Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence - Chapter 429 - 277: The Plight of Frost Halberd

Chapter 429: Chapter 277: The Plight of Frost Halberd

Winter is about to descend.

The first full year after the Mother Nest War is also coming to an end.

And Duke Edmund still retains his old-era traditions, holding a Northern Territory meeting before the deep autumn ends and the snow season begins.

But this year, the meeting place is no longer that grand and majestic, coldly imposing Frost Halberd City from memory.

That city is dead.

The entire city, repeatedly consumed, gnawed, and penetrated by insect poison, has long become like a recently deceased giant corpse.

Streets collapsed, rooftops caved in, wells dried up, with some even emitting black goo, no one dares approach.

It doesn’t look like a city, but a graveyard.

Now the three words “Frost Halberd City” left on the map are just an empty name.

The real new city is established two miles northwest of the old city, depending on mountains and ridges, as a temporary location.

It is called “New Frost Halberd,” but it resembles more of a wind-sheltered haven constructed from gray bricks, planks, and recycled remnants, every brick and tile appearing rushed and pitiful.

Even so, the Duke insists on naming it “Frost Halberd City.”

Because, in his view, if even the name were lost, then the Northern Territory would truly have no backbone left.

But the reconstruction of New Frost Halberd City is not yet complete, not even “formed,” merely surrounded by a rough frame following the mountain’s shape.

Only the core Government Hall, Command Tower, and barracks have initially taken shape; the rest of the area is built with many prefabricated wooden houses, temporary panels, and simple roofs.

Walking into the streets, gray bricks yet to be plastered can be seen everywhere, low eaves, temporarily fixed gutters, moisture lingering.

People have moved in, making the houses feel cramped.

During the day, the sound of sawing wood and hammering nails rises and falls; at night, it’s the crackling of stove fires spreading from one household to another.

Children run in the muddy ground, women airing damp clothes and blankets, soldiers exchanging a few idle words with street vendors while patrolling.

Soldiers jokingly call this place the “Canvas Fortress,” while civilians privately refer to it as the “Winter Camp.”

But the Duke always insists on one name: “This is Frost Halberd, we will not give up this name, just as we should not give up this permafrost land.”

It’s also one of the reasons he insists on holding a “Frost Halberd meeting” before winter.

The meeting venue is in the new Governor’s Mansion of Frost Halberd City, actually just the product of hastily repairing a discarded fortress.

But after the fall of old Frost Halberd City, it became the last venue for events in the entire Northern Territory.

The nobles of the Northern Territory never cared about pomp; especially after the Mother Nest War, they were more focused on whether the firewood was enough, and whether the guards were well-fed.

But even so, they made slight efforts to dress up for this meeting.

The hall’s dome was painted dark gray, curtains hung, the wooden podium and long table polished and repainted, several oil lamps striving to cast a bit of warm glow.

Not quite solemn, nor comfortable, but compared to discussing matters in tents, it’s already “decent.”

This was a high-level internal meeting belonging to the Edmund Clan.

Only those truly holding power, bearing the Edmund Clan’s blood, or who could still barely maintain order in the aftermath of insect catastrophe, could attend.

Not anyone just wanting to come could join, not even the currently soaring Red Tide Lord Louis was included on the list.

No whispering, no needless chatter, the conference room was momentarily silent and oppressive.

Most of them understood clearly how much power Duke Edmund actually still possessed.

And how difficult this year had been for the entire Northern Territory’s old nobility.

The expression of those around the conference table varied, fatigue enveloping them, a year of snow, a year of decaying corpses, a year of insect poison, seeming to have carved into their eyes.

The door at this moment was pushed open from outside.

A burly man wearing a black-red cloak appeared.

His presence seemed to make the air of the hall more heavy.

Beneath the cloak was a simple yet heavy military-style uniform, epaulets adorned with gold dragon emblem, a badge symbolizing the Empire’s shield pinned on the chest, exceptionally eye-catching.

He was Duke Edmund, one of the most prestigious warriors in the Northern Empire.

Though age had carved some wrinkles onto his face and dyed his temples gray, his frame remained as sturdy as iron.

He appeared not like an old man, but more like a cast-iron statue emerging from ancient battlefields.

Yet, no matter how steady his expression, it couldn’t hide the occasional fatigue flickering in those eyes.

It wasn’t the senile ailment, but a deep fatigue from mental exhaustion.

Like a giant who once supported mountains, now still holding on, but with subtle cracks beginning to appear deep within his bones.

Edmund walked to the main seat, paused slightly, and glanced over everyone, carrying an invisible pressure, making one involuntarily straighten their backs.

“Let’s not engage in pleasantries,” he said, sitting down with one palm resting on the table edge, “Just get to the recent situations.”

Kavier the scribe opened the leather ledger, without preamble, stating directly: “As of this winter, the total population of the Northern Territory is less than one-fifth of pre-insect disaster numbers.”

No one in the hall felt surprised, yet several vassal representatives lowered their heads in sighs.

“The current population mainly concentrates in several regions ’still able to maintain autonomy and order,’ such as New Frost Halberd, Silver Bay Valley, Red Tide Territory, etc.

Additionally, new Pioneer Nobles arriving from the south have brought many refugees and slaves, although helpful, the overall situation… is not as it used to be.”

He turned a page, continuing: “Regarding total grain supply: 650 carts of grain from the Imperial Capital, with two-thirds under our control for distribution. The rest is supervised by Imperial appointees and foreign emissaries, allocated to respective regions.”