Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 742 - 413: Battlefield Situation (2)

He turned his head and looked at Albert, his tone still courteous: "This is the judgment given by Lord Louis; trying to rely on a light assault will only crash into their prepared iron formation."

Albert pondered for a moment: "So it’s step by step? Taking one fortress after another?"

Lambert shook his head, with a clearly respectful expression: "Lord has another strategy."

He took out a sealed order stamped with the Red Tide Territory’s wax from his coat and placed it on the table: "The whole army rests in place for two days, feed the horses and count ammunition. Then converge on the middle route."

Albert was stunned: "Middle route? Gather to where?"

Lambert’s finger moved past all the outlying strongholds, like erasing irrelevant noise, finally landing on the grand stone fortress in the center of the map.

"Grey Rock Castle." He confidently conveyed Louis’s intention: "Lord will meet us in front of Blackstone Canyon. All heavy firepower will be assembled. Then directly capture Grey Rock Castle."

Albert’s heart leaped violently.

Directly capturing Grey Rock Castle, that is the stronghold of the Remont Clan, operated for hundreds of years, the symbol of pride for the Western Territory.

In his world, that place has never been touched by any army.

Albert stared at the straight march route, feeling something ignite in his chest cavity.

The blood started to boil; after all, he is also from the Northern Territory; the battle intent in his bones was awakening.

He murmured: "Frontal assault?"

Lambert straightened his posture, like a real officer: "Yes. Head-to-head. This is the Lord’s order, and something we can achieve."

Albert laughed heartily, his laughter filled with bravery: "Great! Don’t stop me then, I’ll be the vanguard!"

...

The sky over Grey Rock Castle was dark as if a lead block was pressing down, yet the gathering place of military intelligence was brightly lit, the sealed stone chamber stuffy to the point of suffocation.

A giant map of the Gray Rock Province hung on the wall, densely packed with colorful flags occupying the roads and towns.

Half a month ago, they were the symbol of order under the Remont Clan’s control; now they’re like a skin being gradually sliced open by knives.

Kael Remont stood in front of the map, his face pale and bloodless.

"Report—!" The heavy iron door was pushed open, a messenger stumbled in.

He knelt on one knee, gasping for breath, his voice hoarse but desperately trying to stay clear.

"White River Crossing has fallen! The Northern Army didn’t set up bridges; they constructed floating bridges overnight! The garrison didn’t even sound the alarm, captured whole during dinner!"

The chamber filled with whispered murmurs.

The section of the river at White River Crossing was turbulent; by common sense, anyone wishing to cross needed to gather wood, nails, craftsmen in advance, making the marching route easily discernible.

Yet the Northern Army seemed to have grown a road right on the river, silently reaching the shore unnoticed.

Kael’s Adam’s apple moved, he said nothing, just raised his hand and pressed firmly on the family flag representing White River on the map.

The flag swayed gently, and he seemed to hear the sound of something collapsing.

"Report—!" The second messenger crashed to his knees, his voice tense, "The Baron of Redleaf Town... opened the city gates and surrendered."

Kael lifted his gaze, ice-cold: "Reason for surrender?"

"The Northern People attacked the Baron’s Mansion at night, didn’t harm a hair on him, only tied up his only son... in front of him."

The messenger swallowed hard, "The child was hung on the city wall for the whole town to see. The Baron broke down immediately, and voluntarily handed over the gate keys."

Someone gasped audibly, this wasn’t a brutal massacre; it was finding the softest part of a city’s bone and snapping it for everyone to see.

Kael’s fingers rubbed on the scepter, the texture of the wood raw against his fingertips.

He whispered: "Remove the flag of Redleaf Town... as well."

"Report—!"

The third call almost drowned out everyone’s heartbeat.

"The Iron Wall Knight Order encountered the enemy vanguard on the plains." The messenger supported himself with both hands on the ground, his voice dry, "The enemy army is pushing forward with a smoke-spewing iron monster.

Our knights just started to charge, yet to engage, and they were blasted into pieces... even a complete piece of armor is hard to find. This wasn’t a battle; it was... a massacre."

