Within Frost Halberd City, the chill perates the dical room.
Heavy armor piled in the corner, frost not yet faded, still bearing traces of combat where bug sap exploded.
Duke Edmund sits bare-chested on the operating table, his chest covered with crisscrossing ancient scars, most resembling cuts from knives and axes, deep into flesh and bone.
The newest scar runs across the lower edge of the breastbone, bluish-black, with sothing seemingly writhing within.
"Three corpse worms have entered." The military doctor said solemnly, "You blocked them with Fighting Energy, but they’re still moving, attempting to reach the direction of your heart and lungs."
"Then dig them out." Edmund lowered his head, picking up a piece of rye bread from a plate beside him, biting into it with a crunchy sound.
His tone was as indifferent as discussing the weather, "Cut directly, no anesthesia, don’t waste ti."
"My lord... are you really not waiting for an anesthetic? The wound is too deep, we fear you..."
"I fear your dawdling." He glanced at those hesitant dical officers, his expression as resolute as iron, "Proceed, I’m in a hurry."
Several physicians exchanged glances, then had to comply.
The mont the ice blade pierced the flesh, blood spurted forth.
Amidst the shrill sound of tal cutting, the three squirming worm corpses were gradually excavated, imrsed into a bowl with salted ice and red zinc solution, emitting faint and sickening squeaks.
Yet Edmund kept his head lowered, nibbling on the rye bread, not blinking, as if all this had nothing to do with him.
Only when the doctors weren’t paying attention, he softly coughed a bit, coughing up slight traces of blood, wiped it, and continued eating.
But the physician saw it.
The old wound struck by Hiro Heavy Axe not only reopened but was darkening in so strange manner, seemingly not only a physical wound but like deep disintegration caused by so internal backlash of Fighting Energy.
The edge of the wound showed signs of shallow Fighting Energy patterns breaking, remnants sealed from wars years past.
Now, the seal was shattered by the axe shock, if it worsens, the consequences would be unimaginable.
"My lord... your Fighting Energy inside seems a bit chaotic, I suggest you imdiately rest for a month, repair the seal, at least..."
"I don’t have that luxury." Edmund interrupted coldly, "The insect tide hasn’t fully retreated, regarding that backlash..."
He paused, swallowed the last bite of dry bread, speaking calmly, "As long as I can hold on, there’s no problem."
The doctor wanted to say more but eventually lowered his head, silently burning the squirming worm corpses to ash.
After the operation, the dical officers quietly cleaned up the ice blade and dicinal liquids, trying to leave without making a sound.
Silence remained in the room.
Duke Edmund wrapped in a thick blanket, sat on a low chair near the window.
Outside the window, the cold wind howled, snowflakes like ash, covering the entire high city of Frost Halberd.
In the distance, the Cold Fla Reactor still roared, like a dying beast breathing, bringing remnants of warmth to this last stronghold.
The wound on his chest wasn’t fully bandaged, blood still slowly oozing. But he didn’t mind, silently watching the sky.
The night sky heavy, as if it might collapse at any mont.
His knuckles lightly tapped on his knee, a habitual action when he contemplated.
"Twelve days." He murmured, his throat like rusty iron grinding, "Without reinforcents, Frost Halberd can hold at most twelve days."
In the Northern Territory, Snow Castle has fallen, Lingchuan lost, Bai Ye is untraceable.
In the Northern Territories, places are either besieged or swallowed by the tide of insect corpses.
That proud "Cold Iron Legion" beside him is now exhausted, even the torches at night can’t illuminate far.
He had imagined the worst scenario, and now it’s inching towards reality.
His gaze slowly fell on the table beside him, where a sheet of neatly folded letter paper lay.
Unfinished, it was ant for Snow Peak County.
For his beloved daughter, and also that son-in-law who he found agreeable.
The one born in the South, yet more like a "son of the Northern Territory" than any lord in the Northern Territory.
"...still not fallen." Edmund’s lips slightly moved, rare to show an expression like half-smile yet not a smile, "What a tenacious kid."
This marriage was initially politically motivated.
But Louis surprised him greatly, unlike those noble youths.
Able to stand firm in such a remote godforsaken place, even manage Snow Peak County to a reasonable semblance... and withstand the insect tide.
Lamps still alight in few places in the Northern Territory, Snow Peak County being one.
Even when forced into dire straits at Frost Halberd City, he felt comforted by Louis’s persistence.
"That child... given a few more years, limitless possibilities, a pity..."
He reached out for paper and pen, intending to write a letter. The paper mildly brittle from cold at his fingertips, the ink specially heated to fluidly drop.
But as the pen touched for the first stroke, he paused again.
Staring long at the "Lu" character on the paper, unmoving.
"If the situation is untenable, retreat at once." He mused silently, "Not your fault, surviving will be the achievent."
This was the last ssage left to his daughter and his juniors by a dying commander.
But he never managed to write, not due to a lack of understanding of the situation.
Edmund knew better than anyone: frontlines collapsing, resources exhausted, his old wounds flaring, even the Cold Fla Reactor having rely two cycles of cold start remaining.
But he understood more profoundly that if even he penned "retreat" first, that would be the real end.
If even I conceded first, Frost Halberd wouldn’t be a fortress, but a tomb.
He sighed lightly, placing the pen down.
"My lord duke!"
A young knight rushed into the room, silver helt intact, armor frosted, snow mud splashing as his knee hit the ground.
"Arthur Gareen has sent the military report! Dragon Blood Legion will arrive at Frost Halberd within seven days!"
In an instant, Edmund’s tense brow relaxed slightly.
He didn’t respond imdiately, just quietly looked at the distant sky outside the window...
The wind and snow remained but seed less suffocatingly oppressive.
"Seven days..." he murmured, his gaze slightly bright.
Arthur Gareen, Dragon Rider General.
Under him, the Dragon Blood Legion consisting of high-tier knights, pure-blood, rigorously trained.
The strongest legion of the Empire, known as the Empire’s Blade.
"Good." He nodded, his tone even, yet at that mont, the entire room seed infused with a new force.
"Have the Furnace Room prepare, forge three more rounds of Cold Crystal Bullets. Within seven days, let the corpse worms taste what is called desperation."
"Yes!"
The young knight just retreated, not yet closed the door, a rush of urgent footsteps approached from afar.
Another elderly knight barged in, peculiar expression, as if he heard the good news at the door wanting to interrupt but dared not speak.
"My lord Duke... at the outer city gates, there are dozens of masked mages, the leader claims to be ’Supre Mage’."
Edmund raised a brow, he had heard of this na.
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