Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 607: Chapter 359: Surging Undercurrents (Part 2)

Someone quietly whispered spells to protect the ancestors, while another person patted the shoulder of a young man beside him with rough hands, as if entrusting his blessings and fears together.

Wulu closed his eyes, and the cold within him deepened.

He felt the blood-red tide rising inside the cave and heard the ringing steps of youth echo.

His expression was complex as the clan leaders all tacitly agreed, eventually compromising by revealing the information he knew one by one.

Wulu pointed at the crude map spread on the ground, his voice hoarse and cautious: “The Red Tide elite guards the South.

The east gate is the camp of the old nobility’s group, the only entrance to the main hall from the north door’s perimeter is guarded only by the Fourth Prince’s troops, we have insiders there who can open two secret passages.”

He paused and added, “And the day after tomorrow, there will be a Red Tide fireworks celebration, which is essentially a spectacle of magic explosive bullets. The grand display will cover any movements. If we intend to act, that will be the only chance.”

After hearing all this, the clan leaders began to discuss quietly, and shadows swayed and intertwined beside the fire.

“Then let’s do it,” Carl summarized, “Seize the moment when the nobility gathers in the main hall. First step, open the north door secret passage when the fireworks rise.

Second step, Blood Boiling Warriors break into the main hall, using petroleum to seal off the four doors. Third step, I personally lead the assault squad straight to the main stage, targeting Astha and Louis, the two most powerful figures in the Northern Territory; killing just one would be worth it.”

The plan was crude yet deadly enough.

Everyone understood that even if they couldn’t destroy all the nobility, just killing the strongest few would throw the Northern Territory into chaos.

At that point, they could scatter, plunder resources, and rebuild their tribe.

As everyone departed, Wulu sat alone on the icy cliff, gazing at the lights of the Frost Dragon Territory in the distance.

Snow and wind beat against his shoulders, ice particles grazing his cheeks like sharp needles.

He looked up at that faint light, unsure if it was the last chance or the prelude to true extinction.

……

This year, Camille spent his time too comfortably.

To him, the Northern Territory’s cold winds were just background noise outside the banquet hall.

The Fourth Prince Astha welcomed him as an honored guest every day with feasts, balls, delicacies, and beauties, making him almost forget he was sent as an Inspector Envoy.

Here people called him the Imperial Capital’s eyes, and he was happy to pretend he still held the authority of the Imperial Capital’s Inspection Bureau.

He drank the Northern Territory’s wine, listened to the nobles’ false laughter, slowly letting even those terrifying memories fade.

Yet fate loves playing jokes; when the Red Tide Knight Order’s iron hooves stepped into the Frost Dragon Territory, Camille’s hand started to tremble again.

At today’s banquet, Louis was polite to him.

His smile restrained, etiquette perfect, without any hint of hostility, yet this made him more fearful.

Because he didn’t know what Louis wanted him to do.

He knew Astha was no match for Louis.

This young prince spoke of rebuilding and ideals, but to him, it was just a court jest.

The focus of the Frost Dragon Territory had shifted from the moment that Red Tide Iron Cavalry entered the city.

And with just one word, Louis could inform the Imperial Capital that he was a spy for the Jade Federation.

After the banquet ended, Camille drank excessively, needing alcohol to chase away that maddening unease.

He staggered back to the official residence.

The candlelight weak, the room was so silent even his heartbeat was audible; a wave of cold air hit him.

On the bed lay a letter neatly placed, the envelope white, the seal wax bearing the Red Tide’s crest.

The golden sun pattern slightly gleamed in the candlelight, seeming to mock him.

Camille’s hand paused in mid-air, his breathing became quick.

His throat felt as if choked, unable to make a sound.

He suddenly turned around, his glance sweeping across every corner of the room, windows shut tight, the wall corners shadowless, not even the air out of the ordinary.

He rushed out and asked the guards: “Did anyone come in just now?”

The guard looked puzzled: “No, sir. No one approached.”

