Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 749 - 417: The Lit Fuse (Part 2)

Kael whirled around suddenly, snatching an alchemical signal gun from the wall's weapon rack.

His hand trembled with an almost uncontrollable surge of excitement, akin to a gambler grasping their final chip before utter ruin.

He still possessed a decisive trump card—five tons of black fire magic burst.

A single trigger pull on the cliffside would send millions of tons of rock cascading down, entombing thousands of rampaging mobs and Louis’s vanguard forces within the canyon.

Kael sprinted out onto the terrace.

The downpour lashed against his face, and the wind howled past his ears.

He aimed the weapon towards the ink-black night sky and yanked the trigger with all his might.

"Boom——!!"

The dark signal flare ascended with a shriek, erupting into a dense plume of black smoke against the rainy night.

It was the prearranged signal for annihilation.

"Explode!" Kael bellowed towards the left cliff, his voice nearly shredding his throat. "Blow it all up!! Bury them all!!"

His gaze was fixed intently on the direction of Eagle’s Beak Rock.

In his fervent anticipation, the mountain should have fractured by now, flames should have erupted, and colossal stones should have rained down, completely filling the chasm.

He held his breath.

One second passed.

Only the drumming of rain could be heard.

Two seconds.

Distant thunder rumbled.

Five seconds.

Nothing occurred.

Ten seconds.

The cliff face remained impassive in the darkness, cold and unyielding, like a colossal sentinel observing from above.

No flames, no detonation. Not even a single pebble dislodged.

Kael’s expression turned to stone.

He appeared to have lost his senses, frantically pumping the trigger of the signal gun, but it only produced empty clicks – "click, click."

"Why?!"

A deathly chill spread from his feet to the crown of his head.

"Impossible..."

He muttered, his mind racing in a futile desperate scramble.

"Alchemical failure? Preposterous! I foresaw tonight’s downpour long ago and had the alchemical fuse replaced with the simplest, most dependable physical fuse. Human error? Even more absurd! Those guarding it are Death Warriors I’ve nurtured since childhood; their families are in my grasp, they would pull the lever even at the cost of their lives."

"Position compromised?" Kael abruptly shook his head. "That’s Eagle’s Beak Rock, a sheer precipice! There’s no path leading up there!"

Unless... his thoughts ground to a sudden halt.

"Furthermore..." Kael's voice began to waver, "it’s highly classified. Aside from myself and a select few, no one knows the detonation point. How could Louis possibly be aware? And how could he, amidst the chaos of tens of thousands of refugees, pinpoint my exact location?"

The signal gun slipped from Kael’s grasp, clattering to the ground as he clutched his head with both hands, stumbling backward several paces.

In that moment, he finally comprehended that something far more dreadful than mere defeat had manifested.

It was an all-encompassing presence, observing.

The unseen entity seemed to inhabit this very tower, standing behind him, privy to every plan, every contingency he had set in motion.

His meticulously crafted failsafes crumbled like brittle glass before those unseen eyes.

"Louis..." Kael's voice trembled, "Are you man or specter?"

......

At the summit of Eagle’s Beak Rock, the torrential rain sluiced over the stone surface, the water also washing over the five lifeless bodies scattered below.

Thomas stood at the cliff's edge, his cloak lashing violently in the gale.

He cast a brief glance down at the retreating horde below, then lowered his head, idly toying with the thick, severed physical fuse still in his hand.

Meanwhile, at the base of the mountain, the granary detonated, igniting a fleeting, fervent hope that was instantly extinguished by ensuing disaster.

The canyon did not clear; quite the opposite. In the desperate scramble for food within the rocky alcove to the left, the tens of thousands of refugees completely lost all semblance of order, like an overturned cauldron of boiling water.

A stampede erupted amidst the pandemonium.

The strong, trampling over the fallen elderly and women, pushed onward. Those behind pressed relentlessly against those ahead. Someone plunged into the muddy water, instantly consumed by countless crushing feet.

Cries, curses, and the sickening thud of breaking bones melded together, soon swallowed by the roar of the rain.

The main path remained utterly impassable.

Those unable to advance, the injured lying helpless, and those paralyzed by sheer terror formed expanding layers of obstruction.

Louis’s vanguard remained halted by this wall of bodies and sheer panic, unable to penetrate the canyon.

