Free Web NovelNight had not yet faded, and snow fell ceaselessly. The outer walls of New Frost Halberd City stood like a silent giant beast in the wind and snow, cold and somber.
Before dawn, Rudolph arrived at the city gate with a retinue of personal guards, so meticulously arranged they resembled an honor guard.
Their armor was spotless, and their cavalry formation was like an arrow on a string, each step perfectly in sync.
Were it not for the weariness and apprehension in their eyes, this contingent would almost seem to be returning victorious.
Rudolph sat tall on his horse, his expression stern.
After his retreat from Wind Flame Valley, to ensure a dignified entry into the city, he had even used strong liquor to wipe down his armor, concealing the burn marks and bloodstains upon it.
This was not for dignity, but for credibility.
If even his own demeanor betrayed despair, no one would believe a single word he uttered.
Upon reaching New Frost Halberd City, he dismounted, his cloak billowing in the wind, and said in a deep voice, “Rudolph, Commander of the Imperial Sixth Army, has an urgent report on the northern front. I request an immediate audience with His Grace the Duke.”
The gate guard stepped forward. Seeing it was Rudolph, he dared not delay and immediately went to inform.
The Duke’s study was in the West Tower of the main castle, perched high above the cliff.
Inside, the fireplace flickered, its light unable to warm the stone walls permeated with chill.
Duke Edmund sat alone before the fireplace, dressed in a plain military uniform, a stark contrast to the wall of honors displayed behind him.
The diagonal scar from his cheekbone to his jaw seemed to still bleed in the firelight.
His fingers rested on the rim of a wine glass, slowly rotating it.
On the desk before him lay a map of Wind Flame Valley, clearly marked, the ink still fresh.
The aide behind him reported softly, “General Rudolph requests an audience.”
He was silent for a moment, then said coldly, “Let him in.”
Rudolph stood before the study door, taking off his gloves and gently shaking off the snow.
In the few short steps, he tidied his appearance, adjusting his cloak and breastplate, pushing his slightly fatigued expression deep into his eyes.
The door was pushed open by the aide, and a dry, cold wind, carrying snowflakes, poured in from the corridor, then melted into the low roar of the fireplace.
He stepped into the silent, tomb-like study, his pace unhurried.
“Rudolph greets His Grace the Duke.” He executed a military salute that was perfectly standard, almost like a model from an Imperial military academy textbook.
Duke Edmund remained seated, only raising his eyes to cast a faint glance at Rudolph.
His knuckles still rested on the rim of the half-filled silver cup, as if he had just pulled himself from thought, his gaze holding an unmoving restraint. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
“I have already received the brief report on the fall of Wind Flame Valley. Do you have anything to add, General, by coming here?”
His voice was not loud, yet it sounded like striking cold iron, each word echoing in Rudolph’s ears.
Rudolph stood firm, unwavering; he had anticipated this.
Maintaining the dignified posture of an officer, he reported, “On the Northern Barbarian front, a fundamental mutation has occurred.
The enemy’s combat structure no longer adheres to traditional barbarian characteristics. Their tactical system and resource allocation show a high degree of systematization and targeting.
Their vanguard units are equipped with multiple heavily armored magical beasts, some possessing natural anti-magic structures, almost like mobile fortresses.
Our army, arrayed according to Imperial standards, first used magic burst suppression and fuel strikes, then supplemented with knight charges to disrupt their formation, achieving some breakthroughs initially.
Moreover, the enemy possesses an extremely rare death enhancement mechanism. The more enemies we slay, the more frenzied and bizarre the enemy becomes.”
Duke Edmund did not interrupt, only his eyes narrowed slightly upon hearing “death enhancement.”
Rudolph continued, “Furthermore, the terrain is rapidly mutating. The enemy’s vine structures can erode the surface, causing localized battlefield collapses, magical field disturbances, and mobilization delays.
Some soldiers are suspected of mental contamination, experiencing hallucinations, mania, and even actively breaking from the chain of command.”
But then he hesitated slightly: “Therefore, I judged that the enemy’s situation was unclear, reinforcements were distant, and our forces were depleted—if we insisted on holding out, the entire army might be annihilated.
Thus, I decided to preserve the core military backbone and withdraw from the front line, to preserve a glimmer of hope for the North.”
The study fell into a long silence.
The fireplace crackled loudly, sending up a shower of sparks.
Rudolph knew that every word in his statement was like treading on thin ice; any misstep would lead to the guilt of the entire army, the shame of the entire clan.
Edmund still did not move; he simply placed the silver cup in his hand gently on the windowsill, listening quietly.
The firelight reflected on the scar on his face, making the old wound seem to reopen and bleed anew.
He had known it long ago.
Ever since his informants in Northern Barbarian territory began to lose contact one by one a month ago, he knew something was wrong.
Those individuals were not new to deep infiltration of barbarian lands; they would not be easily exposed.
