Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence - Chapter 746 - 415: Demon of the Northern Territory (Part 2)

Compared to the full carriage of smoke, anger, and humidity, he appeared excessively clean.

In his hand, he still held a freshly brewed cup of black tea.

White steam slowly rose from the cup, distinctly visible in the cold air.

He scanned the room, his gaze sweeping across several tense faces, finally landing on the crumpled charcoal sketch on the table.

“What’s wrong?” he asked casually, “Early in the morning, everyone looks like a withered eggplant.”

He looked at Albert, his lips moving slightly, “Count, your mustache is almost reaching the sky.”

Albert immediately approached, unable to suppress his urgency in his voice.

“My Lord! Have you seen the scout’s report? That madman Kael… he’s using refugees to block the road!”

Louis raised his hand, signaling him to stop.

He lowered his head, blowing at the foam in the teacup as if checking the water temperature, his tone as indifferent as if commenting on the day’s weather, “I saw it. It’s just a few tens of thousands of people and some explosives, isn’t it?”

For a moment, the carriage fell into a terrifying silence.

Several commanders instinctively looked at each other, even thinking they had misheard.

Louis walked to the main seat and sat down, placing the teacup on the table, tapping the tabletop lightly with his fingertips, “There’s no need to discuss detours anymore.”

Lambert frowned, unable to hold back from speaking.

“My Lord, that’s tens of thousands of people… we can’t really just roll over them.”

Louis looked up.

His gaze passed through the carriage as if already piercing the rain, looking at the Black Stone Canyon dozens of kilometers away.

“I know. That’s why there’s no need for you to think about it.” He paused, his tone still calm. “While you were slamming the table, I had already sent someone to handle it.”

After this sentence fell, no one spoke again.

If it were someone else, saying “it’s solved” lightly in this situation, anyone here would question it on the spot.

But the one speaking was Louis, the lord who had walked out from the winter step by step, never tasting defeat.

And Louis no longer kept them guessing, leaning forward slightly, he whispered a few of his plans.

The carriage seemed to be holding its breath.

Several commanders instinctively stood straight, taking a deep breath, but no one spoke up.

They suddenly realized, this deadlock, doesn’t really exist.

After Louis finished speaking, he picked up his teacup again, “Prepare as I said.”

……

The people crowded in Black Stone Canyon came from different places.

Three major towns in the north and more than a dozen villages were pushed here layer by layer by torrential rain and cold winds.

Some dragged carts with broken wheels, some carried comatose elders on their backs, and some brought nothing, wearing only the tattered clothes soaked white by the rain.

Before retreating, Kael’s army destroyed everything that could sustain life.

Houses were set ablaze, beams collapsing into the fire.

The granaries were smashed open, grains trampled into the mud.

Wells were either sealed or filled with rotten meat and toxic ashes.

With winter approaching and torrential rains unending, the civilians were left in the wilderness.

And before the driving began, another voice had already spread.

Propaganda officers were dispatched to every town and village entrance, wearing neat armor, standing on wooden crates or well edges, reading proclamations.

They repeatedly emphasized one thing, that the Northern People were heading south.

Those people were depicted as monsters.

They eat people, leave no survivors, and specifically target women and children.

They vowed they’ve seen Northern war chariots crush villages, tracks covered in broken bones.

They said Northern Knights would nail people to door panels for amusement, each word spoken as if witnessed with their own eyes.

Subsequently, another path to survival was presented to them.

Behind Grey Rock Castle, a winter sanctuary had already been established.

There was hot soup, there were tents, there were doctors.

As long as they evacuated their homes swiftly and passed through Black Stone Canyon, they could avoid the Northern massacre.

To make it seem real, the propaganda officers distributed paper certificates bearing emblems on the spot.

“Gray Rock Citizen Certificate.”

They told everyone, this was the only credential for entering the sanctuary, also a marker distinguishing good citizens from Northern spies.

Without this paper, one would be treated as an accomplice.

Fear and hope were simultaneously thrust into the hands of the crowd.

