Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

“Stop fucking sleeping! Kill!!”

Miller kicked over a new recruit blocking his way, slashing wildly in the darkness with his scimitar wrapped in Fighting Energy.

A massive deep diver leader leapt down from the mast, bringing a stench as it aimed straight for Miller’s head.

Miller’s eyes were vicious. Without thinking, he grabbed a nearby screaming helmsman and shoved him out hard.

Thud!

The helmsman’s chest was instantly pierced by claws, hanging on the monster’s claws.

“First mate, you…” Using even a second of opportunity gained by the human shield, Miller roared and slashed down.

Half of the monster’s head was sliced off, splattering Miller’s face with its foul black blood.

He didn’t care at all about the helmsman’s life or death, kicking the corpse and the monster away with one sweep.

“Get out of the way!” He was covered in blood, charging toward the cannon position like a madman.

If we can’t live, then no one gets to be comfortable.

Rosa’s orders exploded in his mind.

Stir the waters!

“Reload! Reload it for me!!” Miller raced to the cannon position and slashed down an ammunition loader who was mutating.

The remaining two pirates were terrified, fumbling in the dark to load the powder packs and solid shot into the cannon.

All around were screams and chewing sounds, the slick footsteps of the monsters drawing closer.

Miller could even feel the putrid breath behind him.

He grinned fiercely, thrusting the torch harshly onto the fuse.

The fuse hissed and burned, the firelight illuminating his twisted face.

“Boom——!!!”

The first cannon shot echoed in the dead of night.

The immense recoil shook the deck, sending wood chips flying.

The fiery blast of the cannon instantly lit up dozens of meters of the sea surface, also illuminating the terrified, retreating faces of the monsters.

“Boom! Boom!” Immediately, the second and third shots followed.

Cannonballs, trailing red-hot marks, tore through the pitch-black night sky, smashing toward the distant fortress.

The fire from the explosions surged toward the fortress, like a burning beacon erected in this black night.

All the monsters halted.

They instinctively feared the loud noises and fire, turning their heads toward the blasts.

“Cut the anchor! Hoist the sails full!” Taking advantage of this brief moment, Miller’s voice thundered across the deck, like a whip striking near everyone’s ears.

No nonsense, and no one dared to confirm.

The boatswain swung the War Axe, the iron chain bursting in a shower of sparks with a tooth-aching snap.

The Scorpion jolted sharply, its bow struggling to face the open sea in the surging waves.

Too slow.

The deck beneath Miller’s feet shuddered as if the ship were being dragged back by something, groaning with each step forward.

He gloomily gazed over the ship’s side.

There, it was hung with people.

Pirates who couldn’t squeeze onto the ship clung desperately to the rope net, like clusters of grapes about to rot.

Some were half in the water, their legs torn to shreds by shadows beneath, yet they dared not let go.

“Pull me up!”

“First mate! I can work too! Don’t leave me behind!”

The crying mixed with the wind enveloped his ears.

Miller walked to the side of the ship and looked down at them.

These faces were familiar to him, drinking at the same table just yesterday, sharing Gold Coins, sinking prisoners from merchant ships with stones together.

But the look in his eyes now was as if he were seeing a bunch of barnacles.

“Overloaded.” He said quietly, no one heard, nor needed to hear.

The scimitar slid out of its sheath, a cold gleam scraping along the ship’s side, snapping a rope.

The line of people hanging there silently plunged into the churning sea without even a scream.

The Fishmen below swarmed instantly, the water surface turning frothy red.

Next, the second rope, the third… Miller’s motions were steady, like pruning unnecessary branches.

A nimble pirate already had his hand on the railing, half his head peeking up, face covered in blood: “Miller! I…”

A boot sole stamped directly on his face.

“Don’t dirty my deck.” Miller pressed down hard with his foot.

The man fell backward, and as he splashed into the sea, three Fishmen dragged him into the deep water.

The deck wasn’t much better.

Low-ranking sailors, loaders, idiots who hadn’t dropped their rum barrels, all packed into a chaotic mess.

Some were even clutching onto small crates of Silver Coins, their life’s savings.

