Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 715: Chapter 401: Aftermath and New Bad News

Gray Stone Fortress · Ackman’s command study.

The night is like iron, the wind howls through the gaps in the stone walls.

The flickering firelight casts the magical beast heads on the wall into a sinister and horrifying display; originally, these decorations were meant to showcase Ackman’s martial prowess and deterrence.

But now, these shriveled wolf heads and snow bear teeth seem to be grinning wildly, mocking the two living beings clinging to life inside the room.

The ground is a mess, expensive wine bottles are rolling everywhere, a pungent mix of strong alcohol and burnt smell akin to vomit fills the air.

Bart is curled up by the fireplace, like an old dog stripped of all courage.

He clutches a bottle of Ackman’s treasured spirits, his hands trembling like dead branches in the wind, choking with every sip.

"That... that’s not..." His teeth chatter, voice cracking.

"Did you see that? How did they go crazy? They’re cutting down their own people... that’s sorcery... we’re, we’re doomed..."

He mutter nervously, like a child overly frightened: "We didn’t join the battle... we were just out for training, right?

Louis can’t kill us, we’re Imperial Legion commanders... we’re regular troops... regular troops..."

Sol kicked a wine bottle angrily, although his face looks no better than a dead man’s, he tries to maintain the last shred of dignity as the Iron Wall Legion commander.

"Shut up! Be a man!" He roars, his voice trembling slightly out of fear, "That fool Ackman sought death himself, this has nothing to do with us! We were observing from the flank, didn’t even make a sound!"

He takes a deep breath, feigning calm: "As long as we claim we were deceived and even coerced by Ackman, Louis wouldn’t dare touch two legion commanders. Empire law will protect us."

Bart suddenly lifts his head, lips pale: "Sol... should we surrender? Kneel and beg him? Offer up all our legion’s equipment! Doesn’t Louis love money?"

Sol sneers: "Surrender? Forgot how Ackman’s head fell off? And you think Louis would leave anyone alive?"

He walks over to the large Northern Territory map on the wall, pointing at the position marked Gray Stone Fortress, regaining some confidence.

"Listen, here is Gray Stone Fortress, the strongest natural peril in the Northern Territory." Sol lowers his voice, as if he’s shouting to himself, "Those iron boxes of Louis might be formidable, but they are too heavy! They can’t climb up that cliffside road!"

Bart immediately nods, scrambling up with the wine bottle: "Yes, yes, yes! They can’t take the mountain road! They’ll get stuck! They’ll collapse! They’ll fall off the cliff! Haha... We’re safe, we’re safe..."

Sol plunges a dagger into the map fiercely: "As long as we close the Dragon Slayer Stone gate, even if he has a hundred tanks, he’ll be staring blankly from below the wall! We’ll defend right here, waiting for the Imperial Capital to send reinforcements!"

The two exchange glances, seeing hope in each other’s eyes, looking less like dead men.

Bart even raises his trembling hand to lift his wine cup: "Cheers... cheers to the indomitable Gray Stone Fortress..."

Sol also raises his wine cup.

Just as the rims are about to touch.

"Wong——!"

The wine liquid on the table shakes violently, splashes out of the cup edge.

Sol’s face turns pale: "An earthquake...?"

"Boom!!!!"

It’s as if the heavens and earth explode next to the ear, the entire command hall lifted by a giant beast.

The chandelier on the ceiling falls off, crashing into the ground, shattered into fragments, dust cascades down like a waterfall.

The personal guard outside stumbles in, face full of blood, crying out: "Sir! The gate! The gate is gone!!!"

Sol roars in anger: "Nonsense! That’s the Dragon Slayer Stone! What siege hammer can break it?!"

The personal guard kneels on the ground, voice trembling to a pitch break: "Not broken... it was... it was blasted open!!!"

......

The first ray of morning sunlight crosses the ramparts of Frost Halberd City, illuminating three heads slight swaying in the morning breeze.

They are hung in a triangle formation atop the city gate tower.

In the center is Ackman, his face still frozen with the ferocity and anger before he died, seeming ready to curse at any moment.

And the cold light shines upon his eyes still refusing to close, like lighting a sarcastic candle for his gone ambition.

On the left is Bart, his mad dog-like face now twisted out of shape, like a beast skull broken apart, the fear before death had ripped his features apart.

On the right is Sol, his expression almost blank, as if before death, he’s still contemplating how Gray Stone Fortress was opened.

The cold wind blows, the three heads gently sway in unison.

Appearing to greet the passing people below.

Also seeming to admit, the old era has ended.

Louis wears a black cape, steps composed, as if walking on his own red carpet.

Auxiliary troops are lined up on both sides cleaning the battlefield, prisoner escort teams pass through the city row by row.

The air is filled with the mixed scent of blood, oil, and morning’s chill.

Half a body length behind him, Lambert walks in freshly polished armor, strides crisp and breezy.

A stack of heavy parchment rolls is tightly clamped under his arm, rapidly reporting the latest intelligence as they walk.

"The Seventeenth Legion has been tallied. Pre-battle organization three thousand, confirmed dead and severely injured over a thousand.

The remaining two thousand have all been detained. However... the Soul Devourer has greatly impacted their psyche, most people curl up and scream when hearing loud noises, some even completely numb."

Louis doesn’t even turn his head: "Psychological wounds, let labor heal them. Categorize them by obedience, for those who still dare glare, dare think of rebellion, strip away their Fighting Energy, shackle them, send them to the deep iron mine, the mining region is indeed short of fearless laborers."