Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 747 - 416: Open Fire on the Refugees?

Within the tower, the fireplace roared, its warmth gradually permeating the stone structure, while the frigid gusts were held at bay by robust window frames, leaving only the muffled patter of raindrops against the glass.

Clad in a substantial fur cloak, Kael Remont stood before the expansive window, gazing outward.

He cradled a glass of red wine, its deep hue mirroring a slow cascade of blood under the fire's glow.

Bringing the high-powered binoculars to his eyes, he peered through the downpour towards the Black Stone Gorge, several kilometers distant.

It was a scene of utter desolation.

The gorge's entrance was crammed to capacity, an overwhelming throng of tens of thousands of refugees packed into the narrow passage, their bodies pressed together, inching forward laboriously through the mud.

The relentless rain attempted to cleanse the filth, accompanied by sporadic cries and screams that, torn by the wind and rain, reached Kael as merely a subdued, continuous hum.

A slight smirk touched Kael’s lips.

In his estimation, it wasn't chaos but a meticulously orchestrated success.

Adjusting the binoculars, he magnified the view.

Beyond the Black Stone Gorge, Louis’s armored advance was indeed halted.

Steam-powered vehicles, lined up at the gorge's opening, presented their formidable steel silhouettes faintly through the rain, resembling a pack of predators brought to an unnatural standstill.

Confronted by this human barricade, they remained entirely immobile.

Kael lowered the binoculars, swirling the wine in his glass with a gentle motion. "Observe," he remarked, "what a flawless defensive line."

A distinct note of triumph laced his tone.

"No need for fortifications of brick or stone; merely a horde of powerless souls obstructing the Northern Territory's most formidable might."

A knight approached, offering Kael a warm towel.

"Young Master..." The knight hesitated, his voice dropping respectfully but with a deliberate modulation. "Louis is indeed impeded. However... those are, after all, tens of thousands of civilians."

His words were uttered so softly, they were nearly lost amidst the fireplace's crackle.

Kael cast a fleeting glance in his direction.

The knight immediately course-corrected, his tone becoming smoothly compliant. "Naturally, this is precisely the art of subduing the enemy without direct conflict. Should he crush them, his reputation will be irrevocably tarnished. If he hesitates, these tens of thousands will soon exhaust him, not to mention the impending arrival of our reinforcing army."

Kael offered no reply, merely emitting a low hum.

A general smile spread among those in the tower, though some expressions appeared forced, more akin to calculated flattery, while simultaneously assessing the reactions of their peers.

Several knights exchanged subtle glances, one opening his mouth as if to speak before ultimately restraining himself, recognizing the inappropriative timing for questions.

An unspoken, delicate tension permeated the atmosphere.

Kael seemed to perceive it but remained unperturbed.

He moved towards the war map, indicating the location of Black Stone Gorge, his demeanor shifting to one of grave concentration.

"Based on my assessment of Louis's character, given his established methods, he will undoubtedly attempt a rescue operation," Kael stated, raising his head, his gaze steady and resolute.

"The moment he commences rationing supplies, his advance will decelerate tenfold. Winter will then accomplish the remainder for us, leaving the tens of thousands of Northern soldiers either to retreat in ignominy or to be decisively trapped here."

Naturally, another outcome remained a possibility: Louis discarding his pretense of virtue and brutally overriding the civilians.

For such an eventuality, Kael had devised an alternative strategy, though he harbored suspicions of a mole within his inner circle, a fact known only to a select few, and thus could not be openly disclosed.

Outside, the rain intensified.

In the distance, Louis’s encampment flickered with scattered lights, appearing indistinct and hazy in the encroaching night.

Kael presumed these to be mere campfire embers, dismissing them without further thought.

He turned, raising his glass aloft. "To this accursed storm, to these unexpectedly useful refugees, and to the forging of a path from the brink of despair!"

"Cheers to the Young Master's brilliant strategy!"

"May Grey Rock Castle stand firm and unyielding!"

The tower echoed with affirmations, crystal glasses resonating with a sharp, clear chime as they met.

Kael, his glass of red wine still elevated, the celebratory words poised on his lips.

A few kilometers away, a sudden, brilliant, and fleeting flash illuminated the Red Tide camp.

It was the fiery bloom of heavy artillery discharging its payload.

In the ensuing moment, a deep, resonant boom cascaded forth, carried on the torrent of rain.

It felt as if a colossal force had been violently propelled from afar, the air compressing and then rebounding with immense force.

"Boom—!"

The sound traveled along the ground, ricocheting repeatedly between the mountain masses before finally impacting the tower walls with a delayed resonance.

The window frame vibrated subtly, causing tiny ripples to disturb the surface of the wine in Kael's glass.

Kael's body stiffened instantly; he lurched towards the window, seizing the binoculars once more.

The downpour assaulted the tower's defenses, raindrops exploding against the glass and streaking down in blurry sheets, distorting the outside view into countless fragmented, wavering shapes.

Visibility was obscured, leaving only flickering flames visible in the distance through the rain, their landing spots indiscernible. Yet, this lack of clarity did not impede his assessment, as for Kael, there was invariably only one conclusion.

"Did he fire?" His voice cracked with a hint of lost composure, "Fire upon the refugees?"

Immediately following were further roars.

"Boom—!"

The sound was closer this time, more immediate and palpable.

Every soul within the tower felt the stone flooring beneath them vibrate minutely.

"Madman..." Kael's breaths grew shallow, yet his tone involuntarily climbed in pitch.