A moment of deathly silence, only the faint crackle of embers in the fire pit.

The Iron Wall Knight Order was the signature of the Gray Rock Province, one of the few aces left by the Remont, heavy armor, thick shields, never suffering losses in frontal assaults.

Now, however, they were shredded on the plains from afar.

Kael slowly raised his head and looked at the entire map.

The small flag at White River Crossing was removed. The mark next to Red Leaf Town was smeared into a patch of lifeless gray, and the plains beside where the Iron Wall Knight Order was stationed were heavily circled in red ink.

The circles of red swayed under the candlelight, as if something was seeping upward from beneath the paper.

His finger paused at the center of the map, trembling slightly at the tip.

"How could it be like this..." Kael murmured hoarsely.

The enemy’s steps were not erratic but followed an invisible thread, cutting off communication, seizing the crossings, and destroying mobile forces step by step.

It was as if they were already familiar with the land, aware of every supply line, every warehouse, every cavalry’s habits.

Suddenly, he felt the illusion of being overlooked from a height.

All his defenses, hidden grain depots, standby retreats that he thought were concealed were not hidden at all from those invisible eyes.

"We have traitors inside, and many." Kael raised his head, feeling a heavy pressure in his chest, "Exactly when did the infiltration begin?"

We thought we had control of the province. But in his eyes, it was just a ripe wheat field. Which part to reap first, which part to leave for later, had already been decided."

The messengers remained silent, no one daring to respond.

Kael slowly stepped back, gazing up at the map riddled with holes, feeling a coldness unrelated to the battlefield.

It wasn’t fear of the enemy’s swords but of their almost omniscient control.

Louis Calvin.

The name rolled repeatedly in his mind, each time increasing the pressure.

He clenched his fist, only to find himself unable to discern upon which part of the map to strike.

Then, the only thing that could move... was the terrain.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, there was no hesitation, only the cruelty borne out of desperation.

"If we can’t stop this wolf, then make sure its footing falters."

Kael’s voice was low yet carried a cold decisiveness: "Steel monsters are strong, but they are heavy and reliant on roads. Mud can swallow cars, corpses can slow them down. Just turn that road into a swamp and a graveyard... and they cannot pass."

The adjutant froze: "Young Master, you mean..."

Kael suddenly raised his head, slammed his fist onto the table with such force that the map trembled: "Burn down all the northern villages! Then they can have no supply."

The flame flickered in his pupils.

"Then drive all the refugees onto that must-pass road, regardless of the old, the weak, or women, push them all onto it! Make that road... become a swamp hell."

The adjutant’s face went pale: "Young Master, that would cause massive civil unrest..."

"Then kill!" Kael roared, "Anyone who dares defy, kill on the spot! I don’t want order; I want time!"

He pointed to the wide road leading to the hinterland on the map, gritting his teeth: "I want tens of thousands of people’s flesh and blood, luggage, livestock, shattered belongings to fill that road. Make it rot, make it slippery, make it stink so bad the Northern People find it hard to breathe!

I want Louis’s steel monsters... to struggle in the corpse-ridden mud sea."

The adjutant shrank back, too afraid to argue any further.

......

After the orders were issued, Grey Rock Province began a purgatory-like migration.

The rooftops of villages were set ablaze, the fire forming a terrifying red line across the night sky.

The cries of the driven people filled the air, mixed with the wails of infants, the groans of fallen elders, and the screams of frightened livestock.

The road was blocked into a river of flesh that could no longer flow.

And Kael stood on a high platform, coldly watching everything, as if checking whether a brutal but effective weapon had started to operate.

"Louis." He murmured coldly, "You caused their deaths."

"Dare to march south, and I’ll dare to bury the entire Grey Rock Province. Come, let’s see your Northern King, whether you dare crush ahead... or get dragged down in my sea of mud."

Kael stared at the distance, his chest feeling like it contained a burning lump of iron, scorching him to the point of breathlessness.

He ignored the tragedy below in the valley, turning to look at the nearby Grey Rock Fortress, if absolutely necessary...

The Grey Rock Fortress hadn’t been breached in over six hundred years, he must defend it at all costs.