Free Web NovelIt was only when Louis rode his warhorse over the southern section of the Snow Ridge and saw the Red Tide banners fluttering in the cold wind ahead that he finally let out a long breath.
Seventeen days...
He had led the Flamethrower Squad and the Knight Order, traveling through the wind and snow for a full seventeen days.
Departing from Red Cloud Territory, saving Willis;
Then sealing off the Mother Nest Rift in the northwest of Snowpeak County;
Along the way, severing seven worm tide passages and establishing nine temporary fire outposts;
Distributing Magic Bombs overnight and manually reinforcing mountain passes;
Personally leading charges five times and orchestrating strategic rescues multiple times. freёweɓnovel.com
Now, they had finally managed to "keep them at bay."
Although the insect corpses were still active day and night, a fire blockade network had been established from the West Ridge to the Tundra, and Louis had deployed flamethrower troops and knight garrisons at various strongholds and natural terrains.
From the chaos, a border fire line that was "defensible, retreatable, and mobilizable" had been initially outlined.
On the iron-forged pass, Red Tide banners flapped in the wind, Flamethrower Knights and regular Knights patrolled in shifts, and a sentry post was set up every few hundred meters, fully equipped with oil pots, Magic Bombs, and vibration sensors.
"Northwest Canyon sealed."
"The fourth firebreak at Snow Rift Hill completed."
"Insect corpses have not broken through the main line for the past three days."
The adjutant reported each item, and Louis merely nodded.
"Finally, it looks like a proper defense line," he murmured softly, his voice so low it was almost carried away by the wind.
In the past few days, faint dark circles had appeared under his eyes.
Yet, he still maintained a calm and composed expression.
He wore a cloak, his armor already covered in mottled burn marks, his hair wet with snow and plastered to his cheeks, making him look more like a seasoned general than the young noble he was once questioned to be.
"We've only temporarily blocked the first wave. The real disaster—hasn't even begun."
And precisely because of this, he had to go back and see.
Red Tide Territory was currently the only hub in the entire Snowpeak Army that could still normally dispatch food, supplies, and war preparations. If they couldn't use this interim period to deploy, coordinate, and fortify, then the next breakthrough of the worm tide would not just be the collapse of a certain family, but the collapse of the entire defense line.
"Return to Red Tide Territory," he said, and the cavalry began to adjust their marching direction.
On the highlands of the southern border of Red Tide Territory, continuous temporary shelters undulated like waves in the cold wind, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Those were the common people and nobles who had escaped with their lives after their homes were torn apart by the Mother Nest.
They wore tattered clothes, their faces pale, holding children or elders by the hand, some supporting sick family members, others carrying urns of still-warm ashes, kneeling at the temporary Channel entrance set up by the Red Tide Army, waiting for a registration roster.
When they heard that "he had arrived," a low murmur erupted from the crowd.
It wasn't the rumored general, nor a high-and-mighty noble, but Louis Calvin, their savior, slowly riding his horse through the central avenue between the tents.
He wore no fancy clothes; his armor was still stained with blood. He had no entourage, only the Flamethrower Squad and logistics soldiers accompanying him.
Yet, it was this very figure that brought tears to countless eyes.
"It's him, it's him—he saved us."
"He pulled me out of the ruins—if my brother had been three days earlier, perhaps—"
"Lord Louis—Red Tide Lord!"
A child broke free from his mother's embrace, running to try and get closer to him.
An elderly noblewoman burst into loud sobs, kneeling in the snow and weeping uncontrollably.
Louis rode slowly between the tents, looking at those tired but hopeful eyes.
"Thank you—truly, thank you—" a woman said, trembling as she held her child by the hand, lowering her head, her voice hoarse, "If it weren't for you, my little daughter would have—would have—on the day the city fell."
She didn't finish, merely wiping away her tears.
Louis slowly dismounted, knelt down, and personally stroked the little girl's head, a gentle smile on his lips.
"This is not your place of exile," Louis said with a smile, "but a new beginning."
His words were calm as water, yet they soothed every heart like fire.
At that moment, someone in the tent forest loudly shouted: "Long live Red Tide! Long live Lord Louis!"
Then came a chorus of responses, cries and shouts mixing in the wind and snow, as if the entire refugee camp had come alive.
The temporary noble camp had been established by his personal order before his departure, and various policies had been issued: tent areas were numbered, and residents were registered according to their original membership;
Each person was allocated military porridge and charcoal, and warm shelters and simple wooden houses were set up;
Orphans were cared for collectively, soldiers guided patrols, and noble sections were equipped with military officers serving as "guardians."