The thin paper, repeatedly rubbed and smoothed by countless hands, was then tucked into personal places.

It was worthless, yet more important than life.

So the people were herded forward, like sheep driven into a pen, gradually forced into this only passage to “life.”

For tens of thousands of people, Black Stone Canyon was not wide.

When the first batch reached the midway point, the ground underneath had completely turned into a quagmire.

Sewage reached their ankles, mixed with excrement, rotten food, and blood.

Each step required effort to pull out their feet, and once stopped, they would be pushed out of balance by those behind.

The rain was ice-cold and piercing, yet the crowd squeezed together, their warmth steaming into a layer of gray-white fog in the canyon.

The fog bore a sour stench, clinging to their faces, and with each breath, it was as if dirty water was flooding into their lungs.

They believed it was only a temporary congestion, that within a day or two they could enter the so-called winter sanctuary.

There was a checkpoint ahead, supposedly verifying identities.

To prevent Northern spies from infiltrating, each had to be checked one by one.

Yet as time ticked by, the line hardly advanced.

Each hour, very few were let through.

Those at the back didn’t know what was happening in the front; they only saw sparingly someone disappearing into the rain, thus pushing even harder forward.

Those in the middle of the canyon were pressed so tightly that they couldn’t stand straight nor fall down.

There was no clamor.

Only a continuous low hum.

The sound of chattering teeth, suppressed sobs, and the gasping breaths of those near death, echoed through the canyon.

In the dim rain, people pressed against each other.

Some elderly had already died yet didn’t collapse, their bodies wedged among the living, swaying with the crowd, heads tilted, eyes open, long unfocused.

Martha was among them.

She used to be a tailor in a small town, somewhat esteemed, but now couldn’t even stand steadily.

One hand fiercely guarded her three-year-old child in her arms, the other gripped her chest.

It was a rain-soaked, disintegrated “Gray Rock Citizen Certificate.”

She remembered trading her last bag of grains at home for it.

The officer signing it didn’t even look up, just muttered, “With this, the child can have milk.”

Martha lowered her head, whispering into her child’s ear, repeating again and again.

“Just hold on a bit longer, the checkpoint is ahead, once we pass the checkpoint, there will be milk.”

It was as if she were weaving a bedtime story for the child or tying herself to this phrase.

She didn’t dare to look at the child’s face, nor did she realize the little body had become unnaturally light.

Suddenly, commotion arose at the front of the line.

A grizzled old blacksmith pushed to the very front, he stood high, and could see clearly.

It wasn’t an identity verification at all.

Hurdles were laid horizontally, shields stood upright, behind were soldiers with bowstrings already drawn.

“You’re not checking!” the old blacksmith roared, his voice ripping through the canyon, “You’re preventing us from passing! Liars! There’s no sanctuary at all!”

The crossbow string vibrated.

“Thud.”

An arrow pierced from the side, penetrating his throat.

Blood sprayed into the rain, quickly washed away.

The old blacksmith’s body was kicked aside, rolling into the roadside ditch, face down, never moving again.

The battle commander on horseback looked down at the crowd, his tone cold and unwavering.

“Attempt to force the checkpoint! This man is a Northern spy! Everyone step back, and anyone who dares to speak out will end up the same!”

People at the front were pushed back by blades.

Those at the back, thinking “we’re about to pass,” pushed forward even harder.

At that moment, the ground began to tremble.

“Thump, thump…”

Heavy and rhythmic.

Like some gigantic beast slowly approaching.

Panic erupted from behind.

“The war chariots…”

“Northern’s cannibal war chariots are coming!”

In front was their own army’s blades and blockade line.

Behind was the legendary metal beast that crushed everything.

In between, only suffocating bodies and empty starving stomachs remained.

Finally, someone understood.

The so-called hot soup never existed from the start.

Duke Kael had not prepared a place for them to overwinter.

He merely stuffed them into this narrow canyon.

As meat sandbags in front of the monsters.

And now they had no room even to flee.