Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 502: Chapter 310: The Death of Duke Edmund

The night in the Northern Territory is bone-chilling, and the high towers of Frost Halberd City are engulfed by wind and snow.

Inside the study, a faint candle flickers, casting mottled shadows on the heavy curtains.

Duke Edmund sits in that familiar high-backed chair, wrapped in a thick blanket, yet unable to stop the slight tremor in his fingers.

His figure is gaunt like dry twigs, no longer the majestic figure akin to a city wall from months ago.

He slowly pours the black potion into the wine cup, its bitterness mixed with intensity, and drinks it in one go, feeling a knife-like burning spiral along his spine.

But Edmond doesn’t even frown, he simply gazes silently at the wall opposite.

There is the map of the Northern Territory, the genealogical chart of the family, and three portraits.

His father Bertran, who stayed awake for seven days and nights, fought alongside three snow oath elders until the end, dying with a long spear in hand.

His brother Auden, gentle and reticent, yet during the barbarian southern invasion, he used his last bit of Fighting Energy to explode the enemy leader while covering the main army.

His eldest son Arthur, died in the great rebellion, the traitor detonating a Magic Explosion Bullet, turning the entire battle platform to ashes, not even leaving behind bone ash.

Edmond closed his eyes, scenes of memories long yellowed flashed in his mind.

Back then, he was still young, full of vigor, clad in silver armor standing on the battlements of Frost Halberd City, angrily reprimanding his brother Auden.

“Leave this to me! The honor of the family must not be extinguished by your hand!”

But his brother simply remained silent, ultimately leading the iron cavalry up the rear hill, disappearing into the rolling flames of war.

After that night, he took up the sword of frost iron, and with it, the fate of the entire Northern Territory.

Yet, looking back on thirty years of border guarding, what he sees is:

The broken city walls during the great rebellion, the council hall burned by the Red Oath zealots, those flayed and hanged civil servants of the Northern Territory, and knights who finally froze to death in Snow Valley.

He also sees cities covered in Demonic Energy after the pestilence, and the trembling backs of parents burying their sick children in the snow.

He ordered the burning of seventeen infected towns to prevent further spread of the insect plague and personally signed the “survival rules” rejecting tens of thousands of refugees.

Lastly, after the complete mutation of the barbarian race, enemies flooded in like a tide.

Frost beasts with bones spikes, vine-entwined barbarians aflame with rage, and the roaring Frost Giants under the sky.

The Northern Territory…has become the tomb of countless people.

Edmond slowly opened his eyes, the pain hadn’t dissipated, perhaps even intensified.

He looked at the old painting on the wall, depicting a middle-aged man with blond hair and blue eyes, standing back-to-back with him on the battlefield, behind them, the snowfield ablaze.

Ernst August, who hadn’t become Emperor yet at the time.

At that age, he was only fourteen, marching alongside August into the barbarian cold plains.

August patted his shoulder, saying, “You are the future Shield of the North.”

He remembered this sentence all his life, guarding the Northern Territory for the Empire all his life.

But in the recent decade, he started to question whether he and the Edmund Family were abandoned by the Empire.

When the food aid from the Imperial Capital was late, the military supplies repeatedly reduced, and the numbers of the war dead in the Northern Territory piled into snow mounds, while the Imperial Capital was busy contending for power.

Edmond understood; they never intended to save the Northern Territory, just wanted it…to serve as a shield.

Shield of the North, truly an ironic title.

Yet, he still deeply loves this snowy land.

This land covered in white frost, these people laboring arduously in the cold nights, these craftsmen who built city walls with their hands and feet, knights who defended it with their lives.

But he dislikes this era.

An era where knights turned into Gold Coins, honor became tokens, loyalty became folly, and lives counted for nothing.

He once thought that was what he was to protect, but now realizes it was merely a corpse donned in a new robe.

“After I die…what will the Northern Territory become?”

Edmond pondered this question for a long time.

He knows his time is short, yet he doesn’t wish for this land to be buried with him.

And once again, the face of that young man surfaced in his mind—Louis Calvin.

This son-in-law, spoken of by Emily, always carries that…inexpressible respect and adoration, hearing her describe Louis is like hearing about a legendary Saint.

Initially, he just thought it was a girl’s filter, not paying much attention.

Then came the information from spies he planted in Red Tide Territory.

All from his most trusted old subordinates, some disguised as vagrants, some became officials of the Red Tide, and some were knights from the Broken Blade Knight Order.

The news they brought back was so consistent it raised suspicion in him.

Too clean, too positive, too perfect.

“A young lord, within three years receiving a hundred thousand returnees, reconstructing farmland, orderly military industry, loyal people…

If it was all an act, it’d be too perfect.”

So he had doubts, suspecting it was mere facade concentrated in a few locations.

He even instructed a trusted old knight to personally visit the peripheral territories of Red Tide to check whether it was consistent or only the core territories were like this.

Upon returning, the old knight said just one sentence, “That place is where I’d choose to retire.”

This sentence was more convincing than anything.

Acting could last a month, could last a year, but could it last three to four years?

Could it be performed so that even farmers look up in respect? Could it be so convincing that not one refugee would consider fleeing south?

Edmond looked at the map, at the territory of Red Tide, which was already painted from gray to red.

He doesn’t want to admit it, yet cannot deny it.

Louis achieved what he desired to do in his youth but couldn’t.

Within a few short years, he sheltered the exiles, cultivated the wilderness, and united the knights.