Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 761 - 423: Raymond’s Decision (2)

Amidst this desolate and unfamiliar expanse, Raymond was suddenly engulfed by an overwhelming hallucination.

It felt as if all his armor and garments had been violently stripped away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable in a brightly lit clearing.

And from within the swirling mist, Louis stood waiting.

......

To the outside world, only the swift downfall of Gray Rock Castle and the repeated defeats suffered by Raymond’s forces in the Mist Swamp were apparent.

However, the true backbone of this relentless war effort resided within the Red Tide Army, an intelligence network that Louis had kept meticulously concealed.

The victory at Gray Rock Castle was far from a simple affair.

The rapid offensive tempo had been pushed to its absolute limit, with knights engaged in continuous combat, their stamina and morale rapidly eroding.

The steam-powered war machines were forced to operate under extreme duress, battling through torrential downpours and icy currents. The harsh terrain and frigid temperatures necessitated repairs for nearly half the fleet.

Furthermore, the supply lines were stretched perilously thin, with repair crews working round the clock. Though the legion appeared formidable, it was inching closer to its breaking point.

Had Raymond chosen to push forward at this juncture, disregarding all costs, the outcome would have been a foregone conclusion.

The Red Tide Army could still achieve a win, but it would be a Pyrrhic victory, one that hardly justified the immense price.

A direct confrontation would inevitably devolve into a war of attrition.

It would mean sacrificing knights, vehicles, and precious time in exchange for an enemy that had already lost its strategic significance.

Even if Raymond were ultimately vanquished, the Red Tide Army would gain no additional resources, population, or territory. It would merely deplete its strength during the least opportune season.

Louis was unwilling to accept such a costly triumph.

In his assessment, the real peril was never whether Raymond possessed the capability to fight, but rather if the fight itself was worthwhile.

Consequently, this frontline engagement was never conceived with the intention of total annihilation from its inception.

The [Daily Intelligence] system operated with ceaseless vigilance.

Raymond’s legions’ marching formations, logistical hubs, scout deployments, and even the subtle shifts in high-level morale were meticulously dissected into stark, quantifiable data.

Louis did not require absolute dominion over the enemy; merely control over specific, influential nodes.

The crucial question was: When would Raymond begin to perceive this path as unsustainable?

Prior to Lambert’s departure, Louis imparted three simple yet potent words to him: "Pierce them relentlessly."

Louis harbored no desire for a decisive engagement, but rather aimed to cultivate an illusion.

The goal was to instill in Raymond the perception that the road ahead was not a route to be forced, but a bloodthirsty meat grinder that had already commenced its operation.

Every step forward promised only further bloodshed, with no end to the ordeal in sight.

Therefore, the Red Tide Army’s actions were deliberately maintained within an ambiguous threshold.

Guerrilla units targeted only critical points, never lingering to engage.

Attacks consistently struck where Raymond could least afford to lose assets – his scouts and logistical supply points.

Each precisely executed strike was sufficient to trigger a cascade of suspicions in any seasoned commander.

Their tactical movements were laid bare; the presence of informants within their ranks was a near certainty.

Larger formations, intact heavy artillery emplacements, or even a prepared battlefield for a climactic showdown lay perpetually in wait ahead.

Each subsequent attack amplified this mounting pressure.

If, during this process, Raymond’s forces were steadily worn down, leading to the army’s disintegration amidst relentless harassment, that would represent the ideal outcome.

If not, the objective would be to at least force a strategic retreat.

Compel him to acknowledge the grim calculus of his position.

To advance meant facing a demoralized army crashing against an unseen bulwark.

To retreat, at the very least, would preserve a semblance of cohesion.

This was the choice that Louis had truly prepared for Raymond.

Not victory or defeat, but the stark reality of choice itself.

On this intangible frontline, the Red Tide Army made no pretense of concealing its ultimate objective.

......

Within the central command tent, the atmosphere felt as though it had completely solidified.

The brazier's charcoal fire blazed fiercely, yet it seemed incapable of dispelling the palpable chill that constricted Duke Remont’s chest.

The assembled generals stood in silent deference, their movements subdued, the faint clinking of armor deliberately hushed, leaving only the occasional, sharp crackle of the oil lamp to break the profound silence.

When the first urgent dispatch arrived, Raymond remained standing, his composure seemingly intact.

The messenger knelt respectfully on the ground, his voice strained with exhaustion.

Gray Rock Castle had indeed fallen; Kael had perished in the fierce fighting.

Raymond’s fingers trembled almost imperceptibly.

A dull ache resonated within him, akin to the tearing of flesh.

Gray Rock Castle represented far more than a mere defensive fortification.

It was the resting place of his ancestors, the repository of his lineage’s memories, the enduring remnants of his formative years up to the present day.

