Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 742 - 413: Battlefield Situation (2)

He turned his head and looked at Albert, his tone still courteous: "This is the judgment given by Lord Louis; trying to rely on a light assault will only crash into their prepared iron formation."

Albert pondered for a moment: "So it’s step by step? Taking one fortress after another?"

Lambert shook his head, with a clearly respectful expression: "Lord has another strategy."

He took out a sealed order stamped with the Red Tide Territory’s wax from his coat and placed it on the table: "The whole army rests in place for two days, feed the horses and count ammunition. Then converge on the middle route."

Albert was stunned: "Middle route? Gather to where?"

Lambert’s finger moved past all the outlying strongholds, like erasing irrelevant noise, finally landing on the grand stone fortress in the center of the map.

"Grey Rock Castle." He confidently conveyed Louis’s intention: "Lord will meet us in front of Blackstone Canyon. All heavy firepower will be assembled. Then directly capture Grey Rock Castle."

Albert’s heart leaped violently.

Directly capturing Grey Rock Castle, that is the stronghold of the Remont Clan, operated for hundreds of years, the symbol of pride for the Western Territory.

In his world, that place has never been touched by any army.

Albert stared at the straight march route, feeling something ignite in his chest cavity.

The blood started to boil; after all, he is also from the Northern Territory; the battle intent in his bones was awakening.

He murmured: "Frontal assault?"

Lambert straightened his posture, like a real officer: "Yes. Head-to-head. This is the Lord’s order, and something we can achieve."

Albert laughed heartily, his laughter filled with bravery: "Great! Don’t stop me then, I’ll be the vanguard!"

...

The sky over Grey Rock Castle was dark as if a lead block was pressing down, yet the gathering place of military intelligence was brightly lit, the sealed stone chamber stuffy to the point of suffocation.

A giant map of the Gray Rock Province hung on the wall, densely packed with colorful flags occupying the roads and towns.

Half a month ago, they were the symbol of order under the Remont Clan’s control; now they’re like a skin being gradually sliced open by knives.

Kael Remont stood in front of the map, his face pale and bloodless.

"Report—!" The heavy iron door was pushed open, a messenger stumbled in.

He knelt on one knee, gasping for breath, his voice hoarse but desperately trying to stay clear.

"White River Crossing has fallen! The Northern Army didn’t set up bridges; they constructed floating bridges overnight! The garrison didn’t even sound the alarm, captured whole during dinner!"

The chamber filled with whispered murmurs.

The section of the river at White River Crossing was turbulent; by common sense, anyone wishing to cross needed to gather wood, nails, craftsmen in advance, making the marching route easily discernible.

Yet the Northern Army seemed to have grown a road right on the river, silently reaching the shore unnoticed.

Kael’s Adam’s apple moved, he said nothing, just raised his hand and pressed firmly on the family flag representing White River on the map.

The flag swayed gently, and he seemed to hear the sound of something collapsing.

"Report—!" The second messenger crashed to his knees, his voice tense, "The Baron of Redleaf Town... opened the city gates and surrendered."

Kael lifted his gaze, ice-cold: "Reason for surrender?"

"The Northern People attacked the Baron’s Mansion at night, didn’t harm a hair on him, only tied up his only son... in front of him."

The messenger swallowed hard, "The child was hung on the city wall for the whole town to see. The Baron broke down immediately, and voluntarily handed over the gate keys."

Someone gasped audibly, this wasn’t a brutal massacre; it was finding the softest part of a city’s bone and snapping it for everyone to see.

Kael’s fingers rubbed on the scepter, the texture of the wood raw against his fingertips.

He whispered: "Remove the flag of Redleaf Town... as well."

"Report—!"

The third call almost drowned out everyone’s heartbeat.

"The Iron Wall Knight Order encountered the enemy vanguard on the plains." The messenger supported himself with both hands on the ground, his voice dry, "The enemy army is pushing forward with a smoke-spewing iron monster.

Our knights just started to charge, yet to engage, and they were blasted into pieces... even a complete piece of armor is hard to find. This wasn’t a battle; it was... a massacre."

A moment of deathly silence, only the faint crackle of embers in the fire pit.

The Iron Wall Knight Order was the signature of the Gray Rock Province, one of the few aces left by the Remont, heavy armor, thick shields, never suffering losses in frontal assaults.

Now, the opposing forces were decimated on the plains from a distance.

Kael’s gaze slowly lifted, surveying the expanse of the map laid out before him.