"He's actually chosen to detonate upon tens of thousands of civilians to clear the path?!" Within his mind, he reasoned that under similar circumstances, he would undoubtedly have fired upon the refugees.

The logic was simple: as long as one pressed forward, and as long as casualties occurred, the way forward would naturally be created.

Therefore, it was natural for him to assume Louis Calvin would act likewise.

However... Kael's thoughts churned rapidly.

Reputation for treasure, winning hearts, refraining from bloodshed.

All mere pretense?

Yet, as anger and astonishment welled up, an almost overwhelming surge of excitement bloomed from his core.

The moment the initial shells struck the throng, Louis's reputation would be irrevocably shattered.

The 'righteous' Count of the Red Tide?

Hmph, a façade easily torn away.

With no possibility of entering the canyon or retreating, he himself held the ultimate control.

Kael lowered his binoculars, a knowing smirk gracing his lips, confirming his suspicions.

"Watch," he gestured outward, his voice echoing within the tower's confines, "this is the true visage of that charlatan."

His mind had already leaped far beyond the present moment.

Even if Louis succumbed to madness and forced his advance at the cost of his honor—five tons of Fire Demon Explosion Bullets had already been strategically placed.

The instant the vanguard penetrated the midway point, the moment he activated the trigger.

Tens of thousands, along with that iron column, would be interred together within the canyon's depths.

This entire predicament was Louis's doing.

And the annals of war would not chronicle the plight of civilians, only the outcomes of victory and defeat.

......

"Whoosh——!!"

A prolonged, sharp whistle pierced the air, reminiscent of a metallic beast's shriek as it carved through the night sky.

It moved swifter than thunder, its sound sharper than the pelting rain.

Within Blackstone Canyon, almost simultaneously, everyone grasped a single terrifying realization: something was descending.

Panic did not spread; it detonated instantly.

The crowd convulsed inward, individuals instinctively shielding their heads, mouths opening but emitting no sound, some being forced down into the muddy earth, flailing with outstretched arms, only to be further trampled by the surging mass.

The cries lasted but a fleeting moment before dissolving into choked whimpers.

The stampede had commenced...

Mud churned violently, worn footwear and scattered belongings were ground into the mire, and those who fell were quickly swallowed by the relentless human tide.

Martha stumbled as the throng jostled her, her child held close against her chest, the child's face pressed firmly inward.

She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the descent of the Sword of Judgment.

The world seemed to fall silent, yet the anticipated cataclysm did not erupt nearby.

The projectiles, trailing fiery orange streaks, zipped overhead, astonishingly close, the heat radiating from them felt as though it peeled back their scalps.

The displaced air tore through the rain, carving a temporary void, as if guided by an unseen hand clearing a path for them.

"Boom——!!"

These were not the Magic Explosion Bullets intended for flesh, but the heavy-duty variant designed for structural demolition.

A perfectly executed strike.

Behind the Grey Rock Battle Commander's contingent, the number three mine pit, concealed beneath a camouflage net, was violently exposed by the fiery impact.

The concussive force, like an immense, invisible fist, obliterated the defensive preparations in a single blow, shredding the camouflage netting to tatters.

Sacks brimming with flour, stacked like miniature mountains, detonated instantaneously, fabric, ropes, and wooden crates erupting into the night sky.

Tons of provisions were lofted by the shockwave, soaring a hundred meters aloft.

The incandescent projectiles ignited them while still airborne.

The dust ignited in the intense heat, bathing the entire night sky in an inferno as a colossal cloud of golden-red fire billowed and expanded above the pit, only to be relentlessly battered by the ongoing rain.

Immediately after, the unburnt grain began to cascade down.

In the profound darkness of the rainy night, Blackstone Canyon became the scene of a peculiar, golden precipitation of flour.

It was not the spectacle itself that posed the true lethality, but the overwhelming scent.

The extreme temperature instantly scorched some of the wheat and ignited the oils from barrels of brined meat within the mine pit.

The fragrant aroma of toasted wheat mingled with the rich scent of meat and the greasy fragrance of heated oil, all carried on the explosion's thermal wave.

Carried by the northwest wind, a scent that had been anticipated for a long time acted like an unseen hook, pulling it into the canyon.

It permeated the nostrils of tens of thousands who had not eaten for three full days and nights.

The aroma of survival!

At the very forefront of the battle supervision unit, a battle supervisor knight, his face a mask of flesh, froze.

White flour dusted his helmet and shoulder armor, clinging to his visage.

In that instant, he was jolted back to reality.

And the previously subdued crowd began to stir.

Countless pairs of eyes, gleaming with a desperate green, bypassed him, fixing their gaze intently on the burning granary behind.

"Stop!" The Battle Commander brandished his long saber, his voice laced with fear, "Those are military rations! Who dares to move?"

"Bang!"

A sharp, decisive explosion provided the answer.

On the Red Tide’s front lines, a modified heavy sniper crossbow unleashed its projectile.

The upper torso of the Battle Commander detonated in the firelight, resembling a watermelon obliterated by a heavy hammer, with flesh and armor fragments scattering together.

His shout was abruptly silenced.

Immediately following, the second, third... explosions sounded in rapid succession.

"Bang!" "Bang!" "Bang!"

The hunters positioned at the vanguard of the Red Tide commenced their assault.

They did not target the panicked refugees, nor did they pursue the retreating soldiers.

Their aim was solely on those knights still gripping their swords, endeavoring to maintain order.

One by one, the battle supervision knights succumbed amidst the firelight and the curtain of rain.

It was as if an unseen blade was calmly and precisely severing the bonds that held these refugees captive, one by one.