At first, he told himself, perhaps it was just a communication delay, or a snowstorm issue, or the barbarian tribes had integrated an anti-espionage system. But he knew in his heart that it was merely self-deception.
True fear comes not from the enemy, but from ignorance.
He watched helplessly as the northern front became alien, yet he could see nothing, touch nothing.
Now, the “truth” Rudolph brought—or rather, the judgment of his own self-deception.
Vines eroding the battlefield, death enhancing the enemy, soldiers mentally contaminated, the complete collapse of the Third Legion.
That sliver of hope that had survived finally crumbled just now.
He closed his eyes, for a moment almost losing strength, remembering the thirty thousand knights he could directly command five years ago charging against the barbarians.
And now? After the plague, the rebellion, the insect swarm...
Only a meager ten thousand who could still fight remained.
He didn't need to wait for the entire northern front to collapse; he could already see the future.
This time, regardless of victory or defeat, the dominion of the North, the authority of the Edmund Family, would irreversibly decline.
Even if they won, they would not win back the lost territory.
Duke Edmund opened his eyes, looking at Rudolph’s single-sided monocle.
He truly wanted to punch and shatter that lens, and along with it, shatter the self-righteousness in his bones.
But his clenched fist slowly relaxed the next second.
Even a very restrained gentleness appeared on his face: “General, you did not forget to reorganize your military appearance on your way back to the city, and your subordinates all maintained military discipline, which is truly commendable.”
His tone was so light it seemed like praise, everything as usual.
He nodded slightly again, then instructed, “You have toiled for many days. Go to the guesthouse to rest first. Tomorrow, organize the detailed battle report and present it to the Imperial Capital.”
He did not mention defeat, retreat, or responsibility.
The breath in Rudolph’s chest finally slowly exhaled. This hurdle, he had barely passed.
But he knew very well that this did not mean Duke Edmund would truly let him go.
Those indifferent, icy eyes had merely moved the blade half an inch from his neck, ready to fall again at any moment.
He had to act immediately, had to quickly contact his relatives and old acquaintances in the Imperial Capital, to weave a net that could protect his life.
To package the retreat, abandonment, and even desertion as a decision to “securely preserve strength” as much as possible.
Thinking of this, he lowered his head, bowed in a steady military salute to the Duke, then turned and followed the butler’s steps, walking down the long corridor leading to the guesthouse.
Rudolph’s footsteps faded, and the door gently closed.
Edmund leaned by the window and said in a low voice, “He has the strength of a high-tier Transcendent Knight; we cannot be careless. Find a few more people to act immediately, and make sure it’s clean and swift.”
His personal guard immediately took the order, responded in a deep voice, and hurried away.
Edmund slowly exhaled a turbid breath and stood up from his chair.
He reached for the map case, unfolding the heavy scrolls one by one on the long table.
Candlelight illuminated the edges of the battle maps, their worn corners frayed, like the shattered defenses of the North.
He did not allow himself a moment of hesitation, even after just confirming the worst-case scenario.
“Calm.” He muttered to himself.
Thirty thousand was the entirety of the forces he could directly mobilize at present.
Adding to that, if a full territorial mobilization could be completed within three days, and pressure, coercion, and incentives were applied to various noble families and factions in the North, a total of perhaps seventy thousand could be assembled.
There was still a great chance of victory, and as long as he could delay, the Imperial Capital would act. He had to buy time for the entire Empire.
He deployed at lightning speed, dividing the response into four-level objectives:
Level One Mobilization Target: Cold Iron Legion, Silverfang Legion, and Broken Blade Legion, all direct subordinates, to complete assembly within three days and gather around New Frost Halberd.
He ordered his deputy generals to first deploy defenses, repair river defenses, set up oil pits, and clear obscuring woodlands.
Level Two Response Target: Issue “Urgent War Summons” to highly loyal border commanders, such as Count Hedon and the Saer Family.
Level Three Recruitment Target: For forces over which control was weaker, such as pioneering nobles from the south and the Imperial Sixth and Twelfth Legions, allow them to remain stationed in their territories, but they could not be relied upon for the time being.
Level Four Rejection Target: For certain families with private contacts with the barbarians, secretly draft a “Purge List.” If they still refused to respond once the mobilization order was issued, immediately dispatch Shadow Guards to carry out the purge.
At the same time, he issued a political decree: Administrative resource allocation would be given full wartime priority, including grain, iron ore, armor, livestock, and transport horses.
Artisans would work day and night, producing weapons, shields, and siege engines at triple speed.
Local granaries would be frozen, and the entire territory would adopt a wartime rationing system, with priority allocation based on front-line levels.
Anyone obstructing allocation would be immediately dealt with for “endangering military orders.”
All who refused to answer the summons would be declared wanted, their homes confiscated, and their territories seized.
He knew this would offend many nobles, but he had no time for compromise now.
