Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 609: Chapter 360: Blood-Red Fireworks (Part 1)_2

“——Boom!”

The deafening sound of explosions continually echoed over the Frost Dragon Territory, swallowing all the laughter within the manor.

The nobles had to lean closer to speak, whispers only audible near the ear, blending laughter, clinking glasses, and music into a singular cacophony.

The harp played by the musicians faltered intermittently, while servants traversed with trays, the crisp collision of silver cups resonating amidst the firelight.

One firework after another blossomed in the sky, illuminating each upward-looking face.

……

As the third round of fireworks ascended, the north gate of the Frost Dragon Territory quietly opened.

Snow and wind seeped through the crack, carrying an icy chill like death.

In the shadows, over a hundred warriors of the Barbarian Race emerged slowly.

Cloaked in wolf skins, their bodies adorned with metal shards and bone ornaments, iron axes glinting in the snowlight.

Just before they appeared, a squad of soldiers clad in the frost dragon knight armor emerged before the dark passage, secretly arranged by Wulu, themselves of Barbarian descent.

Their eyes flickered, remaining silent, only using slightly trembling fingers to point forward, indicating the agreed route for the Barbarians.

One insider murmured, “Leftwards, then up another corner… pass underneath the garden’s water channel.”

Another couldn’t help but swallow, “Remember, you have only ten minutes.”

Carl nodded, sneering coldly, “Enough.”

The insider squad exchanged glances filled with both fear and greed, before swiftly retreating into the shadows.

After a brief hesitation, the Barbarian assault team followed the indicated direction through the frozen stone gate, entering the interior corridors of the Frost Dragon Territory.

Each eye burned with the same firelight, a mix of hatred, excitement, and a death wish.

This was the last elite of the Barbarian Race, the Blood Boiling Warriors.

Their blood could burn in the extreme freeze, their fury enough to transform into a snowfield storm.

The two guards at the north gate barely raised their heads before their throats were slit by sharp blades.

As blood splattered, several Blood Boiling Warriors swiftly lunged at the second row of guards, the brief metal clash drowned by fireworks in the night wind.

One knight barely had time to draw his sword before a war axe smashed his helmet, causing brain matter to splatter.

Another soldier barely managed half a warning cry before being cleaved by a diagonal axe, his body and armor impacting with a muffled thud. Even screams were utterly masked by the explosive fireworks above.

Blood blossomed into two dark red flowers on the snow, breath swallowed by the cold wind.

Bodies swiftly dragged into shadows, footfalls unperturbed.

Carl led the way upfront.

Young, his not fully grown beard was stiffened by the cold wind, yet his eyes shone like a beast’s, a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Tonight,” he spoke, half as a vow to himself and half to his clan, “we’ll make the Empire remember our name.”

The warriors pounded their chests with fists, creating a deep rhythmic sound.

The passage was narrow, damp cold moisture clinging to the stone walls, the air mixed with the scent of blood and iron.

Firelight flickered across their faces, shadows stretching sinisterly.

The group advanced, iron boots thumping dully against the rock floor.

With each step, it seemed you could hear the heart crashing against the chest.

The stone door ahead was pushed open, a colder wind hit their faces.

They had arrived, at the outer underground cellar of the Frost Dragon Territory manor.

Through the crevices, they saw light shining down from above.

There was music, fragrance, fireworks bursting in the sky.

“All die…” Carl grinned, voice deep like a growl.

The warriors behind him bowed heads, beginning to pray for the incoming deaths.

“The snow of the Northern Territory will remember us.” Finished speaking, he tightly gripped his war axe, abruptly pushing the stone door open.

Cold wind poured in, flames followed charging into the night sky.

The first dozen warriors charging out were like beasts crawling from hell.

The scent of blood burning on them, rushing into the garden, cleaving the first knight approaching head-on.

The sound of steel collision muffled beneath the fireworks’ roar, unnoticed.

Firelight danced on their armor, axe blades flickering with eerie red light.

Distant musicians continued playing, laughter uninterrupted,

but not far outside the manor, blood had already spilled on the snow, becoming new fireworks.

Carl raised his war axe, eyes locked towards the manor interior.

His laughter echoed in the night wind, maniacally shouting, “Charge into the main hall! Let them see the Barbarian’s flame!”

Horn sounds arose, low and wild.

The remaining hundreds of Barbarian warriors surged from the darkness like a flood, heading towards the manor.

Their roars melded with the exploding fireworks sound.

Firelight from the sky reflected the blood on the ground.

Tonight at the Frost Dragon Territory, amidst fireworks and slaughter, both burned.

As the first alarm bell rang, Astha was still conversing with the nobility, assuming it a servant’s mistake or false report from patrolling guards.

But then the wind swept in from outside the manor, reeking of blood and tar, just as he was about to frown, the second bell sounded promptly, a third abruptly blared, its sound as urgent as war drums.

Before reacting, he heard chaotic hoofbeats and cries of battle from afar, mixed with the blast of burning grease.

Silhouettes and flags running appeared faintly at the street’s end, the Barbarian Race advancing in arson towards the manor, flames creeping along rooftops, lighting up half the night sky.

Astha’s smile became utterly stiff.

“It’s… an attack! Barbarian Race! The Barbarian Race has invaded!”

A guard burst through the door, bloodied and rushing into the hall.

The firelight outside the windows spread across the streets, cries of battle approaching, the air thick with scorch, smoke, and iron rust.