Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence - Chapter 760 - 423: Raymond’s Decision
The freezing rain in Gray Rock Province during winter was relentless.
Rain mingled with unformed wet snow fell layer by layer from low-hanging gray clouds, turning the roads at the edge of the Mist Swamp into a mess of cold mud.
The gray mist reduced visibility to an extremely low level, where even the torchlight at a slight distance would be swallowed, leaving only a vague shadow swaying in the wind.
The marching line stretched long.
The heavy wheels repeatedly sank into the mud pits, followed by suppressed curses.
The wounded were placed in the middle of the formation, wrapped in soaked cloaks, leaning against the edge of the wagon, their breaths betraying evident pain.
Occasionally, a sharp and short whistling sound would come from afar, ripping through the fog, and quickly disappearing.
That was the sound of Magic Explosion Bullets cutting through the air.
Each such whistling would take away several knights.
Every occurrence made the entire line involuntarily tense up.
Duke Remont’s army had long lost its elite appearance.
The knights’ armor was coated with mud, their faces pale and weary.
The formation remained, but few dared to look forward directly.
More eyes instinctively diverted to the reeds and woods on either side of the road, as if something unseen might leap from the fog at any moment.
Duke Remont stood on the command wagon, his brows furrowed, the harsh weather and the occasional appearance of the Red Tide Knights wearing on his spirit.
The higher vantage did not offer him much comfort.
As his telescope scanned the section of road deliberately slowed ahead, he quickly realized that continuing like this would only lead to gradual erosion.
“We can’t drag this out any longer.” He put down the telescope, summoned an adjutant, and explained the carefully devised plan.
The bait was soon set up.
Over a dozen carts loaded with provisions were deliberately positioned at a bend in the road, their axles breaking in full view, forcing the convoy to halt.
Only a few dozen knights, looking utterly exhausted, escorted them, with a defense so loose it was almost perfunctory.
Meanwhile, beneath the mud on either side of the road, hundreds of elite knights in heavy armor had already taken cover.
They were forced to abandon their horses, lurking as heavy infantry in the frigid mud and water, their armor soaking cold water, the weight pressing on their bodies, making each breath slow and laborious.
Duke Remont stared at the supply cart: “Come on, Louis.”
His voice was full of gritted teeth.
In the mist, hoofbeats were soon heard.
Remont’s body leaned slightly forward, his hand already on the hilt of his sword.
Yet, the hoofbeats did not approach the bait cart.
They sped past the flanks’ woodland, moving so quickly, they didn’t even change direction.
The supply carts were completely ignored.
Remont’s pupils suddenly contracted.
Almost simultaneously, he realized the true target of the opponent.
It was a low-lying area to the army’s right rear, seemingly safely distant from the main road.
The tents of the Black Vulture Knights’ scout camp were stationed there, responsible for providing intelligence and alerts for the entire army.
The hoofbeats stopped there.
Lambert, with his knights, reined in at a hidden spot 700 meters away, without approaching closer.
They didn’t draw their swords.
Instead, they took out silver spheres from their pouches, which were the seventh-generation portable Magic Explosion Bullets.
The portable Magic Explosion Bullets, engraved with dangerous runes, were swiftly loaded into simple alchemy grenade launchers.
Without commands, these knights were incredibly skilled.
Dozens of spheres were simultaneously thrown, tracing graceful parabolas through the mist, and landing precisely within the scout camp’s tent area.
“Boom! Boom! Boom!…”
In the next instant, blue-black alchemy flames abruptly burst out.
The shock wave spread through the low-lying area, engulfing tents, stakes, and scouts who hadn’t managed to armor up.
The air was violently stirred by magic power, with turbulent waves hurling mud, water, and remnants in all directions.
Screams existed for only a fleeting moment, quickly erased by the aftermath of explosions.
And the knights who threw these Magic Explosion Bullets had already vanished with the sound of explosions.
Remont stood there, watching that lowland turn into a rolling sea of fire.
The baited cart still stood safe at the bend.
Yet, the two hundred heavy-armored knights lying in mud and water remained in place.
The long period of lying still had let the cold water seep into their joints.
Without waiting for any orders, some had already begun to shiver uncontrollably, even losing sensation.
All of it was absurdly cruel.
The adjutant nearly stumbled as he ran to the command wagon.
His face was mixed with mud and bloodstains, his voice trembling ceaselessly due to the cold and fear.
“Your Grace… the Black Vulture Camp, all gone.”
He took a deep breath, as if mustering all his courage to continue:
“Just received an urgent report from the vanguard, they were blasted off the floating bridge when crossing it, a whole company of heavy cavalry… fell into the swamp.”
Remont remained silent.
The adjutant lowered his head, his voice near breaking point.
“This is the thirtieth attack. Five days… just five days. We haven’t even seen Gray Rock Province’s boundary marker, and a third of our forces are already lost.”
Around the command wagon, silence reigned.
Remont slowly spread out the marching map.
At that moment, he finally understood.
Every arrangement he made, every thought he had, even every seemingly safe corner was as if seen through by some invisible gaze in advance.
“He knows…” Remont murmured softly, “He knows everything… no wonder…”
