Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 756 - 421: Grand Finale (Part 2)

Some were perched upon mounds of cadavers to feast, while others engaged in shoving matches, trampling one another. A few would abruptly freeze mid-meal, only to resume their frantic devouring with renewed ferocity.

Flickers of dark red fighting Qi pulsed erratically across their forms, resembling volatile flames confined within their very flesh.

An oppressive silence reigned within the command vehicle; all eyes were fixed on Louis, awaiting his directive.

Louis displayed not a trace of astonishment.

The scene from half a year prior replayed in his mind's eye.

That fateful morning, the inscription '[Daily Intelligence Update Complete]' materialized as per custom. Nestled between updates on resources and military matters, a seemingly minor piece of information emerged.

It stated: 'Critical deficiencies identified within the Remont Clan's dragon blood formula.'

In their relentless pursuit of supreme combat prowess, the alchemist responsible had omitted all safeguards for metabolic regulation.

Consequently, the heart of a dragon blood warrior functioned essentially as an engine devoid of any braking mechanism.

An engine without brakes implied...

Any attempt to halt its momentum would incur an excessively steep price.

The only truly logical course of action wasn't to brake, but to push the engine to its absolute limit, allowing it to self-destruct at an unmanageable velocity.

At the time, this was merely a theoretical conjecture.

Until the concept was entrusted to Merian.

The memory brought forth blinding lights from the alchemy laboratory. Merian stood beside the operating table, clutching a sealed glass vial containing a liquid of an unnatural, vivid red.

"This was developed from the hypothesis you provided," Merian's voice held a note of strain. "I introduced inducing agents that forcibly escalate the blood's reactive potential... In theory, this enables the blood of Magical Beasts to transcend its inherent stability limits within an exceptionally brief timeframe."

Merian possessed no insight into its intended application. Louis, however, had shown particular interest, having conducted numerous experiments on Magical Beasts. Yet, apart from causing their blood to boil, no discernible effects had been observed.

This wasn't a technique requiring repeated validation, nor did it necessitate broad utility.

Its purpose was singular: to be deployed at the opportune moment, against the designated target.

Now, that precise moment had arrived.

Upon the hillside, beams from the searchlights advanced steadily, bathing the castle courtyard in an eerie white luminescence.

The monstrous entities remained indifferent to the illumination, still lost in their cycle of consumption and transformation.

Louis retracted his gaze, finally uttering his command: "Deploy the forces to prevent any monster from breaching the castle perimeter."

The signal operator instantly echoed the directive, relaying the order through the chain of command. Outside the vehicle, the tank formations began their synchronized maneuver, their treads crushing puddles with deliberate, controlled movements, devoid of any wasted sound.

The second command followed without delay.

"Heavy artillery battalion, prepare boiling blood shells, specialized type three. Target: the central castle square. Commence cover fire."

Communication signals cascaded through the network, and the heavy artillery positions commenced their aiming adjustments.

Loaders inserted rounds marked with crimson symbols into the cannons' maws, the grating of metal echoing starkly against the rainy night.

Louis settled back into his seat, his gaze returning to the viewfinder.

Should these shells prove ineffective, steam tanks would still advance, their formidable armor and firepower sufficient to obliterate all within the castle's confines.

Victory would be theirs.

However, such a triumph would demand an exorbitant price.

To Louis, even the sacrifice of a single Red Tide Knight to neutralize these rampaging monstrosities seemed an unfavorable exchange.

Within the castle square, the grotesque creatures continued their writhing, feeding, and heaping upon one another.

Louis lifted his head, peering through the viewfinder at the stark white expanse illuminated by the searchlights.

"Tonight," he declared with icy calm, "we shall orchestrate the Remont Clan's funeral."

Amidst the downpour, the first volley of artillery struck.

"Poof, poof, poof." A series of dull, truncated thuds broke the night.

Dozens of specially crafted shells soared over the fractured ramparts of Gray Rock Castle, like carelessly discarded tin cans, impacting sequentially in the central square.

The projectiles did not ricochet upon landing. They skidded briefly on the stone surface before their outer casings spontaneously ruptured, much like squashed, overripe fruit, emitting a faint, almost imperceptible sound.

In the ensuing moment, a crimson mist bled forth from the fissures.

Instead of dissipating, it flowed along the ground.

The mist was thick and heavy, seemingly drawn by an unseen force, rapidly permeating the crevices between flagstones, bloodstains, and corpses.

It clung to the lower levels, pooling in the square's center, its color rendered extraordinarily vibrant under the searchlights, appearing to retain a palpable heat.

The castle, initially filled only with the sounds of gnawing sustenance, now experienced a shift.

Soon, other noises joined the cacophony, and the creatures atop the piles of the slain faltered in their feeding.

Hundreds of grotesque heads snapped upward in near unison, their nostrils flaring with desperate intensity.Slivers of light caused vertical pupils to narrow intensely before rapidly widening. "Roar?" A guttural sound, laced with bewilderment and deep longing, escaped. Even those currently tearing into severed limbs promptly ceased their feasting. The partially consumed thigh tumbled to the wet, bloody ground, drawing no second glance from any of them. A muffled, "gurgling" noise vibrated from their depths, akin to the sounds of very young creatures drawing sustenance. In the blink of an eye, the square erupted into motion. Hundreds of contorted forms surged forward as one, their charge unorganized yet eerily unified. They pushed, trampled, and clambered over each other, all desperately converging on the heart of the crimson haze. Some dropped to their knees, pressing their faces to the earth, inhaling with ferocious intensity, mouths agape as if to engulf the very air. The spectacle was like a famished pack of predators descending upon a solitary spring. The scarlet mist thinned with alarming speed, continuously drawn into their desperate lungs. At the square's core, a fleeting, swirling crimson vortex briefly materialized.