Free Web NovelTacalin was one of the few veterans among the Snowsworn, nearing forty years old this year.
In this turbulent era, living to this age as a Snowsworn was already a luxury.
Moreover, he had a thirteen-year-old son, Ike, his only living concern.
These things were enough to make him feel happy.
These Snowsworn now hid in a village in the northern part of Snowpeak County that had long been erased from maps.
Since the Empire began its purge of the Snowsworn last year, this place had become one of the few remaining strongholds within the Empire's borders.
They waited here day after day for their leader's command, capturing isolated Imperial nobles and knights,
and then sacrificing them to the ancient god of the cold abyss.
However, they were not responsible for the sacrificial ritual.
That was a matter handled by a priest wearing a bone mask and a black feathered robe.
No one had seen his face, nor had anyone heard his voice apart from his chanting.
Initially, everything seemed normal.
The dwindling numbers were a fact, but morale remained high, at least Tacalin thought so.
But in the past few days, he began to notice some unsettling things.
First was Herrick, the young warrior who talked so much he was annoying, suddenly became taciturn, staring blankly at the campfire all day.
His lips constantly moved unconsciously, as if whispering to someone.
Then there was Ula, the old brother who used to love drinking the most, who surprisingly hadn't touched a drop of alcohol for a while. At first, Tacalin merely frowned, thinking these people might have been affected by the ancient god of the cold abyss's “whispers.”
Until late that night, he himself began to talk in his sleep.
And he had no idea what he was saying.
He was woken up by his son, Ike.
“Father—what were you just saying? You talked for a very, very long time. Do you remember?”
Cold sweat broke out on Tacalin’s forehead. How could he remember?
Even more terrifying, this sleep-talking began to spread throughout the camp,
Many people were speaking meaningless words. Their eyes were empty when they spoke, and their voices sounded as if they came from a deep well.
And he noticed that the people in the camp began to “change.”
Those brothers who were once close gradually became strangers.
Tacalin looked at their faces, and even had the illusion: “Is this person—really the person I know?”
He looked down at Ike beside him, who was quietly curled up in a blanket, sleeping soundly.
But the firelight on his face was like light on a block of ice. There was no warmth at all.
The firelight was clearly very warm, but he felt increasingly cold.
An unspeakable premonition, like a needle point, slowly pricked his heart.
He finally realized that this place was not right.
But Ike hadn't changed yet, he still had a chance.
Tacalin began to prepare. He quietly hid several short blades and dried provisions, repeatedly studying the escape routes on the map.
The back route through the valley was the most difficult, but also the most hidden.
But as long as they could pass through that frozen forest, they could escape. Anywhere would be fine, as long as they left this place.
That night, the surroundings were so quiet that only the wind could be heard.
Tacalin, holding Ike's hand, silently stepped into the wasteland of the back valley.
They walked very slowly, each step like treading on thin ice.
But they couldn't get far.
The pursuers appeared behind them at some unknown moment.
They didn't shout, nor did they give orders,
They just followed silently, like shadows clinging to their backs.
Tacalin turned around and recognized those faces.
They were his comrades in arms, the ones who had once drunk, laughed, cursed, and fought with him.
“Bro? It's me, it's me! Tacalin!”
He shouted, trying to make them conscious.
“Him! Him! Wake up! We are brothers!”
But they didn't speak, just slowly approached, their eyes empty.
At that moment, Tacalin truly felt fear.
Not the fear of death, but an inexplicable fear that “they were alive but no longer themselves.”
He dragged Ike and ran desperately.
The footsteps behind them were like maggots on bone, not fast, but never stopping.
Finally, by a flowing river, he stopped.
“Ike,” he knelt down, gripping his son's shoulders, his eyes full of pain, “Run south, as far as you can, don't look back.”
Ike's eyes ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) widened, “Father? What are you going to do?”
“Run!” Tacalin roared, drawing his long blade.
He turned, facing those familiar yet strange figures.
And behind him was everything he had to protect.
Ike ran desperately.
The cold wind cut at his ears like a rusty blade, and he heard his own hurried gasps.
And the heavy, slow sounds of hacking and slashing behind him.
The collision of metal and flesh.
