the only indication.
Doron’s brow furrowed, poised to summon someone for an investigation...
Abruptly, an intense white light erupted at the southeastern edge of the wall, a section so neglected that even the knights rarely bothered to patrol it.
In the following instant, deafening explosions shattered the prevailing silence.
"Boom—! Boom—!"
"What the—?" Doron’s heart lurched violently.
The instant the fiery illumination descended, Doron initially dismissed it as a mere probing attack. But the epicenter of the explosion coalesced with ferocious intensity, much like a nail precisely driven into a fissure, lodging itself in the most vulnerable joint with a single, decisive strike.
The wall, which had steadfastly defended the domain of dark iron for centuries, enduring relentless beast tides, repelling three rebellions, and standing unbowed against the tempests of tumultuous times—this colossal shield of dark iron stone—was now quaking under the assault of unseen forces.
The tremors originated deep within the stone, propagating outwards layer by layer, as if an colossal giant wielded immense fists to batter the city fortifications.
The thunderous impact stirred up clouds of smoke and dust, and in the darkness of the night, three gaping fissures appeared in the dark iron stone.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!" The knights, in a frenzy, snatched their weapons and hurried towards the breaches, only to halt in their tracks.
This hesitation was caused by a terrifying entity surging forth from the gloom.
These spectral figures advanced with purpose, forming precise rows and columns—a disciplined black tide that subsequently divided into three distinct streams, flooding into the city.
Doron’s throat constricted as he stared intently at the rupture, endeavoring to ascertain the nature of the incoming force.
A contingent of heavy cavalry!
"How dare cavalry units assault Black Iron City? Who are they...?" Doron stammered in disbelief.
Their iron armor offered no gleam in the darkness, unlit by torchlight, rendering their identities impossible to discern.
"What… what kind of troops are these? From where do they hail? How do they presume to wreak havoc in Gray Rock Province?" Doron’s grip tightened on his sword hilt, a faint sheen of sweat appearing on his palm.
He finally managed to discern the armor of the cavalry in the vanguard; entirely black, unadorned, save for a subtle crimson emblem etched upon their chests.
"Advance and intercept them!" Doron bellowed, drawing his own sword as he descended from the tower himself.
With a decisive leap, he unleashed his fighting energy in an instant, a wave of gray radiance flowing with his blade.
A powerful swing sent two enemy riders staggering back by half a step.
The opposing knight raised his head, his gaze meeting Doron’s—eyes that were chillingly cold and utterly impassive.
And from the fractured edges of their armor, an icy blue luminescence pulsed.
This light seeped forth from the cracked armor, ethereal and pure, piercing directly into Doron’s vision.
In Doron’s mind, it felt as though he had been struck by a colossal hammer, a deafening roar filling his senses, leaving his thoughts utterly blank.
Blue fighting energy!
The fighting energy of the Northern Winter!
In that precise moment, he found himself unable to even draw breath.
This force… it shouldn't be here! It was impossible for it to be present!
As his sword’s edge made contact once more, the icy blue energy surged along the metal, akin to a chilling tide engulfing his arm.
His fingers grew stiff with an unnatural cold, rendering him incapable of holding his sword steady.
"No… this is impossible…" Doron’s voice was choked, barely escaping his throat, "The Northern Knights? Three thousand kilometers away… how did they arrive here?"
Furthermore, there had been no beacon alerts, no reconnaissance reports. Not even the slightest whisper of a warning had signaled this army’s approach.
It was as though the entire host had materialized from the deepest recesses of the night.
A creeping dread, originating from his spine, caused him to question whether he was confronting spectral beings clad in armor.
This disquieting thought persisted for mere moments.
For as the mysterious iron cavalry crashed into his own formations, he witnessed his personal guards being cleaved asunder, like firewood split by a mighty axe.
Their formation was torn apart with swift, decisive precision, utterly devoid of hesitation.
Fighting energy proved utterly useless against them; their mere impact seemed capable of crushing both man and armor into the very mud.
"Retreat! Fall back into the fortress!" Doron’s desperate cry was swallowed by the ferocious clang of iron against iron.
Doron could distinctly feel that the frontline had not just been pushed back, but utterly annihilated. The enemy's cavalry pressed onward through the gloom, uncharacteristically silent, without the usual clamor of battle. It was as if an spectral army, carrying the biting chill of a deep winter, was marching through the night. Thirty minutes elapsed. In merely thirty minutes, the thousand-plus knights he had always held in high regard, stationed within the city's defenses, appeared to be completely crushed. To this moment, Doron found himself compelled to repeatedly question their audacity: How did they dare? How did they manage to infiltrate the city undetected? It all felt as though some unseen power had deliberately veiled the events, and the deeper he contemplated, the more apprehension gripped him. As a consequence of his knights' relentless defeats, Doron was compelled to retreat into the castle with his dwindling guards, the sound of pursuing footsteps echoing relentlessly behind them. He cast a final, lingering look at the city receding in his wake. The specters of the frigid northern winter were insidiously devouring it whole. ... Within the city, sporadic sounds of combat echoed, making it impossible to distinguish between spectral shrieks and human cries. Old Hans huddled in his small bakery, his entire frame rigid as if encased in ice.