Camille stood silent for a few seconds, then slowly returned to the room.

He stared at that letter, pupils quivering, fingers trembling, hesitant for a long time, finally reaching out a hand.

……

The night banquet dispersed, the main hall of the Frost Dragon Territory still held remnants of warmth and the scent of wine.

Astha August sat at the head position, the wine cup in his hand was empty, yet he was reluctant to put it down.

Outside, the sound of snow rustled, the lights extinguishing one by one, leaving him alone.

He recalled the scenes from earlier; inside the banquet hall, the crystal chandeliers cast flickering glows, silk drapes exuded the scent of warm wine and spices.

The Northern Lords, old families, envoys from the Imperial Capital, wearing luxurious outer robes, clustered around the young Count.

Laughter and the crisp sound of silver cups clashing continued, servants offering aged spirits, maidens’ skirts shimmering gold in the candlelight.

The whole party lively like an Imperial Capital gathering, only the center wasn’t on him here.

Astha sat at the main seat, watching those people turn to Louis, with compliments, pleasantries, and humbled smiles.

At that moment, he felt like he was just scenery, a redundant shadow in the grand feast.

“That’s my stage…” he murmured softly, his tone tinged with a hint of bitterness.

Louis Calvin’s name was now like a nail pinned to his heart.

That guy needed not say much, just by standing there, everyone involuntarily looked at him.

Astha tightened his grip on the wine cup, his lips trembling.

If this reconstruction meeting continued being led by the other, the order in the Northern Territory would completely belong to Red Tide, not him, the so-called Royal Envoy; at that time, he’d have no chance of overturning the situation.

Repressed anxiety churned in his chest; if he failed, he’d be nothing.

Astha suddenly stood up, donned his coat, commanding to bring Wulu to meet him.

Wulu arrived after quite a while, carrying the chill upon him.

Astha looked at him, anxiously saying: “The attack on the Red Tide Territory, how is the preparation going?”

Wulu stood in place, his expression as calm as ever: “Everything has been arranged according to Your Highness’s orders. The troops are already back in hiding, awaiting the command.”

Astha tapped his fingers lightly on the tabletop: “Did they confirm the target?”

“The defenses of Red Tide Territory are slack; we will choose the right moment to attack without giving them a chance to react.” Wulu’s voice was dry yet affirming, his eyes unblinkingly steady.

Astha stared at him for a few seconds, a flicker of unease in his gaze.

His lips twitched slightly, as if suppressing something.

After a moment, he raised a hand calmly saying: “Dismissed, Wulu.”

Wulu bowed slightly, turned, and left.

The door quietly closed behind, leaving Astha alone inside.

The air seemed to freeze, his smile slowly vanished, leaving only a repressed, near-twisted emotion rolling in his eyes.

He was not always like this.

Since the Emperor’s disappearance, Astha’s world felt collapsed.

He suffered insomnia nightly, alarmed and uneasy, always feeling as though an invisible hand lurked in the dark choking his throat.

He feared waking one day, only to find himself forgotten, abandoned, or killed.

To survive, and to prove he was still worthy of the title “Prince,” he started frantic recruiting.

Recruiting Camille, buying off old nobility, even trading with the Barbarian Race…

For this, he paid too much: wealth, reputation, power.

He even ceded to the Southern Nobles the trade rights and mining rights they coveted, just to gain resources and support.

Just to make himself stronger, not a mere ant easily pinched to death.

But one person always blocked his way—Louis Calvin.

That guy was his inner demon.

“Very well.” Astha whispered, his voice mixed with a suppressed anxiety, “Very well… this time, must succeed, or else…”

As he spoke, a repeated dry laugh escaped, sharp and piercing, as if to dispel the cold within.

But the laughter soon broke off, as he abruptly raised his hand to cover his eyes, fingers slightly trembling.

Breathing growing rapid, he muttered low: “If I fail… I’ll take everyone down with me.”

At this moment, his expression was nearly insane.