The small marker at White River Crossing had been obliterated. The designation for Red Leaf Town was a smeared, lifeless gray, and the area adjacent to the Iron Wall Knight Order’s encampment was heavily encircled in stark red ink.

The red circles seemed to pulsate under the flickering candlelight, as if a dark essence was rising from the very paper itself.

His finger hovered over the map’s center, the tip trembling almost imperceptibly.

"How could things have reached this point..." Kael uttered, his voice raspy and strained.

The enemy’s advance wasn't chaotic but rather followed a precise, unseen vector, systematically severing communication lines, capturing vital crossings, and neutralizing mobile units one by one.

It gave the uncanny impression they were intimately familiar with the territory, privy to every supply route, every hidden cache, and the operational patterns of the cavalry.

Suddenly, he was struck by a disquieting sense of being observed from an elevated vantage point.

All his carefully constructed defenses, his concealed provisions, and his planned retreat routes—elements he believed were secret—were evidently exposed to an unseen, all-knowing gaze.

"We have traitors among us, more than a few," Kael declared, lifting his head, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest. "When precisely did this insidious infiltration commence?"

We believed we held dominion over this province. Yet, from their perspective, it was merely a field ripe for harvest. The sequence of reaping, the timing, had already been predetermined.

The dispatched messengers remained in stony silence, none daring to offer a reply.

Kael slowly stepped back, his eyes fixed on the tattered map, a profound chill unrelated to the battlefield enveloping him.

It wasn't the terror of opposing blades that gripped him, but the unnerving reality of an almost divine level of control.

Louis Calvin.

The name echoed relentlessly within his mind, each repetition intensifying the mounting pressure.

He clenched his fist, only to realize he couldn’t pinpoint any specific location on the map to direct his frustration.

In such dire straits, the only element that could be manipulated was the very terrain itself.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Upon reopening them, all hesitation vanished, replaced by a ruthless determination born from desperation.

"If we cannot halt this predator, then we must ensure its steps falter."

Kael's voice, though quiet, resonated with cold resolve. "Their war machines are formidable, but their weight and reliance on established roads are weaknesses. Mud can ensnare their vehicles, and carnage can impede their progress. We shall transform that road into a mire and a charnel house... rendering it impassable."

The adjutant stiffened, stammering, "Young Master, you intend to..."

Kael’s head shot up, his fist slamming onto the table with such force that the map visibly jolted. "Set fire to every village in the north! Deny them any possibility of resupply."

A flicker of flames danced within his pupils.

"Then, drive all the refugees onto that crucial thoroughfare, irrespective of age, infirmity, or gender. Force them all onto that road! Transform it... into a swampy inferno."

The adjutant’s face drained of color. "Young Master, that action would incite widespread civil unrest..."

"Then, we shall crush it!" Kael bellowed. "Any who dare to resist will be executed on the spot! I seek not order now; I demand time!"

He pointed a finger at the broad road leading into the heartland on the map, his teeth gritted. "I require the flesh and blood of tens of thousands, their belongings, their livestock, their ruined possessions to choke that road. Let it fester, let it become slick, let the stench become so potent that the Northern invaders struggle to draw breath!

I want Louis's mechanized legions... to founder within a sea of mud and decaying corpses."

The adjutant recoiled, too intimidated to voice further objections.

......

Following the issuance of these commands, Grey Rock Province descended into a migration akin to purgatory.

The roofs of countless villages were engulfed in flames, painting a terrifying crimson streak across the nocturnal sky.

The lamentations of the displaced populace echoed, interwoven with the cries of infants, the weary groans of the elderly, and the panicked bleating of livestock.

The road became choked, transforming into an unnavigable river of humanity.

And Kael, positioned atop a high platform, observed the unfolding chaos with a chilling detachment, as if assessing the efficacy of a brutal yet potent instrument put into motion.

"Louis," he murmured icily, "their demise is a consequence of your actions."

"Dare to advance southward, and I shall consign the entirety of Grey Rock Province to oblivion. Come, let us see if your Northern King possesses the resolve to crush forward... or be dragged down into my swamp of despair."

Kael fixed his gaze upon the distant horizon, a searing agony burning within his chest, constricting his breath.

Disregarding the tragedy unfolding in the valley below, he shifted his attention to the imposing Grey Rock Fortress nearby, resolving to defend it at all costs should the need arise...

The Grey Rock Fortress had stood unconquered for over six centuries; it must be preserved, no matter the price.