They had originally expected a life of muddy, hungry, and contentious exile, but when the porridge was cooked, the simple houses were built, and the Red Tide campfires rose, many refugees finally realized that this place was even better than their former fiefs.
"He actually prepared food in advance—"
"He even set aside a small house for my elderly mother to rest, my goodness, we never dreamed of it."
And behind this orderly miracle was the Red Tide Territory's abundant harvest this year, the supplies he had ordered to be transported through the Calvin Family's merchant association after learning of the great disaster this year, and the "Post-War Migration Plan" {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} he had personally drafted in advance.
Leaving the refugees, Louis entered the main Red Tide Castle.
He had been on the road for more than ten days, and the battlefield built of blood and fire had never made him bow his head, but at this moment, as the corridors of Red Tide Castle came into view, exhaustion finally surged into his heart like a tide.
As soon as he stepped into the main hall, before he could even take off his cloak, he heard hurried footsteps like wind chimes approaching.
"Louis!"
"You're finally back!"
The former was Emily, with a snow-colored shawl, her eyes red-rimmed, yet still maintaining the elegant demeanor of a noble lady.
Only, when she threw herself into his arms, her hands trembled slightly with urgency.
The latter was Sif, her silver-white short hair still smudged with ash, standing by with a frown, coldly saying, "You finally deigned to return."
But before she could finish, she also lowered her head and hugged him, only turning her face away, unwilling to let him see her eyes welling up.
"I've only been gone a few days, and you two look like you've lost your souls," Louis chuckled, embracing them both, one on each side. It was as if all the dust of battle on Louis's body melted away in that warm embrace.
"More than ten days—" Emily pouted slightly, looking up, her eyes filled with unconcealed longing, "You said you'd send word in three days,
but we could only hear about your situation from wounded soldiers."
"And you were on the front line—personally charging?!" Sif gritted her teeth and punched him, "Don't you know what 'Lord' means?"
"I know, I know," Louis said with a helpless smile, ruffling their hair, "If you had seen those people on that battlefield, you would understand—"
He wanted to say more, but he saw the fatigue on their faces, a kind of pressure from supporting the entire order from within Red Tide.
Even if they weren't on the battlefield, they were never truly "safe."
He sighed, leading them into the room.
After sitting down, Emily was the first to take out a stack of documents of varying thickness from nearby and place them on the table.
"This is our list of political affairs handled during this period: the expansion of the refugee camp, food distribution ratios, noble identity verification, and supplies sent by some southern families. Red Tide's reserves are indeed tight, but at this rate, we can last for another two months."
She spoke at a steady pace, her confidence as a "future Duchess" fully evident at this moment.
Sif, meanwhile, pulled out several neatly folded letters: "These are the major and minor nobles from the southern border that I dealt with, especially Viscount Martin, who originally wanted to form factions and take advantage of the chaos. I directly had the knights cut off his head."
Louis looked at these two distinct figures before him, and a wave of warmth filled his heart.
On the battlefield, he forged a defense line with fire; but within this territory, it was they who protected the order behind the city walls with their wisdom.
"You two," Louis said softly, his voice like a wisp of hearth fire quietly kindling in the cold night, "are my true foundation."
No sooner had he spoken than Emily gently raised her chin, her eyes smiling, not hiding her joy, as if she had received a well-deserved yet precious reward.
"I always have been," she answered softly.
Sif, however, seemed caught off guard by these words, her earlobes quickly turning red, her gaze darting around, and finally she let out a soft hum, turning to pour tea.
"Hmph, you don't even find it cheesy to say things like that."
Louis smiled, about to tease them further.
Then Emily's expression suddenly tightened, and she took out a sealed letter from her sleeve, its wax seal still intact.
"This is a letter Father just sent," she said, her tone a bit hesitant, "—it seems not very good."
Louis took the letter, his fingertips hesitating slightly.
It was a handwritten letter from the Governor of the Northern Territory, the Empire's Iron Wall—Duke Edmund.
The heavy seal, the hasty handwriting, every detail indicated that this was no ordinary family letter.
Emily looked at him, saying nothing, just silently pressing the letter into his palm.
Louis took a deep breath, then sat down, one arm around Emily, the other gently tearing open the seal.
The handwriting was still strong and vigorous, but it revealed an undeniable weariness.
The letter was not long-winded, but every sentence felt like a stone pressing on his heart.
Duke Edmund did not use much emotional language, but instead, with an extremely calm tone, assessed the entire layout and results in Snowpeak County.
