Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 736 - 410: Southward! (Part 2)

He was getting on in years, his legs were bad; he couldn’t dodge fast or run.

The only thing he could do was stuff his little daughter into the jar in the cellar, put the lid on tight, then sit on top of it himself.

"Don’t make a sound, be good... don’t make a sound."

His daughter was quietly sobbing inside; he could only press the lid down with trembling hands, afraid the noise outside would scare her out of her wits.

The things Lord Raymond had been drumming into them all these years buzzed in his head...

The Northern People were beasts, child‑eating monsters who would break down doors at night, drag babies from their cradles, and drink blood like wine.

He had never believed it, but tonight he did.

After the last few screams outside faded, the street sank into an almost deathly silence.

Old Hans’s heart sank to the bottom.

"It’s over... the demons have entered the city. May the Dragon Ancestor bless us, when they kill me... my darling girl mustn’t make a sound."

He gripped the rolling pin tightly in his hand, trying to draw some confidence from this "weapon".

He knew the thing couldn’t possibly hurt a fully armed Knight, but when people are in despair, they always clutch at some useless thing.

"Clang."

The door of the bakery was pushed open.

Old Hans froze, held his breath, closed his eyes, and waited for the blade to fall.

But the rough shouts and clatter of iron boots he had imagined did not appear.

There was only a young, clear voice: "Anyone here? Boss?"

Old Hans was stunned and opened his eyes.

Standing at the door was a female Knight, with dried blood on her armor, yet nothing like the beastly madness he had imagined.

She stood straight, her gaze clear, her breathing steady.

The female Knight swept her eyes around the shop and finally settled on him: "We need to requisition your oven."

Old Hans almost dropped to his knees on the spot to beg for mercy: "L‑Lady, I... I don’t have anything valuable here..."

"We’re Knights of the Red Tide." The female Knight walked straight to the table and set down a large bag she was holding.

A heavy lump.

Old Hans shrank back in fright, thinking it was some kind of gruesome trophy meant to intimidate him.

But the mouth of the bag loosened, revealing fine, gleaming flour.

Refined flour? He was lucky if he got to touch this stuff once in several years.

"This is the raw material and the deposit." The female Knight took out five Silver Coins and casually placed them on the table, as if discussing business. "Before dawn, we need two hundred loaves. Once they’re done, you’ll get the other half of the pay."

Old Hans was completely dumbfounded. He cupped those few Silver Coins, his hands shaking violently; this deposit alone was worth half a year of his income.

The Knights in the city had always just taken what they wanted and walked off; if they were in a good mood and didn’t beat you, that was already a favor.

These Northern demons not only didn’t rob him, they were paying him?

His lips trembled several times before he finally squeezed out a sentence: "You... you really are... from the Northern Territory?"

The female Knight nodded: "The Red Tide Legion from the Northern Territory. It’s chaotic outside; don’t go out tonight. We’ll stabilize the district."

She said nothing more, turned, and left; her cloak brushed lightly against the doorframe in the night wind.

Old Hans stared at that bag of white flour for a long time; his throat worked.

"Are these... really the man‑eating demons from the stories?"

A light knocking came from the cellar: "Papa..."

Old Hans took a deep breath, opened the lid, and lifted her out: "It’s alright now, sweetheart."

He looked at the flour and Silver Coins on the table, and somewhere cold inside him quietly cracked open a seam.

"Maybe... what came aren’t demons."

......

By the time the council hall of the Black Iron Domain was lit by firelight, it no longer belonged to Count Doron.

The banners on the walls had been taken down and replaced with the Red Tide banner.

The air still carried the metallic tang of battle, but it was quickly overlaid by a subdued sense of order.

Louis sat in the main seat, armor still on, head lowered as he wiped bloodstains from his sword.

His movements were neither hurried nor slow, as if this were just an ordinary conference room in the Red Tide Main City, not an enemy fortress that had just been taken.

Gray stepped into the hall, scorch marks from burning the inner keep still on his armor.

He walked up to Louis, dropped to one knee, and said in a low voice, "Lord, I have failed in my duty. We were a step too slow in storming the inner keep... that old fox released a Gale Bird. I’m afraid word of the raid has already gotten out."

Louis didn’t look up; he only let out a light "Mm."