His kin, his veteran soldiers, those he had considered his ultimate safeguard... all now fell under Louis’s dominion.

Even more devastating, the subterranean laboratory had been utterly obliterated. Its accumulated collections, meticulous ledgers, potent alchemical materials, profound secrets, and the vast wealth amassed by his family over three centuries, all had been seized by Louis.

Yet, this was merely the grim overture to an unfolding nightmare.

The second critical piece of intelligence was practically slammed onto Duke Remont’s desk.

In the southwestern territories, the Jade Federation had completed its mobilization, unleashing a formidable contingent of mercenaries upon the southwest province.

At the selfsame moment, unrest convulsed the edges of the Holy Eastern Empire, where the Fifth Prince’s standard and the Church Court’s Sacred Emblem were hoisted in unison.

The veil of peace had been irrevocably rent, exposing the raw chaos beneath.

Raymond’s head remained bowed, his focus unwavering.

His eyes were fixed upon the map, tracing the boundaries of provinces that ought to have been under his dominion. These territories, he observed, were being encroached upon, carved up, and manipulated by unseen forces.

Then arrived the third dispatch of intelligence.

A spy, nearly crawling, hobbled into the command tent, his wounds still weeping crimson.

The message bore secret directives from the Imperial Capital.

The Emperor, whom Raymond himself had painstakingly placed upon the throne, had, in a bid to break free from oversight, commanded the transfer of Raymond’s elite legions stationed near the capital to the southwestern front. Officially, this was framed as reinforcement for the Empire’s war effort; in truth, it was a suicidal gambit—a desperate attempt to fill a void with Raymond’s most loyal knights, sacrificing them against the Jade Federation’s onslaught.

Upon absorbing this devastating news, Raymond slowly shut his eyes, the full implication dawning on him.

This was a meticulously crafted scheme, achieving two objectives with a single, ruthless stroke.

The so-called new Emperor intended for Raymond to be annihilated by Louis at Gray Rock, his power base systematically dismantled, and his capital guard forces ground to dust in the enemy’s inferno. By the time Raymond managed to carve a path back to the Imperial Capital, it would have already fallen, a new regime firmly in place. His family, his lineage, his sanctuaries – all would be irrevocably lost.

"Insolent whelp!"

Raymond’s eyes snapped open, his long-suppressed fury erupting uncontrollably. A sound, akin to a mortally wounded beast’s guttural cry, tore from his throat.

His hand seized the scroll tube resting on the table. It was sealed with wax, prepared for dispatch via a Gale Bird. Once released, the order to fully engage Gray Rock would have been disseminated to his entire army in mere moments.

He still possessed the option to retreat and confront Louis with all his might.

"Crack." The sturdy scroll tube splintered under his grip.

The jagged metal edges bit into his palm, his blood seeping through his fingers to stain the map, a dark crimson bloom over the location of Gray Rock Castle. This place was not only his birthplace but also the site of his most profound failure.

Raymond stared intently at that fateful spot, his eyes bloodshot, appearing ready to bleed. "Louis..." he whispered, his voice a low, menacing rumble, "you treacherous viper."

He had meticulously calculated the season, the terrain, his adversary’s strategy, even the foolhardy prince’s inevitable betrayal. He had been cornered, forced to choose between two dire paths.

An absolute silence descended upon the tent; no one dared utter a sound.

Raymond’s chest heaved with the effort of regaining control, his breathing gradually deepening.

His strategic mind, agonizingly extricated from the mire of emotion, began to reassert itself. If he were to march back to Gray Rock now, what would await him? An plundered, desolate city, a depleted and weary army ravaged by winter and enemy ambushes, and the crushing pincer movement from both the Imperial Capital and the Jade Federation. This was not a path to vengeance; it was a one-way ticket to oblivion.

Raymond raised his hand, drawing his blade with a swift motion.

A sharp glint of steel, and a section of the table’s edge fell to the floor.

"Issue the decree," his voice, though raspy, carried an chilling clarity, "the entire army shall execute a full about-face."

The assembled generals’ heads jerked up in unison.

"Your Grace!" one of them protested, his voice laced with disbelief, "That is our home..."

Raymond did not meet his gaze. "Our home is already lost."

As he uttered these words, a terrifying calmness settled over him. "To return now would be to condemn countless lives to needless sacrifice." He pressed his blood-soaked hand firmly upon the center of the map. "We are marching on the Imperial Capital."

Raymond’s eyes traced a path across the map for a lingering moment. His gaze bypassed the capital itself, instead fixing once more on the northern territories, already vividly marked in red, just beyond the crimson stain from his fingertip.

He uttered no further words. Yet, in that profound, pregnant silence, an unshakeable resolve took root within his soul. He would, without question, return.