One sound after another, like a bell striking his heart.
Ike dared not look back.
There was no snow, but the sky was so cold it felt like it would crack.
The ground was frozen solid, every step bringing a bone-chilling tremor.
His boots had long since split open, his soles were numb, but he still ran. His father's voice still echoed in his ears.
“Ike, run south! Don't look back!”
He didn't look back, didn't dare to look back.
He just kept running, carrying his father's short sword and that cold badge, as if holding his entire world, escaping into the end of the night.
Until his legs could no longer lift.
Until the sounds behind him finally stopped.
He curled up behind a frozen stone, hiding in the wind, hiding in the silence.
He initially tried to suppress his trembling, but later even opening his eyes became difficult.
That night was very cold.
It was the kind of cold that seemed to scrape from the bones.
He didn't know how long he slept, only remembering that in his dream, his father stood before the firelight, his shadow long, long, almost engulfing the entire valley.
When he woke again, it was already light, and the wind had stopped.
He held the badge and the short sword, as if still guarding some unfinished vow.
His face was pale, his lips blue, yet he was not startled, not panicked.
He just quietly remained in that morning where there was no one left.
The brief summer in the North had quietly slipped away, and the morning wind brought back the chill. freёwebnovel.com
Fortunately, Red Tide City's hot spring circulation system had been reactivated.
The entire castle felt gently enveloped in warmth, and the rooms were cozy, making one reluctant to get up.
Louis opened his eyes, and before him was a soft blue light.
It was Emily’s hair, quietly spread out on the snow-white pillow, like ripples on a spring lake.
Her face was serene and beautiful, her eyelashes long, her nose slightly red, and her lips still held a hint of a smile from the lingering warmth of last night.
One hand was still resting on his chest, like a small cat.
Louis quietly watched her, his Adam's apple moving slightly, a look of indescribable satisfaction or emotion appearing in his eyes.
Since their marriage, he had indeed been diligently “sowing,” but—he had yet to see a harvest.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with his body.
It was just that in this world, for knights with extraordinary powers, offspring always seemed difficult to come by.
The flow of battle qi interfered with the birth of life; the stronger one was, the longer the wait required.
And his father, the renowned Duke Calvin, having over twenty children, could truly be called a miracle.
Of course, this was also the result of his day-after-day “cultivation.”
In contrast, Louis, though young and vigorous, was not impatient.
He preferred to let nature take its course, waiting for fate to deliver that gift itself.
It was just Emily—...—a bit more enthusiastic than him.
Due to the continuation of the family line, Emily had been taking the initiative more often recently.
Even though her words still maintained the reserved of a noble lady, her eyes increasingly clearly carried the meaning of “Should we try hard today too?”
Thinking of this, Louis couldn't help but show a helpless yet doting smile.
He gently reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Emily's face, his thumb sliding over her temple.
Emily turned over, nestled into his arms like a cat, and quickly fell back into a deep sleep.
Louis did not linger in the tender embrace, gently lifted the covers, and got out of bed.
The heat from the hot springs steamed around his feet, and his feet felt no cold on the warm jade floor tiles.
He put on his robe, walked to the window, and pushed open a sliver of the view.
Looking at the white mist clinging to the distant mountains, he raised his hand, his fingertips lightly tapping the void.
A translucent light screen quietly unfolded before him, a stream of dark blue light sweeping from bottom to top, bringing a slight hum. The familiar interface finished loading, and a line of text flickered before his eyes:
【Daily Intelligence Update Complete】
【1: Duchess Elena is pregnant. She is expected to give birth to a son for Duke Edmund in ten months.】
【2: The Red Tide Territory's grain crops have matured, and the peak of the autumn harvest is estimated to be in four days.】
【3: Snowsworn warrior Tacalin, to escape the Broodmother's control, attempted to flee with his son three days ago, and died in the valley while covering his son's escape.】
【4: His son, “Ike,” failed to escape and froze to death this morning outside Winter Dawn Ridge.】
As soon as he saw the first few words of the first item, Louis froze, and his mouth twitched.
“.—Huh?”
He stared at the intelligence for a while, then finally sighed softly, sitting down in a chair and rubbing his forehead.