Clearly, he already had a good grasp of Louis's deployments and their effectiveness, seemingly informed by Emily.
But even the strictest Governor could not hide a trace of pride in the letter:
"You have defended Snowpeak County. This is one of the few counties in the North that can still allocate food, accommodate refugees, and send out fighting forces.
I am proud of you, not only because you are my son-in-law, but because you have accomplished what most nobles cannot."
However, the tone of the second half of the letter quietly shifted; although the wording remained calm, a hint of solemnity permeated between the lines:
The entire western defense line of the North had already broken, most counties fell silent, and city defense lights extinguished overnight.
And the Imperial reinforcements, the Dragon Blood Legion, were already on their way to the North. As long as Frost Halberd City held, the Empire would have a chance to rebuild the Northern defense line.
The last sentence, like an order, and also like a trust: "Take care of Emily."
Louis quietly finished reading the letter, folded the parchment, and gently placed it on the desk beside him.
His expression showed little fluctuation; his brows and eyes remained calm and steady, as if what was described in the letter was merely another ordinary military report.
Duke Edmund had written the letter very cleverly: the wording was calm, the sentences factual, affirming Snowpeak County's defensive achievements,
and also mentioning the "mobilization" of Imperial support.
But what he did not write was the true extent of the collapse and abyss the North was facing.
However, Louis already knew in his heart, for he possessed a more comprehensive intelligence network than anyone else—the Daily Intelligence System. The truth he saw was even deeper than Edmund's.
The population of the North was less than one-fifth of what it once was. Of the twenty-seven once-glorious counties, only six barely maintained autonomy, while most others had fallen into Mother Nest territory, becoming the surging "barren lands" on the pale snowfields.
Even many once-prominent noble families—the Rowan family, the Crest family, the Grant Family—had their names erased in silence, with no one even knowing when or how they became extinct.
And now, the figure of the Doomsday Mother Nest had heavily surrounded Frost Halberd City—that was the last heart of the North.
Fortunately, Duke Edmund was no ordinary man.
Before the catastrophe truly struck, he had initiated the wartime layout of the entire Frost Halberd City.
Seventeen magic-infused fortresses, the Cold Iron Legion deployed to all city passes, with steel as their walls and will as their furnace, they had stubbornly fended off the Mother Nest's surging invasion.
Even more remarkably, they were not fighting a losing battle.
The Cold Iron Legion, in a stance of desperate defense, resisted the insect-corpse-transformed Snowsworn, gradually finding the Mother Nest's rhythm and breaking its swarm assault structure.
Now, the "Cold Iron Legion" of that city was engaged in a high-intensity tug-of-war with the insect corpses, and although the cost was heavy, it still stood firm.
But time was wearing everyone down; they probably couldn't hold out for more than a few months.
The real turning point, however, lay in the South.
The Empire's strongest legion—the Dragon Blood Legion—had set out fully equipped.
That colossal force, where even the lowest-ranking knights were high-ranking knights.
The two legion commanders, one primary and one secondary, were the Empire's top combatants: one was his elder brother, Gaius Calvin.
The other was the current Emperor's nephew, the noble and sharp "Blade of the Royal Court"—Arthur Gareon.
Both were peak knights; once they arrived on the battlefield, coupled with Duke Edmund, a surprise attack might truly shatter the Doomsday Mother Nest.
Louis rested a hand on his forehead, lost in thought.
His gaze was fixed on the map on the table, yet it seemed to pierce through the paper, seeing every collapsing snow wall in the North.
Just then, a touch as light as a breeze landed on his shoulder.
He turned his head, meeting Emily's slightly red eyes.
Her fingertips gently pressed his shoulder, trying to read something from his face, yet not daring to get too close, fearing that a single wrong word would completely break this exhausted young Lord.
"Father—is he very worried?" she asked.
Louis smiled: "Your father is certainly worried, he just won't say it aloud. But he is strong, so strong that people think he is never afraid."
"Just like you," Sif added, looking at him with a complex expression.
"I'm not as strong as you say," he said softly, "It's just that more than being afraid, I'm afraid of failure."
He looked out the window, towards the outskirts of Red Tide City, where distant campfires connected like stars in a line, illuminating the tents of those commoners and nobles who had just escaped with their lives.
"Those people are still waiting for food, waiting for their homes to be rebuilt," Louis murmured to himself, "But I don't even know when the next snow will come."
"You cannot control the weather, but you have rebuilt order," Emily said softly.
"You are not a god, but you let them live," Sif added.
At that moment, the heavy winter night seemed to be gently dispelled by these two women.