Cold sweat beaded on Gray’s forehead: "I’m willing to accept punishment."

Before he could continue, a figure with hands bound behind his back and blood at the corner of his mouth was dragged in by Knights—Count Doron.

His armor had been stripped off; he staggered as he walked, yet still forced his head up, like an old wolf whose fangs had been broken but still tried to snarl.

"Louis!" he rasped. "Do you know what you’re doing? This is invasion! The Gray Rock Province won’t let you go! Duke Remont’s army is right..."

Louis’s movement as he wiped the blade paused for a moment.

"Take it easy, Gray," Louis said without even raising his head, as calm as if discussing the weather. "What are you so tense about? Gray Rock Province is so big; we were never going to sneak around forever."

He sheathed his Longsword and seemed finally in the mood to lift his eyes and glance at Gray: "The early silent encroachment has already taken a quarter. That’s enough."

Gray froze, realizing Louis was deliberately grooming him.

His Fighting Energy talent was slightly lower than those two monsters, Sacco and Weir.

But Louis’s Intelligence System had once given him a rare evaluation: "Possesses the talent of a strong field commander."

So before the campaign, Louis had called Gray over and personally fastened the adjutant’s armband to his shoulder, intending to use this chance to cultivate a successor to Lambert.

And from that moment on, Gray had been strung taut like a bowstring, terrified of betraying that trust.

He had maintained a perfectly straight posture at all times, constantly noting every word, every order, every habit of Louis’s.

His Fighting Energy talent was not dazzling, but the fact that Louis was willing to entrust him with the adjutant’s position meant he could walk a completely different path.

Gray’s palms were slick with sweat, but his tone was firm: "I understand."

Listening to Louis’s words, Count Doron’s expression shifted from fury to hesitation: "You... what encroachment are you talking about...?"

Louis raised a hand and pointed at him carelessly: "As for him, he’s too noisy. Drag him out and cut him down."

Doron stared as if struck by lightning: "No! I’m Nobility! By the regulations, I can pay a ransom! Mmph!"

The Knights gagged him and dragged him out; his boots scraped along the floor, leaving a trail of chaotic footprints.

Louis never spared him a glance.

Noble status? Ransom? To the Red Tide that was about to launch a blitzkrieg, they were meaningless.

Intimidation was worth more than prisoners.

Louis did not—walked over to the larger map of Gray Rock Province on the wall.

The candlelight flickered on the wall, stretching his shadow long.

That vast Gray Rock territory looked like a cold iron plate in the firelight, but now, in Louis’s eyes, it was being cut into gridlike hunting grounds by his red lines.

Louis raised his hand; his fingertip lightly touched the edge of the map.

According to the original plan, he was supposed to first stabilize the Northern Territory—stockpile grain, expand the army, build ports, lay roads—let Red Tide slowly grow into the northern behemoth of the Empire.

But the Intelligence System had rewritten everything.

That dawn, a few messages flashing across the light screen had pushed his tempo straight into war: Duke Remont had been drawn into the vortex of succession, pulling out seventy percent of his main forces and all Dragon Blood Death Warriors to rush to the Imperial Capital.

The Gray Rock Province had become an empty shell; he had to consider whether this might be the only chance in his life to claim it.

Moreover, if Remont secured his position in the Imperial Capital and then turned back, the Northern Territory would very likely be his first target.

Waiting meant only one road—to death; since that was so, if the enemy was sick, he would take his life.

Louis’s fingertip slid along the map and came to rest where three thin red lines converged.

That was the route of the Red Tide Army’s three‑pronged "ghost advance."

Relying on the Intelligence System’s planning, they had avoided patrol riders and outposts, infiltrating through side roads, woodland paths, and river networks, silently swallowing a quarter of the territory.

He let out a gentle breath.

"We’ve taken stealth this far... it’s enough."

Only now did Gray understand that the Lord hadn’t cared about whether they were discovered; he had merely been calculating the optimal turning point.

Louis turned back, his gaze cool and resolute.

"Since the news has leaked," he pressed his hand down on a city at the center of the map, "we won’t sneak around anymore."

Louis took off his gloves and slowly closed his hand around the sword hilt.

The candlelight reflected in his eyes, like killing intent drawn out into fine threads: "From this moment on, we enter assault mode."