The night wind was like a knife, with remnants of fire still on the snow, and the embers of Chi Yun Territory flickering in the distance.
Louis mounted his horse, not glancing back at the ruins just purified by flames and soaked with rain of corpses.
The knights behind him were silent, each eye reflecting the deep red mushroom flame from the Nest’s explosion.
"Next one," he murmured to himself, devoid of emotion.
Dozens of horsemen trudged through the snow, advancing southeast along the mountain range.
The knights spoke not a word, only the sound of hooves crushing the snow was like a heavy war drum weighing on everyone’s heart.
"From Black Pine Ridge to Cold Deer Plain, all seven beacon towers remained unlit." A scout knight galloped over with a grimace, "The Gwen Clan is annihilated, the crests of Heller and Tawen Castle have been torn down from the watchtower, not a single body was found."
"What about Green Hill Castle?"
"The entire territory was cleared by insect corpses within three hours, the Nest was built right in the city center, but the primary Nest has since moved, location unknown."
These were all territories close to the outside of Snow Peak County.
Louis remained silent for a long time, unfolding a map of Snow Peak County before him.
What he once deemed natural barriers—canyons and snow forests—were now collapsing one by one.
The frequency of insect corpses crossing the rift was increasing, relentless day and night.
Louis was not in a hurry.
He looked up at the crowd: "From now on, Red Tide Legion enters ’Directed Rescue Mode’."
His tone was calm, as if facing not the insect tide devouring the North but a complex chess game.
"Priority Type One—Strategic Hubs.
Territories with road nodes, mountain pass control, and fortress locations must be secured."
He pinpointed three core nodes: Glacial Canyon, Muailing Ridge Passage, and Cyan Rock Rift.
"Type Two—Loyal Lords.
These people once partook in the ’Revival Fund’, accepted Red Tide arms dispatch, and cooperated with our plans. They trust me, and I must not disappoint."
Names like Yorn Harvey and Lady Grant were highlighted, with a deputy quietly recording beside him.
"Type Three—Controllable Forces.
Some new nobles and minor noblehouses have weak resources but could be integrated. If we can save them, they will become members of the future Red Tide system."
He looked at the southeast corner of the map, where a cluster of small yet unfallen territories lay.
"Lastly—Non-Cooperators.
Nobles who ignore orders, attempted to leave command, and withdrew on their own. Mark survival odds, do not actively assist."
His tone was without a ripple, as if discussing resource allocation, not human lives.
"Red Tide forces are limited, Magic Explosion Bullet reserves are insufficient, we are not gods. We cannot save everyone.
What I must ensure is this land still exists post-war; that the people can still survive..."
With the plan set, Louis’s team began swiftly moving to battle across various regions.
...
"Everyone into the cellar, don’t make a sound!"
Yorn Harvey squeezed a child about to cry out, glaring fiercely at him, his lips close to his ear, hissing low: "If you don’t want to die, keep quiet."
The child sobbed and nodded, while Yorn found it hard to keep his own composure.
His body felt submerged in icy water, fingers too stiff to grasp the sword, chest heaving violently, nearly suffocating.
The sound of "clack, clack" came from outside, uncertain if insect corpses gnawing on the door or if someone’s bones finally gave in.
A scream suddenly came from afar, abruptly muffled by something else.
It was as if hell had opened its mouth.
Yorn covered his mouth, pressing hard against the wall.
He had once been the pride of the nobility circle in the Imperial Capital, the wealthiest noble heir.
Riding horses with golden saddles, gem-encrusted sword hilts, always having noble maidens vying for his attention at every appearance.
Now hiding in a moldy cellar, didn’t even have time to wash his hair, armor turned into that of a beggar.
"What on earth... was I thinking..."
He cursed himself in a low voice, wishing he could travel back in time to slap his oneself who eagerly volunteered to "take up the Northern Territory post last winter to prove himself."
Wasn’t being a vase noble in the Imperial Capital who indulged and waited for death much better?
He had thought it would be at most seeing a few refugees causing trouble or distributing some grain to the people, never imagining that upon arriving in the Northern Territory there would be crises one after another
First, the rebellion of the Snow Swearers almost drove him mad, followed by the winter famine, nearly freezing half the territory’s population to death.
And now the insect plague came, nothing like the "gilding in the Northern Territory" he had imagined!
Yorn glanced at the dilapidated cellar ceiling, insect corpse noises from outside close at hand, as if they could break in at any moment.
Then he looked at a woman curled up in the corner, who had followed him from the Imperial Capital, pale-faced and weak.
"If reinforcements don’t come soon, we’re all dead." He murmured softly.
For the first time, a serious thought crossed his mind, "Maybe, life ends here."
He truly wanted to cry, knowing the odds of someone coming to rescue was slim, although a vague image hovered in his mind.
Just then, a deafening explosion echoed from afar...
Like a volcanic eruption, or an angry thunder roar.
The entire cellar shook slightly.
The howls of insect corpses suddenly weakened.
Yorn’s eyes widened, body stiffened.
Then, in the next moment, he crazily scrambled to the cellar entrance, clutching the cracks to peer out at the sky.
Amidst the flames, the golden sun flag of the Red Tide slowly rose on the distant hillside.
Boom—!!
A pillar of fire shot up from the east, the blaze coiling like a furious dragon, engulfing the besieging insect corpses.
Then the second and third explosive bullets landed accurately, thick smoke and flames slicing the entire besieged city into several scorching "fire rings."