Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 736 - 410: Southward! (Part 2)

His advancing years made his legs weak; he lacked the quickness to dodge or the stamina to run. His only recourse was to place his young daughter inside the cellar jar, seal it tightly, and then sit atop it himself.

"Be quiet, little one... stay silent," he whispered.

From within the jar, his daughter’s soft sobs could be heard. With trembling hands, he held the lid down, terrified that the sounds of chaos outside would terrify her into making noise.

The teachings Lord Raymond had ingrained in them over the years echoed in his mind...

The people of the North were depicted as savage, child-devouring monsters who would breach doors after dark, snatch infants from their cribs, and consume blood as if it were wine. He had never given credence to these tales, but tonight, his belief was absolute.

After the final cries from the outside world dwindled, an unnerving, near-deathly silence descended upon the street. Old Hans’s heart plummeted to the depths of despair.

"It's over... the demons have breached the city. May the Dragon Ancestor watch over us. When they come for me... my precious girl must not make a sound."

He clutched the rolling pin with all his might, seeking some semblance of courage from this meager 'weapon'. He knew it was utterly useless against a fully armored Knight, yet in moments of extreme desperation, people cling to anything, no matter how futile.

Clang.

The bakery door was forced open. Old Hans froze, held his breath, and shut his eyes, bracing for the inevitable strike.

However, the brutal shouts and the clatter of iron-shod boots he had envisioned never materialized. Instead, a young, clear voice inquired, "Is anyone here? Boss?"

Startled, Old Hans opened his eyes. At the doorway stood a female Knight, her armor bearing traces of dried blood, yet she did not exhibit the savage ferocity he had imagined.

She stood tall, her gaze sharp, her breathing even. The Knight surveyed the shop before her eyes landed on him. "We need to requisition your oven."

Old Hans nearly collapsed to his knees, pleading, "L-Lady, I... I have nothing of value here..."

"We are Knights of the Red Tide," the female Knight stated, walking directly to a table and placing down a large sack she carried. It landed with a heavy thud.

Old Hans flinched back in fear, suspecting it was some kind of ghastly trophy meant to intimidate him. But as the sack’s opening was loosened, fine, gleaming flour was revealed. Refined flour? He considered himself fortunate to even glimpse such quality once every few years.

"This is the raw material and a deposit," the female Knight explained, producing five Silver Coins and casually placing them on the table as if conducting a routine transaction. "Before dawn, we require two hundred loaves. Upon completion, you will receive the remaining payment."

Old Hans was utterly bewildered. He cupped the Silver Coins, his hands shaking uncontrollably; this initial payment alone equaled half a year's earnings. Knights within the city had traditionally simply seized what they needed and departed; receiving no ill treatment was considered a kindness. These supposed Northern demons, however, were not only refraining from robbery but were actually paying him?

His lips quivered multiple times before he finally managed to stammer, "You... you truly are... from the Northern Territory?"

The female Knight nodded. "The Red Tide Legion from the Northern Territory. It is perilous outside; remain indoors tonight. We will be securing the district." Without another word, she turned and departed, her cloak brushing softly against the doorframe in the night breeze.

Old Hans gazed at the sack of white flour for a prolonged period, his throat working. "Are these... truly the man-eating demons from the legends?"

A gentle tapping sounded from the cellar. "Papa..."

Old Hans took a deep breath, lifted the lid, and carefully helped his daughter out. "It's safe now, my dear."

He looked at the flour and Silver Coins on the table, and a frigid emptiness within him began to thaw. "Perhaps... they are not demons after all."

......

By the time the council hall of the Black Iron Domain was illuminated by torchlight, it was no longer under the authority of Count Doron. The banners adorning the walls had been removed, replaced by the banner of the Red Tide. The lingering scent of battle, a metallic tang, was gradually being overtaken by a palpable sense of restored order.

Louis occupied the central seat, still clad in his armor, his head bowed as he meticulously wiped bloodstains from his sword. His movements were measured, neither rushed nor languid, as if this were merely a standard meeting room within the Red Tide's main city, rather than a conquered enemy stronghold.

Gray entered the hall, his armor still bearing scorch marks from the destruction of the inner keep. He approached Louis, knelt on one knee, and reported in a low tone, "My Lord, I have failed in my duty. We were a moment too late in storming the inner keep... that old fox managed to release a Gale Bird. I fear word of the raid has already spread." Louis did not look up, merely offering a soft, "Mm."

