Chapter 238: Chapter 191: Postwar Plans

Of course, Duke Edmund didn’t completely believe it at first.

He narrowed his eyes, slightly turned his head, and scrutinized Eduardo with a sharp gaze like a blade.

His voice was calm and low: “You say there are a dozen seeds. This means… this isn’t the only nest.”

In that moment, the air seemed to freeze.

“Yes.” Eduardo did not flinch, his response was crisp and decisive, but a trace of exhaustion from the backlash of divine grace flashed in his eyes, “Those eggs didn’t appear by chance; they were deliberately planted…”

A flash of doubt passed quickly through Edmund’s eyes.

Are you lying?

He was one of the most powerful people in the Empire, the Lord of the Northern Territory, accustomed to lies and betrayal on the battlefield and in politics.

The more tense the moment, the less he could easily believe a suddenly emerging “truth.”

But he immediately realized something: this kid had no reason to lie.

Eduardo was a descendant of the Calvin family, Louis’s half-brother, and the Calvin family had just married into his.

Saying such things now wouldn’t bring any benefit to himself and might even make him suspicious of their marriage alliance.

If this were a framing attempt, what could he gain from setting himself up?

“My lord Duke.” Louis saw his hesitant expression and added fuel to the fire, “I remembered something. You once said that the insect disaster three years ago was equally insane, but the insect carcasses back then weren’t as organized and disciplined as they are now.”

He paused for a moment, “And now, these insect bodies not only are vast in number, but have a clear ’nest,’ signs of sacrifice, organization, and unified action. My lord Duke, do you think it’s possible that… the same nest has been growing for three years? Or is it…”

“A completely different ’nest’.” Edmund continued, his voice deep, “Otherwise, there’s no way to explain the change in behavior.”

He closed his eyes, thoughts surging. He began to ponder: if this were true, it meant that at least two or more undiscovered nests existed in the Northern Territory.

If these nests burst simultaneously, what disaster would ensue?

The rebellion of the Snow Swearers was merely swordplay, but this was rot and despair.

“If there are really a dozen…” He opened his eyes, with a hint of repressed fear hidden in his gaze at that moment, “The Northern Territory will cease to exist.”

The wind grew colder, ashes and the stench of rot lingered in the air.

Duke Edmund stood in the wind, the breeze carrying remnants of the decaying nests across his shoulders, like some unseen omen.

His eyes deepened, thoughts racing, like a cold machine forged for war, starting to weigh, plan, and respond.

“A special task force must be formed.” This idea took shape in his mind first.

It must be an absolutely mobile, absolutely loyal squad with the mission to eradicate anomalies.

The kind that could traverse the dark forests and swamps of the Northern Territory, advancing into perilous areas, executing the most secretive and dangerous tasks.

Vic Glanser, the Northern Blade.

This time, it was he who led a team of thirty elite knights into the dense fog of the Corrupted Forest and found traces of the nest.

If Vic were still here, he’d undoubtedly be the most suited to deal with what was to come.

It’s just a pity.

And now, he didn’t have much talent in this area, so he had to seek help from the Imperial Divine Blood Pool.

And he must report upwards, he looked toward the distant, dim horizon, as if the cloud-swathed throne of the Imperial Capital was vaguely in sight.

Both the Emperor himself and the Imperial Council must be informed of this matter.

Even if it would draw too much attention, it would be a real disaster compared to delayed information and hidden truths.

Then, the local nobility of the Northern Territory…

Each one controls critical forces and resources, if not pre-informed.

If multiple nests were to burst simultaneously, they might not even have time to react.

He originally wanted to recuperate this year, but the current situation necessitates getting them moving and entering a wartime state.

While Duke Edmund outlined a strategic imperial-level response with a heavy expression, Louis stood quietly by, thinking about the next steps.

Not grand, nor ostentatious.

His thoughts weren’t as grand as the Duke’s, merely concerning the Red Tide Territory and the six territories under his command.

Or extending to the entire Snow Peak County, anything more was beyond his capability.

Moreover, he wouldn’t hope for others to save his land, nor entrust the Red Tide Territory and those six sub-territories he built brick by brick to others’ promises.

The battlefield’s scorched ground hadn’t cooled, yet the memories of the nest’s focal point had already been coldly and clearly etched in his mind:

Burning, bursting, insect tide paralysis…

The prophecy mentioned: “The evil nurtured by the Snow Swearer stirs restlessly.”

Now, it seemed more than likely referring to these undead insects and nests hatched from the abyss.

What does this mean?

Simply put, all preparations from now on must revolve around the nests.

He quickly listed several key pieces of information in his mind:

The nests fear warmth and flames.

Once breached, all insect bodies would go into paralysis.

Capable of releasing mental disturbances, possessing a defensive mechanism that advances tentacles.

The only effective weapon in the Red Tide Territory currently is the Red Amber Magic Explosion Bullet, with limited stock.

This is far from enough.

“We need to accelerate the research on new weapons,” Louis muttered to himself, his voice sharp as cold iron, “Not just the Red Amber Bullet; we also need flame projection devices that can penetrate the nest’s structure, distributed explosive guidance… even considering an overhaul of knight tactics.”