He wanted not their hearts, but their soldiers.
Afterward, he took up his pen and wrote several letters.
The first was to the Imperial Capital, proactively reporting the collapse at Wind Flame Valley and requesting intelligence support.
Regarding Rudolph, he changed his tone, writing faintly: “General Rudolph of the Sixth Army fought valiantly until the last moment at Wind Flame Valley, gloriously martyring himself.”
The second was to his son-in-law, Louis.
Louis was one of his most trusted relatives now.
Under his rule, order was well-maintained, commerce flourished, and the people’s morale was stable, almost the only miracle in the North not eroded by war and plague.
But he had only been in the North for three years, his foundation was unstable, and his military equipment was weak.
Edmund subtly expressed his concern in the letter and reminded him to guard the Southeast vital passage of the North, emphasizing that the eastern flank must hold firm.
He personally wrote dozens of letters in total. He sealed all the letters, stamped and waxed them, and handed them one by one to the waiting Swiftwind Birds, sending them immediately to various locations.
Mist surged through the valleys, like a slowly settling tide.
The morning in Qingyu Ridge carried a biting chill; the damp, cold wind, laden with fine snowflakes, struck leather armor and cloaks, turning into icy wet marks.
Louis stood on a half-way cliff platform, his cloak flapping in the wind.
His gaze swept over the cliff outside the platform, overlooking the defensive fortifications taking shape below.
Folding wooden-iron chevaux de frise snaked along the valley path, combined with nozzles for oil fires and trap pits, like a giant steel serpent bristling with barbs, winding through the snow.
Occasionally, artisans would lift the covering snow cloth, revealing the cold gleam of barbed iron chains.
Ballistas and artillery platforms were pushed onto newly erected stands, their wooden wheels emitting a dull creaking sound on the ice.
“Raise the angle of that chute by another half a foot.” Louis raised a hand, pointing to the high rock face.
A team of knights, cloaked in white, immediately responded, dragging thick wooden beams and oil cans, climbing the treacherous mountain path to their designated positions.
Although this suggestion was insignificant, it was mainly for Louis to show his presence.
On the other side, soldiers were using crowbars and iron wedges to wedge huge stones into stone grooves.
Once the brake was released, these hundreds of pounds of stones would pour down the chute, transforming into a deadly avalanche.
He looked up into the depths of the valley entrance, the enemy’s inevitable path.
If they dared to enter this snow-shrouded canyon, they would be trapped in a hell of cross-fire and falling stones, a part of the network of killing opportunities Louis had personally woven.
Just then, a knight on a frost-covered warhorse arrived, handing over a letter with the Frost Halberd City seal.
Louis took it, glanced at the broken wax seal, and unfolded the parchment.
The handwriting was hurried, the ink not yet dry, and the lines conveyed a sharp urgency.
Duke Edmund reported that the Northern Barbarian main force had crossed the Northwest defense line and described the terrifying anomalies triggered by enemy deaths.
He ordered Louis to strictly guard the Southeast vital passage and not to transfer his forces.
Louis folded the letter, which bore three layers of fire wax seals from the Military Affairs Department, and casually tucked it into a secret compartment of his desk, as if putting away a bill. In fact, before the letter arrived, he already knew most of its contents, and even more, given his Daily Intelligence System.
The closer to war, the more urgent and dense the information from the Daily Intelligence System became, and the more unsettling it was.
That strange Northern Barbarian army was like an ice shell being peeled away layer by layer, revealing the flesh and thorns within.
Among these intelligence reports, two were most important.
The first: 【When Northern Barbarian soldiers die, their bodies instantly ignite with distorted plant-flesh sparks, releasing a scorching red mist that covers nearby Northern Barbarian warriors, causing their anger and strength to surge. Only by disrupting their angry emotions can the enhancement be terminated.】
This news made Louis’s brow furrow. Anger was inherently the cheapest, most surging fuel on the battlefield, and the ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) enemy could transform it into a contagious power.
So he summoned Silco, ordering him to develop a secret weapon in the shortest possible time, specifically to deal with this, but since it had not been tested in actual combat, its effectiveness was still uncertain.
The second: 【A Northern Barbarian army of over five thousand will cross Qingyu Ridge from Ice Sea County in seven days, heading directly for the heartland of Red Tide Territory.】
This intelligence made a cold glint flash in his eyes.
Qingyu Ridge—that was where he made his name.
A canyon carved by blade and snow, so narrow that an army could be turned into a pile of corpses in a single day.
It was there that he had cut off the Snowsworn’s reinforcements.
So, several days before this letter arrived, he had quietly left the main city, taking his elite vanguard directly to Qingyu Ridge to set a trap in the canyon the barbarian army was bound to pass through.
When the enemy appeared at the valley entrance, they would not be met with a chance encounter, but a meticulously planned ambush destined to make the Northern Barbarians bleed rivers here.