“I'm young and strong, diligently working day after day, and the one who bears fruit first—is actually my old father-in-law?”
But he had to admit, he was quite happy for them.
After all, given Duke Edmund's current age, this was probably his only and last son.
He would be the future Duke Edmund, the nominal ruler of the North, and the focus of all Northern nobles.
Of course, Louis wasn't without the thought of “replacing” this father-in-law.
But now was not the time. He estimated it would take at least a few decades, or his son would be able to do it. “There are still many games to play in the future—let this child be a ‘little duke’ to warm up the stage.”
He lightly snapped his fingers and continued to scroll down.
The Red Tide Territory's grain crops have matured, and the autumn harvest is approaching.
The text on the light screen was brief, but in Louis's eyes, it was golden good news.
The Red Tide Territory's geothermal system was not just for show; ever since the hot spring circulation system was fully integrated into agricultural irrigation, he knew this year's harvest wouldn't be bad.
Moreover, more people had moved in this year, and the newly reclaimed land had increased severalfold.
If all went well, this year's grain output would be at least four to five times that of last year, if not more.
He couldn't help but recall Mick's excited report a few days ago: “My Lord, we'll have a great harvest this year! The granary is estimated to be almost full!”
That smile was even happier than hearing his own wife had given birth to triplets.
And now was indeed the time for that to be realized.
Louis, of course, knew that this was not just a matter of grain.
The North's winter had always been one of its toughest enemies, and this year, there were also the Broodmother and the swarm—
This winter, the North would definitely not have an easy time.
“All of this requires grain for defense.” Louis sighed slightly, rubbing his temples.
Grain was not just for surviving winter; it was also the second weapon in war.
Soldiers' rations, people's food, warhorse feed, logistical reserves—these were no less impactful than steel and knights.
“Winning wars is never just about weapons. It's also about those bites of rye bread that can be chewed. On harvest day, I must go see it myself.”
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the third item, followed by the fourth.
His body, which had been leaning back in the chair, suddenly straightened.
Since the last extermination battle with the “Broodmother Specimen.”
The Broodmother seemed to have completely submerged beneath the ice, with no new clues surfacing.
Not only did the daily intelligence yield nothing, but even the Magician Forest and the Governor's Mansion, those investigative agencies with far-reaching influence,
had all returned empty-handed these days, finding nothing.
This could only mean one thing: it was hidden deep enough, well enough, almost beyond all their expectations. But now, an intelligence directly related to the Broodmother had actually appeared.
Although it was just a brief record of a warrior's escape, behind the information lay enormous possibilities.
“Tacalin—” He whispered the name, his brows tightly furrowed, “The Broodmother can control living people? How did he break free? Was it a recovery of will? Or—the Broodmother's power isn't enough to control the human brain.”
More importantly, the fourth piece of intelligence.
“That child, Ike.” He murmured to himself.
He died, frozen to death in the wasteland outside Winter Dawn Ridge.
And according to the description, this child likely escaped from a Snowsworn stronghold where the Broodmother was located.
This meant that he knew where the Broodmother was.
Even if he was already dead, but—
A flash of inspiration suddenly crossed Louis's eyes, and he instantly remembered someone.
“Eduardo.” He murmured his third brother's name.
Eduardo had once shown him a rare ability: to retrace the memories of the deceased.
He could glimpse the final memory fragments of a deceased person's life before their soul completely dissipated.
Once this thought took shape, it could no longer be suppressed.
What originally seemed insignificant now instantly became a crucial clue capable of “turning the tide of battle.”
He immediately took up his pen and swiftly wrote a secret letter.
After finishing, he walked to a tall metal birdcage by the bookshelf. Inside the cage quietly stood a black-feathered gale bird.
This bird was not his, but one Eduardo had left behind when he left the Red Tide Territory, specifically for contacting him.
Louis opened the cage door, and the gale bird, as if sensing something, flapped its wings and flew out, landing on his shoulder.
He tucked the secret letter into the small tube on its leg and whispered, “Go find your master.”
The black-feathered gale bird seemed to understand, suddenly flapping its wings and soaring up, leaving behind a whistling sound that tore through the air.
Louis looked up at the receding black silhouette until it disappeared into the high sky.
