Rise of the Northern Warlord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Vaerik leisurely walked out of the banquet hall, cold wind hitting his face, taking away the wine fumes and greasy roast meat smell from inside.

He exhaled lightly, lips slightly curving.

This banquet was even more boring than he had expected.

Zachary Diaz was indeed nothing special.

He thought he could control these pioneering nobles, relying on a few pretty words and small favors to make people willingly charge into battle for him.

But the truth? Those nobles’ eyes were already beginning to change.

Initially, they were indeed clustering around and fawning over Zachary, like a group of obedient lapdogs.

But with his words, seeds of doubt had been planted.

Was what Zachary said really for everyone? Or just for himself?

Once such questions surfaced in minds, they were hard to ignore.

"Hahaha, boss, you were so cool just now!"

John quickly caught up, his face full of excitement. "You didn’t see Zachary’s expression—green as could be! I bet he wants to bite you to death right now!"

"Oh?" Vaerik raised an eyebrow. "Pity he doesn’t have the guts."

"Of course!" John nodded repeatedly, laughing gleefully. "After all, you’re a young master from one of the empire’s eight great families. Even if he’s the same, it’s just that."

As he spoke, he imitated Zachary’s wine cup posture, pretentiously raising his chin: "Oh, Lord Tudor, unity is very important!"

Then immediately switched to a disgusted expression, waving his hand: "Bah, what’s he pretending? Disgusting!"

Vaerik couldn’t help but laugh.

This guy was quite good at adding fuel to the fire.

Thinking of Zachary’s livid expression just now, Vaerik’s mood improved somewhat.

However, he couldn’t be too complacent.

This was just the beginning.

If Zachary was smart, he’d try to repair his image.

Even turn this banquet incident around to slander him and further consolidate his position.

But if he was stupid, he’d be eager to retaliate. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

"Hey, boss, do you think he’ll send people to cause you trouble?" John leaned over, asking quietly. "The more I think about it, the more I feel he might be holding back some big move."

Vaerik mounted his horse, chuckling: "That would be best."

"Huh?" John looked confused.

Vaerik didn’t rush to answer, instead surveying the knights and soldiers of various nobles stationed outside the banquet hall.

Though the knights’ armor wasn’t luxurious, it was at least well-maintained, with family crests embroidered on their cloaks, obviously retaining some sense of honor.

But their mounts weren’t great—many warhorses looked poorly fed.

As for ordinary soldiers, they were even worse off, with broken armor and rusted weapons.

Not to mention their mental state—some soldiers huddled in corners for warmth, others leaned listlessly against walls with vacant eyes.

Guards couldn’t stand steady, patrols were lifeless, as if they could be blown down by a breeze anytime.

Could such an army fight the Snow Swearers?

Vaerik shook his head, unable to help laughing: "John, what do you think—what combat effectiveness could such an army have?"

John followed his gaze and immediately mocked: "Haha, boss, now that you mention it, it’s true!"

Though his own knights and soldiers were basically in the same state.

But he had just seen Vaerik’s troops the day before.

Crimson Tide Domain knights’ armor was bright and clean, weapons sharp as new, every warhorse fat and strong.

Even ordinary soldiers could obey orders promptly and quickly complete formation changes.

Completely different from these soldiers and knights.

Hearing John’s flattery, Vaerik smiled faintly.

He was clear that Zachary Diaz could rally these southern nobles not through strength.

But through their common situation—being abandoned by their families.

These pioneering lords were basically marginalized people not valued by their families.

They were sent to the Northern Province not to achieve merit and establish careers.

But because those families were abandoned to the Northern Province to cope with the emperor’s Northern Pioneering Decrees.

Vaerik was so clear because he was one of them.

Of course, he was now different from them.

Others thrown to the Northern Province truly became abandoned pieces.

But he, through effort and previous life knowledge, plus the Daily Intelligence System, had walked a path to heaven.

Father Duke Tudor, seeing his achievements, had also increased investment in Crimson Tide Domain.

Initially his territory was as barren as here, soldiers as loose as here.

After nearly half a year of training, reorganization, and planning, Crimson Tide Domain’s army had taken initial shape.

Crimson Tide Domain’s forces were no longer ordinary pioneering armies, but a combat-ready force even in the Northern Province.

After laughing, John leaned closer, lowering his voice: "Boss, I don’t mean he’d send soldiers to fight you, but that he’d go to Prefect Earl Foss to tell on you."

Vaerik snorted: "Tell on me? Then let him go—I have countermeasures ready."

He pulled the reins, tone relaxed: "Let’s go. Gather your knights—I’ll take you to earn military merit."

"Military merit?" John was stunned, then reacted. "Wait... wait! What exactly are you planning?"

Vaerik didn’t answer, directly spurring his horse forward.

"Hey hey hey, boss, at least explain clearly! Hey! Wait for me!"

John hastily tightened his reins, chasing after.

Thus the two led their knights straight toward their own camp.

...

Heero sat at the long table in his tent, fingers unconsciously tapping the wooden table’s edge.

His gaze fell on the intelligence before him, clearly stating: "Duke Edmund assembles Northern Province lords, preparing to march against the Snow Swearers."

Heero repeatedly read this line, near-hysterical light surfacing in his eyes.

"Finally here..."

His voice was hoarse, as if forcibly squeezed from deep in his throat.

Then he slowly extended his hand, looking at his slightly trembling fingertips.

These hands had personally buried his mother.

Countless painful memories surged up, yet he smiled.

A low smile that grew louder until near-madness.

"It’s time, time for blood debts to be repaid in blood!"

However, sudden cold wind lifted a corner of the tent, bone-piercing cold.

Heero’s laughter stopped abruptly, his body stiffening slightly.

By his ear, a gentle male voice sounded, carrying some comfort: "Don’t rush, Heero."

He turned around sharply.

In the tent, candlelight flickered, illuminating a slender, beautiful hand gently resting on his shoulder.

Fingertips ice-cold, as if carrying no warmth.

The eerie male voice slowly sounded again: "The ritual to awaken the Ancient God of the Cold Abyss... is not enough."