Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 65: Command
Just after Viscount Webster finished explaining the distribution and risks of the enemy's strongholds.

A brief silence fell over the tent as everyone awaited the next steps in the deployment proposal.

Viscount Webster spoke in a serious and solemn tone:

"Based on current intelligence, the terrain in the Ice Tooth Mine area is relatively flat. We can consider prioritizing the elimination of this stronghold, and then using it as a starting point to advance and defeat them one by one. This is the safest approach."

Some of the old-fashioned nobles nodded in agreement, clearly showing their approval of this cautious and steady approach.

Before he could continue, a hoarse, slightly drunken voice suddenly interrupted him: "Old man, why are you so slow?"

Everyone turned to look at the person in the main seat.

Count Firth was seen holding onto the back of his chair, struggling to straighten himself, but his face was still flushed with drunkenness.

Pointing to three red dots on the sand table, he said, "If we're going to fight, let's fight them all at once! These three dens of rats... why not just wipe them out at the same time? We've gathered five thousand men, what are we afraid of?"

The nobles present looked at each other, unsure of what to say, and fell silent for a moment.

Behind Firth, the strategist coughed and added in a low voice, "Lord Firth's idea is to send three troops to clear out the three areas separately. If things go smoothly, the war can be ended ahead of schedule."

But this was clearly an attempt to save face based on Firth's drunken ramblings.

Viscount Webster frowned. "You make it sound so easy. Our forces are already limited. Splitting up our troops is tantamount to cutting off our own reinforcements. The Vowers are adept at ambushes; every place is a dangerous spot. How can we treat this so lightly?"

This sentence completely ignited Count Firth's passion for wine.

He slammed his fist on the table and stood up: "Am I the commander-in-chief or are you? How dare you, a mere vassal, openly defy your lord here?"

He would never dare to speak to Webster like that under normal circumstances.

This viscount had been his father's right-hand man and a long-time retainer of the House of Firth.

Even though he now possesses the full title of Earl, his rank and legal standing are paramount.

But when it comes to prestige, the one who can make decisions with a single word in front of these noble officers is not himself.

Rather, it was this old man with extraordinary abilities.

Firth knew it perfectly well.

Unfortunately, he was drunk today, so he vented his anger under the influence of alcohol.

Webster's face turned ashen instantly, as if he had been slapped in the face in public.

But he did not immediately refute, he just stood quietly, his hands clasped behind his back, suppressing his anger.

Because he was a vassal, and Firth was the lord.

Even if the lord is drunk and talking nonsense, he should not be completely humiliated in this situation.

The entire operations room was silent, and the atmosphere was very oppressive.

"Since you're such a coward, then I'll make the decision!"

Firth stood up, staggered a few steps to the sand table, and tapped the three red dots heavily with his fingertips: "Occupy these three enemy points at once."

"Select a few from the Southern Expeditionary Army, along with those warlike nobles from the Northern Border. Let them be the vanguard. I'll stay in Snow Eagle City to oversee the operations!"

Only by deploying troops on three fronts can our military's power be truly demonstrated!

When he said the words "sitting in command," his tone became a bit more elevated, as if he had truly placed himself in the position of a commander who could strategize and win battles from afar.

A moment of silence fell over the room.

No one spoke, only a few awkward coughs and the soft crackling of candles burning beside the sand table.

The nobles weren't fools; everyone could tell that they were clearly being used as cannon fodder.
The southern nobles who had initially been nodding in agreement couldn't help but change their expressions slightly.

Louis leaned back in his chair, coldly watching the drunken Firth, recalling the second piece of intelligence he had gathered that day.

He had only one thought: the corpse was talking.

But this is good, he was originally thinking about what reason to use to fight for the opportunity to go to war.

After all, it would be too abrupt and suspicious for a young nobleman to suddenly request to go into battle. Now, however, Count Firth's haphazard deployment of troops has given him a perfectly legitimate springboard.

“Lord Firth, Lord Webster,” Louis suddenly raised his hand.

"If possible, I would like to lead my troops to the Qingyu Ridge area to scout the terrain and probe for enemy movements."

Qingyu Ridge has a complex terrain and narrow roads, making it a typical mountain canyon. I had participated in similar terrain operations in previous battles, so I had some experience and knew how to set up warning lines and rapid retreat routes.

If we can pinpoint the enemy's location, we can then decide whether to concentrate our forces for an advance, which will greatly increase our chances of victory.

The large tent fell silent suddenly.

Many people turned to look at him, their eyes wide with astonishment.

They clearly hadn't expected that this rising noble youth would volunteer at such a time to go deep behind enemy lines.

Can't he see that he's going to his death?!

"Huh?" Yorn, sitting in the back, instinctively raised his hand: "Me too! Wherever Baron Calvin goes, I'll go!"

The nobles behind him took a deep breath and whispered among themselves.

"Are these two crazy?"

"Isn't Qingyu Ridge a place that's practically suicide?"

"At this critical juncture, daring to raise your hand and go to war, don't you see that it's a trap?"

Given this situation, who wouldn't see how dangerous this mission is?
This isn't pioneering; it's just consumables.

But Louis volunteered instead.

Viscount Webster stared silently at Louis, his eyes dark.

He was trying to determine whether this young man was acting impulsively or had ulterior motives.
Are you trying to run away?
Impossible, unless he's insane.

Even if the monk can run away, the temple can't, especially with the governor's secret envoy watching.

Running away could result in the loss of one's title, or even capture and execution.

Or is it just the youthful ambition and desire for quick success?

Killing Hasker made you arrogant? You think you're invincible?

However, even if he is going to his death, it is a good thing.

If sacrificing a few hundred men can calm Firth down, it's worth it.

“In that case,” Webster said in his usual calm tone, “baron Calvin and baron Harvey will lead their troops to Qingyu Ridge. Remember, their primary objective is reconnaissance; they must not act rashly.”

“Yes,” Louis replied, bowing his head.

Then Webster casually mentioned a few more Southern pioneer nobles with relatively shallow backgrounds.

They were each assigned a team to conduct feigned reconnaissance missions at the other two outposts.

The person whose name was called turned pale instantly, and hesitated to speak.

Everyone knows this isn't reconnaissance; it's about stepping on landmines.

But no one dared to disobey orders, and some even secretly resented Louis, thinking that if he hadn't spoken up, they wouldn't have been singled out.

The meeting did not last long.

Viscount Webster briefly outlined a few logistical arrangements before adjourning the meeting.

The nobles rose to their feet, their expressions varied, but none of them looked too pleased.

After all, the command of the entire Fifth Legion was in the hands of a very unreliable count.

(End of this chapter)