Within the command vehicle, Reg pressed himself almost against the observation window, exclaiming, "My Lord! At this rate, they'll trample half themselves to death! And the path will still remain blocked!"

Louis offered no immediate response.

Through rain-streaked glass, he observed the vast, surging mass of humanity. The scenes of fighting, weeping, falling, and trampling—it was all a grim repetition.

"This is an unavoidable outcome," he stated, his voice quiet yet distinct. "The disorder stems not from hunger, but from the absence of established awe within this multitude."

Louis turned, his gaze locking onto Reg's features. "Then establish it for them."

Without a moment's pause, he raised his hand. "Order: Activate all headlights, sound the steam whistles, and advance at a steady pace."

The command echoed, passed from one to another.

"Woo——!!!"

A chorus of whistles erupted from dozens of steam tanks, carving a path forward.

The sound wasn't shrill, but a deep, resonant roar, as if squeezed from the very depths of a mountain and rolling through the canyon.

Simultaneously, piercing searchlights blazed to life, their powerful beams cutting through the rain like cold, unyielding swords aimed directly at the chaotic throng.

The crowd's reaction was almost instantaneous.

As the low rumble grew nearer from behind, and the vibration of tracks churning through muddy water pulsed through the ground, the instinct to snatch food was quelled by a more fundamental dread.

There was no need for them to comprehend the orders.

Simply understanding that remaining in the path meant certain obliteration was enough.

The people obstructing the main thoroughfare began to press themselves against the canyon walls on either side.

Even without any space, they used their shoulders, ribs, and entire bodies to forcibly create openings.

The tanks maintained a deliberate, unhurried speed, yet they never ceased their forward momentum.

Survivors, trembling, knelt in the mud, cramming gritty wheat into their mouths. Others were pressed so tightly against the cold rock face that drawing breath became a struggle.

Louis rolled down his window, and a gust of cold, rain-laden wind swept into the vehicle.

He witnessed a child, struck down by the roadside, being trampled repeatedly by the surging crowd, yet still stubbornly clutching a piece of dark bread.

Louis did not issue any command to halt.

He recognized his inability to save those beyond salvation; his focus was solely on preserving the lives of the living.

"The relief team will arrive shortly," he declared, his voice amplified and carried by the wind and rain. "Set up the cauldrons near the granary. Inform them that pilfering is futile. Those desiring soup must form a line on their knees along the road."

The instructions were relayed, and soon the knights' voices rose above the drumming of the rain.

"Kneel and form an orderly line!"

"The Lord provides hot soup!"

"Any attempts to snatch will be met with death!"

The mere mention of "hot soup" stirred a quicker response in the crowd than any sword could.

The desperate individuals scrambling for raw flour in the mud faltered for a moment.

In the desperate hope of survival, of obtaining that comforting sip of hot soup that wouldn't choke them, the chaos began to subside.

The mass no longer surged forward but trembled, retreating towards the edges.

One by one, they dropped to their knees.

Only by kneeling did they appear sufficiently compliant, avoiding the crushing treads, and ensuring they would be acknowledged and receive their soup.

The stampede ceased, and frantic shouts transformed into stifled gasps.

The main artery of Black Stone Canyon was finally cleared.

Down the center of the path, Louis's steel behemoths advanced relentlessly, their passage marked by lights and the deep blare of whistles.

Along both sides of the road, refugees knelt in dense rows across the ground.

Mud-coated and still clutching uncooked flour they hadn't yet consumed, they raised their eyes to the army advancing among them.

Albert stood by the vehicle's window, remaining quiet for a prolonged period. He had spent his entire life in conflict, yet he had never witnessed a spectacle quite like this.

Tens of thousands, kneeling like devout worshippers, created a path.

"This..." Albert's throat worked, but he found no words to articulate the scene.

The Red Tide army passed through the corridor lined with humanity unscathed, emerging from the confines of the canyon.

Behind them, the logistics teams had indeed set up the marching cauldrons.

White steam billowed in the rain, mingling with the savory aroma of meat, and slowly diffused outwards.

That faint wisp of cooking smoke served to rally the dwindling and fractured morale of the civilians in Gray Rock Province.

"Do not stop! Maintain full speed ahead!" Louis's gaze swept past the valley, settling on the solitary, imposing silhouette of Grey Rock Castle in the distance. I am not 铁