Miller swept over those terror-filled eyes.

No emotion, only calculation.

“Clear it out.” He pointed to the excess cargo.

Before the others could react, his trusted followers had already drawn their swords and rushed up to clear the deck.

Anyone who couldn’t wield a sword, was injured, or burdened with heavy objects was all pushed to the ship’s edge.

“No—!”

“The ship can still take more! I have strength left!”

The wails were quickly silenced by sword hilts and boots.

A chest filled with Silver Coins was kicked over, the coins scattered into the bloodbath like raindrops, and soon after, the chest’s owner was thrown overboard as well.

Barrels of fresh water, spare sails, and companions with broken legs followed.

The Scorpion, like a drunkard spewing out filth, slowly rid itself of the burdens inside its belly.

The ship finally felt lighter.

The propeller spun madly underwater for a couple of turns before biting into the water and pushed the scarred ship through the wreckage ahead, forcing its way out of the chaotic inner bay.

Only after leaving the screams behind in the mist did Miller exhale the stale breath from his lungs.

He turned to look behind, and the sight made his scalp prickle with a chill.

The gunfire gradually ceased, and the shouts of killing were as if choked off.

By the dim light of dawn, he saw Kane’s massive flagship, the Bonecrusher, swarming with those slick black Fishmen.

They weren’t in a hurry to slaughter.

The pirates on the deck were pinned to the ground, and no matter how they struggled, the Fishmen held their limbs firmly.

One Fishman pried open a burly man’s mouth, its body twitching grotesquely and spit a limp object into the man’s throat.

The pirate convulsed violently, retching and rolling, his fingernails leaving bloody marks on the planks.

A few seconds later, he went still.

When he stood up again, his eyes were left with nothing but a dull, grey emptiness.

No commands, no communication.

The reanimated pirate turned and walked toward the capstan, his movements stiff but precise.

Then came the second, the third…

The once chaotic deck became orderly.

Hundreds of pirates who were just now on the brink of life and death moved like puppets on strings, silently raising sails, steering, and adjusting the rigging.

Their synchronized movements were nauseating.

Splash—!

With some invisible signal, hundreds of pirate ships in the harbor adjusted their course simultaneously.

The oppressive sense of uniformity was more despairing than chaotic slaughter.

The entire fleet seemed taken over by one singular mind, transformed into a massive, silent horde of creatures.

Miller felt his throat go dry.

Is this the truth of these seas?

“Go… hurry up!”

He turned back, shouting hoarsely at the helmsman, his voice a bit distorted.

No matter what those things were, he didn’t want to see them a second time.

Even fleeing to the ends of the earth was better than becoming one of those walking dead.

The Scorpion fled desperately toward the open sea.

In the east, the sky lightened to the color of a fish’s belly.

The sea breeze dispersed some of the mist, and Miller instinctively looked north.

There was a shadow.

At first, he thought it was a dark cloud or a moving island.

But it was moving.

A low rumble traveled across the sea; it wasn’t the whistling of a sail filled with wind, but a heavier, rhythmic thrum.

“Thump, thump, thump.”

Like the heartbeat of a giant.

Two black smoke plumes pierced the dawn fog, glaring against the grey sky.

Then it broke through the mist.

A giant steel battleship without any sails.

It was enormous, its dark steel hull like a fortress moving across the sea, cold and harsh, exuding a barbaric industrial aura.

Two smokestacks leaned back, belching thick smoke into the sky, the smell of burning coal mixed with sulfur, instantly overpowering the salty tang of the sea.

It needed neither favorable winds nor cared for waves.

The ship’s sharp prow cleaved through the sea, forcing white spray to crumble against the steel hull on either side.

Around it were a dozen escort ships belching similar black smoke.

There were no unnecessary decorations, no fancy figureheads.

They formed an impeccably precise wedge-shaped formation, each ship spaced as if measured with a ruler.

The overwhelming sense of suffocation was entirely different from the eerie Fishmen behind.

This was a wall, a moving high wall made of steel, steam, and cannons.

In that moment, Miller forgot to breathe.

It was the flag of the Red Tide Territory; Louis’s fleet had arrived.