Chapter 287: Chapter 216: Pal’s Fate

Two months before the Nest made its appearance, Pal Calvin’s frontier territory finally saw a turnaround.

Of course, that was the result of his brother Seldon Calvin’s secret intervention.

To salvage his younger brother’s reputation in the Northern Territory and prevent him from becoming a complete laughing stock, Seldon discreetly dispatched a crack team, bringing winter provisions, leather goods, and simple stone fortress components.

He also deployed several seasoned knights with strict military discipline, along with grassroots officials who had notable achievements on the frontier, to form an “advisory team” to assist Pal in reorganizing the camp.

From an outsider’s perspective, it seemed as if Pal suddenly “got lucky” and was finally on the right track.

Within two months, a fire-watch tower was erected by the riverbank, and rough yet functional lookout towers were constructed between the mountain passes;

At the center of the camp, reclaimed from wetland, began to take the shape of a castle.

The hearths and grain storage areas were clearly demarcated, patrols began strategic deployments, and even a small “beast hunting competition” was held, slightly boosting morale.

Pal sat on a temporarily constructed wooden balcony of the main building, watching the smoke rise and fall over the territory, at last revealing a long-missed smile.

“I am not a failure,” he whispered to himself, holding a feather pen and spreading out a parchment.

He intended to draft a “battle report” proposal, planning to send it back to his father in the Southeast:

“The extreme cold of the North is fierce, yet I, Pal, have not flinched. The territory now hopes for self-sufficiency, the watchtowers are solid, expansion is in sight. Rest assured, Father, the blood of the Calvin Clan will not cool in the Snowfield.”

As he wrote, he fantasized about returning to the family one day, clad in golden armor with the dust of snow still on him, stepping into the Calvin Clan’s banquet hall.

Along the sides of the long table, the brothers all rose, their eyes bewildered.

His usually silent and reserved father also put down his cup, stared at him, a rare emotion showing in his eyes.

“You… you really survived… and succeeded?” his father mumbled, his voice hoarse.

He answered not, but instead laid down several battle reports on the table, like scattering a handful of brilliant chips.

He saw Louis, the fortunate half-brother, kneeling at his feet and softly saying:

“I’m sorry, I am unworthy to be the son-in-law of the Governor of the North… please take over my wife and this Northern Territory, Brother Pal.”

Emily also stood by, shedding her pride, donning simple clothing, and hugged his leg, her eyes brimming with tears:

“Please let me stay by your side… even as a maid… It would be enough. I once underestimated you, but now I understand, the true strength lies with you.”

He imagined himself gently helping her up, a regal smile on his lips: “You need not be a maid, I will give you a better place.”

And outside the city, tens of thousands of vagrants shouted his name, songs spreading throughout the Northern Territory, knights emblazoning his name on their shoulder plates.

He even contemplated that his father might raise a toast at the winter family banquet, announcing: “From this day forth, Pal Calvin shall be the heir of the Calvin Clan.”

Thus all past failures, humiliation, and ridicule would be overturned and crushed, serving as stepping stones to his ascent.

The recent successes convinced Pal that this “Northern Territory turnaround” was merely a matter of time, he was already standing on the edge of a reversal of fate.

Yet he was unaware, before he had taken the first step, a second-generation Nest had silently appeared in the northern part of his territory.

Black fog spread from the forest, insect corpses’ tendrils piercing through the night, creeping towards the borders of his territory.

The brighter the fantasy, the harsher the reality’s destruction.

October 10, Pal’s territory.

The sky seemed leaden from early morning, clouds dark and grim, not a ray of sunlight in sight.

Unnoticed by all, a new “second-generation Nest” was slowly descending at the edge of the mountains.

Its body covered with insect shells and black metallic-like structures, dragging limbs, as if a colossal shadow emerging from the apocalypse.

The insect cadaver advance troops spread like a black tide, leaving only ruins and scorched earth in the villages they passed through.

The river surface floated dead fish and rotting waterfowl, wild dogs along the bank began frenziedly biting their kind in panic.

The mountain pass outpost had long lost contact, birds in the sky fled south in a hurry.

In the dense forest, insect mist silently spread, as if the world were being enveloped by some unspeakable “miasma.”

Pal remained immersed in the sense of victory as “bitterness turned to sweetness.”

Until his mount suddenly neighed violently, raising its front hooves.

A sentry stumbled and dashed forward, covered in blood, chest collapsed, eyes rolled back, resembling a torn remnant.

He fell to the ground before Pal’s horse, and in the next moment, astonishingly convulsed and climbed up, spewing forth a long insect foot like tongue from his mouth, fiercely lunging at Pal!

“Protect the Lord—!!”

His Personal Guard swiftly severed the sentry’s head and cleaved him into minced flesh.

Though unharmed, Pal’s face was ash-gray, nearly falling off his horse.

“What… what is that… what is this?!”

He stammered, eyes terrified, the guards exchanged glances, sensing a foreboding drawing near.

And within just a few minutes, the crisis descended in full.

Pal hastily ordered all personnel to assemble, three hundred heavy armored soldiers left by Seldon and several dozen Fighting Spirit Knights lined up outside the camp, trying to block the enemy.

But they held out for less than a few minutes.

Gigantic insect cadavers came like mountains, leaping out of the fog, directly tearing the breastplates of the frontline soldiers.

A few massive insect cadavers perched on the defense lines, sweeping away like toppling straw men.

Streams of slime were hurled from above, igniting soldiers’ bodies, Fighting Qi Barriers crumbling like paper.

Pal stood terrified at the rear, watching as the camp turned into a purgatory on earth.

The “castle” he had personally designed crumbled amidst flames and thick smoke.

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