Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence - Chapter 700 - 395: A Minor Incident Before the Meeting

Chapter 700: Chapter 395: A Minor Incident Before the Meeting

Summer in the Northern Territory never quite feels like summer.

The wind carries a chill of light snow, withered yellow wild grasses clinging to the ground, and on the high slopes, the thin first layer of snow has already appeared, like a probing hand of winter reaching forward.

Gareth rode on horseback, hunching his shoulders.

He was originally an Official Knight of the Morkan family, chosen by the Baron for his cleverness and ability to handle affairs, specifically responsible for managing trade routes.

He understood etiquette and human relations, and was better than other knights at dealing with garrison troops, outposts, and toll gates. Gradually, the operation of the entire caravan was entrusted to him.

For over a decade, he personally escorted every shipment, both to safeguard these vital goods for the Baron to exchange for grain and because he was acutely aware of the Northern Territory’s rules that goods unsupervised could vanish at any moment.

He had traversed this trade route for over ten years, believing that he had everything at every toll gate and with every garrison perfectly arranged.

Even Lord Ackman of Gray Stone Fortress would acquire several batches of red-black iron from him annually for free.

So he believed nothing unexpected would happen this year either.

With such sentiments, Gareth spotted that shadowed canyon pass.

The trade route ahead was completely blocked by crude chevaux-de-frise.

Twelve black-armored knights, each an Elite Knight, stood in a line amidst the slushy snow, resembling iron statues growing out of a blizzard.

Gareth’s guards instinctively drew their swords.

“Stop!” Gareth yelled urgently, his voice breaking, “Put the swords away! Do you want to die?”

He jumped off his horse and ran forward, as if fearing his head would be chopped off if he delayed even a second.

His smile was so forced that his face went stiff as he offered the heavy money bag he had prepared ahead of time.

“Gentlemen, you’ve worked hard! I am from the Morkan family’s caravan and have already squared things with Lord Ackman. This money… is for the brothers to buy some wine and warm up.”

The money bag crashed into the hand of the black-armored captain “Battleaxe,” producing a muffled metallic rustle.

Battleaxe weighed it and laughed scornfully, casually tossing the bag to someone behind him without any indication of letting them pass.

“Sir Knight…” Gareth asked cautiously, “Can we go through now?”

Battleaxe, seated high on his horse, pointed down at the caravan: “People go through. Goods stay behind.”

Gareth’s smile finally faltered, as if waking from a cold splash of water: “Sir, those are life-saving goods to trade for winter grain… I’ve already paid the toll to the Legion’s commander! The rule is, if you take the money, you let us pass…”

Battleaxe repeated in a low voice: “Rules?”

He urged his horse forward: “In the territory of the Seventeenth Legion, my hammer is the rule.”

In the next moment, the heavy long-handled Warhammer, infused with Fighting Energy, struck Gareth’s shoulder with force.

“Crack—”

The sound of bone fracturing echoed clearly in the canyon, making one’s scalp tingle.

Gareth was directly struck to his knees in the slush, unable to make a sound from the pain, only twitching at the corners of his mouth.

The guard knights, eyes reddened with rage, charged forward, only to be cut down like wheat being harvested.

The black-armored knights were well-trained and ruthless; every strike efficient and precise, with no unnecessary flourishes.

Gareth shook from pain but struggled hoarsely, “You, you are violating Imperial law, this is a non-war area… no robbing of Nobility’s private property…”

Battleaxe dismounted and seized him by the hair, forcing his face to the ground.

“Empire?” he snorted, “The Imperial Capital is tens of thousands of miles away; let it come to save you itself.”

After speaking, he stomped again, shattering Gareth’s knee.

Gareth let out a tortured scream, the sound echoing in the canyon but swallowed by the snow that kept falling.

Battleaxe pointed casually at the ground: “You guys, dig. Hurry up.”

The remaining knights of the Morkan family turned pale, their hands trembling as they used short swords and gloves to dig through the soil frozen harder than stone.

Gareth was dragged aside, almost passing out from pain but stubbornly clung to his Fighting Energy, like grasping the last straw, trying to circulate its faint warmth within his body.

But under the torment of broken bones and cold wind, the Fighting Energy flickered like embers blown out by the wind, barely lasting a minute before growing dim.

By the time the pit was finally dug by the guards, that pathetic Fighting Energy within Gareth had completely extinguished, leaving his body to truly feel the piercing cold of the Northern Territory’s summer.

The black-armored knights shoved him upright into the pit, leaving the muddy snow to engulf him up to his chest.

Cold slush pressed against his organs, and each breath felt like swallowing rusty iron shards.

Snowflakes fell into his bloodshot eyes, a pain like needle stings, but his neck was frozen stiff, unable to lift his head.

His consciousness drifted between suffocation and clarity; he wanted to scream but could only produce weak whimpers, ultimately sinking completely.

Battleaxe then found a young Apprentice Knight, who was so frightened he wet his pants, unable to even hold his sword.

Battleaxe grabbed him by the collar, dragging him to the entrance of the valley, and pointed in the direction of Frost Halberd City: “Get lost! Tell those big shots preparing to hold the rebuilding conference…”

He leaned closer, fresh blood dripping from the seams of his armor: “In the Northern Territory, to survive, learn to kneel and present your offerings.”

The young knight scrambled away into the snowstorm.

The black-armored knights drove off with the ore-laden wagons, leaving deep tracks in the snow that persisted for a long time.

In the canyon, only that head remained, exposed above the snow, eyes wide open as if refusing to believe that this summer had become his grave.

……

The wind and snow of early autumn in the Northern Territory descended like white shards from the heavens, falling thickly outside Frost Halberd City.