Cold sweat beaded on Gray’s forehead: "I’m willing to accept punishment."

Before he could continue, Knights dragged in a figure with bound hands and blood at his mouth—Count Doron. His armor was gone; he stumbled, yet his head remained high, like a broken-fanged old wolf still capable of a snarl.

"Louis!" he rasped. "Do you know what you’re doing? This is an invasion! The Gray Rock Province won’t let you go! Duke Remont’s army is right..."

Louis paused his blade-wiping motion.

"Take it easy, Gray," Louis said without looking up, his tone as casual as discussing the weather. "What’s with the tension? Gray Rock Province is vast; we weren’t going to stay hidden forever."

He sheathed his Longsword, then finally lifted his eyes to Gray. "The silent encroachment has already claimed a quarter. That’s sufficient."

Gray froze, realizing Louis had intentionally been molding him.

His Fighting Energy talent was slightly inferior to monstrous talents like Sacco’s and Weir’s.

However, Louis’s Intelligence System had once bestowed upon him a rare assessment: "Possesses the talent of a strong field commander."

Thus, before the campaign, Louis had summoned Gray and personally affixed the adjutant’s armband to his shoulder, aiming to cultivate a successor to Lambert through this very opportunity.

From that moment on, Gray had felt as taut as a drawn bowstring, terrified of failing that trust.

He had maintained a perfectly upright posture, meticulously noting Louis’s every word, command, and habit.

While his Fighting Energy talent wasn't spectacular, Louis’s willingness to entrust him with the adjutant's role indicated an entirely different path was possible for him.

Gray’s palms grew slick with sweat, yet his voice remained steady: "I understand."

Hearing Louis’s words, Count Doron’s expression shifted from rage to disbelief: "You… what encroachment are you referring to...?"

Louis casually raised a hand and pointed at him: "As for him, he’s too loud. Drag him out and execute him."

Doron’s eyes widened as if struck by lightning: "No! I am Nobility! According to regulations, I can pay a ransom! Mmph!"

The Knights gagged him and hauled him away; his boots scraped the floor, leaving a trail of disarray.

Louis didn't spare him a single glance.

Noble status? Ransom? These were meaningless to the Red Tide, poised for a blitzkrieg.

Intimidation held more value than prisoners.

Louis then walked over to the enlarged map of Gray Rock Province displayed on the wall.

Candlelight flickered, casting his shadow long.

In the firelight, the expansive Gray Rock territory resembled a cold iron plate, but now, through Louis’s eyes, it was being sectioned into grid-like hunting grounds marked by his red lines.

Louis raised his hand, his fingertip lightly tracing the map’s edge.

According to the initial strategy, his objective was to first consolidate the Northern Territory—amassing grain, expanding the army, constructing ports, and paving roads—allowing the Red Tide to gradually evolve into the Empire's northern powerhouse.

However, the Intelligence System had completely revised this plan.

That dawn, a few flashed messages on the light screen had abruptly accelerated his timeline into open warfare: Duke Remont had been ensnared in the succession crisis, diverting seventy percent of his elite forces and all Dragon Blood Death Warriors to the Imperial Capital.

The Gray Rock Province was left vulnerable; he had to consider if this was his sole lifelong opportunity to seize it.

Furthermore, should Remont solidify his position in the Imperial Capital and then turn his attention back, the Northern Territory would undoubtedly become his primary target.

To wait meant only one path—death; since that was the case, if the enemy showed weakness, he would strike decisively.

Louis’s fingertip slid across the map, stopping where three thin red lines converged.

This marked the trajectory of the Red Tide Army’s three-pronged "ghost advance."

Leveraging the Intelligence System’s strategic planning, they had evaded patrol riders and outposts, infiltrating through secondary routes, woodland trails, and river systems, silently absorbing a quarter of the territory.

He exhaled softly.

"We have maintained stealth this far… it is enough."

Only now did Gray comprehend that his Lord had never been concerned about discovery; he had merely been calculating the most opportune moment to transition.

Louis turned, his gaze sharp and determined.

"Since the news has surfaced," he declared, placing his hand flat on a city at the map's center, "we shall cease our clandestine maneuvering."

Louis removed his gloves and slowly closed his hand around his sword's hilt.The candlelight danced within his gaze, mirroring a chilling intent meticulously sharpened: "Effective immediately, we transition to assault protocol."