Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

White Feather Canyon.
Wind howled from above, stirring up fine dust.
From a hidden high ground, Yoen lay prone behind a rock, whispering to Louis beside him, “Boss… are you sure a Snowsworn will really pass this way?”
They had set out before dawn today, leading knights and soldiers, bypassing the main road and turning into this complex canyon terrain.
Then, for the entire day, they were busy.
For example, setting up tripwire traps with grappling hooks in narrow passages, burying steel cables and iron hooks in the grass and rubble.
They also dug rockfall paths on both sides of the high ground, fixing boulders at the cliff tops, waiting only for a push to send them rolling down into the valley.
Louis personally inspected every position, even arranging three retreat routes.
What they wanted was not a fight to the death, but an ambush, ideally without casualties.
Even if something unexpected happened, they needed to retreat unscathed.
But until the sunset dyed the cliffs red, the canyon entrance remained empty.
Not even a bird flew in to defecate.
Yoen was a little restless, muttering in a low voice, “Boss, this isn’t some fake intelligence you received, is it? If we were tricked, we…”
“Shut up.” Louis didn’t turn his head, merely uttered two words indifferently.
“Oh.” Yoen wisely shut his mouth.
Louis stared at the pass below, then added, “They’ll be here soon.”
Louis’s confidence was not unfounded.
Its source was the daily intelligence update from three days ago.
“Fifty Snowsworn warriors are expected to cross the northern pass of White Feather Canyon late in the evening three days from now.”
Yoen was squatting behind a rock, looking at the empty canyon, listlessly clicking his tongue.
“Will they really come?” he mumbled. “Could it be that Boss was played by someone…?”
He secretly glanced at Louis, who was standing on higher ground not far away. His expression was calm, not tense at all.
Yoen was about to complain again when suddenly, a faint sound of hooves came from the woods at the bottom of the canyon.
“…?”

He suddenly lifted his head, furrowing his brow and listening intently.
Another clear echo of hooves came, and it wasn’t just one horse, it was an entire troop!
Yoen instantly perked up, practically springing to his feet: “Ho-holy crap… They’re really here!?”
He quickly dropped back behind the rock, his face full of disbelief: “Boss, you’re a prophet?!”
Louis paid him no mind, staring intently at the canyon entrance.
At the northern entrance of the canyon, a troop silently passed through.
They wore dark leather armor and iron shoulder guards, with various weapons: heavy axes, long spears, and even old Imperial cavalry lances.
But each person’s eyes were like those of fierce beasts.
Silent, vigilant, filled with killing intent.
This was an elite warrior unit under the Snowsworn, though their equipment was crude.
They were not wandering bandits like typical Snowsworn, but well-trained, ferocious hounds.
Their individual strength was comparable to a mid-tier Formal Knight in the Iron-Blood Empire’s power system.
The leading warrior reined in his horse, his gaze sweeping over the terrain of the canyon ahead, and he whispered, “This place… it’s too quiet.”
Another man, however, grinned: “What’s there to fear? The noble’s forces have just assembled; today is just to give them a taste of what’s to come.”
Their current operation was to cut in from the northern pass and launch a surprise attack on a gathering noble reinforcement force, as ordered.
Such swift and ruthless actions were a common tactic of the Snowsworn.
In their eyes, this mission was merely a practiced decapitation strike.
They were accustomed to launching surprise attacks at dawn or dusk, trampling the invaders’ territories underfoot.
Just then, the leading Snowsworn warrior suddenly reined in his horse. As soon as its hoof touched the ground, it suddenly tensed.
With a click, the grappling hook tripwire hidden beneath the dirt sprang up violently.
The iron hook coiled around the horse’s leg like a snake. With a pull, the horse and rider stumbled forward.
“Whoa!” Several warhorses nearby shrieked and recoiled, some even falling from their mounts, tumbling in the dust.
The metal grappling hook embedded into the {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} iron armor, emitting a grating friction sound, and blood seeped from the horse’s leg.
A brief chaos erupted in the canyon, hooves clattered, and dust flew.
The Snowsworn reacted immediately.
They leaped from their horses, their movements swift and decisive, rolling on the ground, drawing their swords, turning, and forming ranks, all in one smooth motion.
There were no screams, no panic.
These men had cold, beast-like eyes, almost instinctively sensing something was wrong.
“Traps,” the leading warrior said in a low voice.
From the tripwire triggering to order being restored, it took only a few seconds.
The atmosphere suddenly tightened, the previously stable marching rhythm severed by an invisible blade.
They realized they had fallen into a trap, though they didn’t know who had set it.
In the center of the formation, several warriors drew their longbows, quickly aiming at the cliffs on both sides, while the others guarded the center, longswords, battle axes, and long spears arranged crisscross in a circular defense.
The friction of blades hitting iron armor echoed throughout the troop.
Without a single command, everyone had silently switched states, as if moments ago they were travelers on the road, and the next second they had become hunters.
The leader of this group of Snowsworn warriors slowly drew his greatsword and said in a low voice, “Prepare for battle.”
And just then, a short command rang out from above the valley: “Move!”
Before the sound faded, on the cliff above, stone wheels rotated violently, and crude chutes released massive boulders.
Crack—crack—
Dull thuds shook the mountain, and several massive boulders roared down from the cliff top.
They accelerated down the pre-set chutes, gaining speed, carrying a terrifying, air-ripping pressure, heading straight for the Snowsworn warriors at the bottom of the canyon.
“Watch your heads!” someone roared.
However, no sooner had the voice faded than the first boulder slammed into the troop!
Boom!
One warrior reacted too slowly and was struck by a boulder the size of a wagon wheel. His heavy armor instantly twisted and deformed, and he was thrown through the air, smashing violently against the canyon wall, blood splattering the rock face.
“Damn it!” another Snowsworn warrior cursed, rolling to dodge, clumsily seeking refuge within a comrade’s defensive circle.
More boulders, like the scythe of death, descended from the sky, crashing into the formation with a destructive roar. Rubble flew, warhorses shrieked, and the sound of iron armor cracking mixed with the din.
Rolling dust billowed up, and the entire canyon instantly plunged into chaos.
“Formation! Maintain formation!” the captain roared, his voice cutting through the dust.
These Snowsworn warriors were not a disorganized rabble; even when ambushed, they maintained discipline.
Several experienced warriors quickly assessed the terrain, leading the troop to avoid the main direction of the falling rocks, preventing them from being completely crushed.
Although temporarily suppressed, their spirits became even more focused.
In a chaotic cloud of dust, the captain narrowed his eyes, his gaze coldly sweeping around.
The ambushers would never rely solely on falling rocks to defeat them; the real battle had only just begun.