Moreover, this nest is not complete; it’s an experimental version.

So, the real nest might be several, ten times, even a hundred times stronger than this one.

As for intelligence on the Nest, he was utterly clueless, for the entity known as the “Despair Witch” was far too mysterious.

He could only hope that the Daily Intelligence System would push more relevant information, or that the Duke’s side would soon uncover something.

These were matters for the future.

Strategies, weapons, enemies, Insect Nest—all of these could be put aside for now.

For the moment, there was something more important: returning home.

He needed to go back and reassure those who were worried about him.

Louis stood at the edge of the battlefield, looking in the direction where the ashes had scattered, instructing a few reliable attendants to stay behind and handle the subsequent tasks.

“Remember to seal off that area, don’t tamper with the remnants of the Nest.”

“Burn all the insect corpses to prevent any hidden dangers.”

…

He didn’t speak much, but each word pointed to the key issues.

And so, the group set on their journey home, with a grand procession like an iron serpent slowly returning to Red Tide City.

By the time he reached the city gates, the sky had darkened somewhat.

And indeed, she was already waiting there.

Emily, light in attire, stood under the porch, her hands twisted together, her eyes filled with anxiety, caution, and an emotion she could barely contain.

The moment she saw that familiar black cloak emerge from the crowd, she dashed forward like an arrow released from a bow, throwing herself into his arms without regard for the setting.

“You—you’ve finally returned… I…”

Her voice carried a hint of a sob, her nose rubbing against the shoulder armor on his chest, as if confirming that he was alive, that he stood before her whole and unscathed.

Louis hadn’t expected such a strong reaction from her, and for a half-second he froze before lifting his hand to gently pat her head, “I’ve returned.”

Lady Irina was standing nearby under the porch, covering her mouth and laughing discreetly.

“Oh my, this is not like our Emily at all, isn’t she the most graceful usually?”

“Mother!” Emily’s head shot up, her face suddenly flushed deep red.

Seeing her flustered look, Louis had to stifle a smile, but still softly said, “I’m tired, I’ll go to my room to rest first.”

It was meant as a simple truth, but for some reason, the air suddenly felt nuanced the moment he spoke.

Emily’s face turned even brighter red, almost flushed from neck to ear, and she mumbled quietly, “Then—then I… I’ll accompany you…”

She hadn’t even finished her sentence when she realized how strange it sounded, quickly lowering her head, not daring to look at anyone.

Louis, however, showed no reaction, maintaining his composed demeanor, walking indoors as if nothing had happened.

As he passed by Alina, she blinked and whispered into Emily’s ear, “Hmm… does this mean I’ll soon have a little grandchild?”

Emily: “Mother!!!”

Louis: “?”

…

Blood and flesh were dripping.

No, it was the walls breathing.

This was not a stone-built prison, but a space seemingly inside some immense biological creature.

The walls writhed, moist, and sticky, like countless severed limbs and viscera woven into the vault above, while the ground was covered with folds like rotting lingual tissue, responding with a “gurgling” pulse at every step.

In the center of this living hall, he sat upon a throne constructed from vertebrae and nerves.

The Despair Witch.

Astonishingly long legs crossed, skin pale as bone china, draped in a tattered, web-like blood-red gown.

Features seemingly sculpted by gods, so exquisite they were difficult to look at directly.

Yet those eyes were lifeless, like glass balls bobbing in a pond of rot, stripped of all human warmth.

When he opened his mouth, the voice that emerged was not a woman’s but a deep, soft, almost gentle male voice.

Like a lover’s whisper, yet laced with a nauseatingly twisted tone.

“…Ah, bad news.”

He had already sensed that the Insect Nest had been destroyed.

“It’s been discovered after all… tch tch tch.”

His brow furrowed briefly, as if slightly annoyed, but it only lasted for a moment.

The next instant, she laughed softly, the curve of her lips so beautiful it was nearly harmless: “Well, it doesn’t matter.”

The walls of flesh quivered at her laughter, as if in resonance.

“It was merely an experiment destined to fail… A half-finished product blown to bits; tsk, such a brutish way to handle it.”

He lowered his head, fondling a twitching segment of an insect limb in his hand, tenderly as if caressing a lover: “However, the ’finished product’ is taking shape quickly.”

His tone lighthearted, as though a child eagerly anticipating a gift, his fingers suddenly pinched, and the insect limb burst into a bloody mist, splattering across her face, yet she inhaled deeply as if wearing perfume, revealing an intoxicated expression.

“By that time… every inch of soil in the Northern Territory will become my ’stage’.”

He slowly rose, his long gown trailing, steps light, like a noble maiden about to attend a banquet.

The camera gradually pulled away.

In his “audience,” a row of figures sat, human and not, long deceased, their bodies reshaped into a bizarre, liminal living-dead state.

Some faces were contorted, others had split skulls, and some even had their faces replaced by grafted insect shells.

One of the figures kneeled partially, motionless, with a huge hollow in its chest, but the silver-black armor and those ashen gray eyes…

It was still recognizable—indeed the fallen Northern Blade—Vic Glanser.

“`

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