Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 97 Camp
The door was pushed open, and a boot stepped into the room.

"Ahhhhh!!"

Ian charged forward and raised his machete to strike!

But before his blade could strike the person, it was easily caught by the other party.

With a click, the machete was snatched away with one hand.

Ian was stunned.

The person who came was not the robber he had imagined.

He wore metal armor with a crimson sun emblem on his chest.

"You are……"

Before Ian could react, the knight had already thrown the wood-chopping knife behind him, strode to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), and looked at the little girl who was huddled up in a ball.

He frowned, took off his gloves, and tentatively touched Mia's forehead.

"He has a high fever."

His tone was calm, yet it sounded like a verdict. Without another word, he bent down and picked up the girl.

"What are you doing? Put her down!" Ian instinctively tried to grab her, but was stopped by the other person's hand.

The man's voice was firm: "I am a knight from the Crimson Tide Territory, here to rescue you. There are doctors nearby; your child can still make it."

As he spoke, he turned and walked towards the door.

Ian was stunned.

Red Tide Territory? Rescue? Doctor?
He couldn't quite understand what the knight was saying, and his mind was still a jumbled mess.

But he clearly heard those four words: "It's not too late."

Those were the most beautiful words he had heard in the past few months.

So Ian released his grip on the knight.

The knight said nothing more, but simply held the little girl in his arms, strode out the door, mounted his horse, and galloped off to the west.

Ian paused for a moment, then suddenly realized what was happening and rushed out the door barefoot.

He ran desperately in the direction the knight had gone, the mud scraping against his feet and the cracked ground leaving bloody marks.

But the knight rode too fast, disappearing into the forest in a few breaths, leaving no trace.

"Mia!" he shouted, staggering as he chased after her.

There was no response, only the howling wind.

Ian didn't know what else he could do, only that he had to chase after the knight, just to make sure it wasn't an illusion.

Even if it's just...

To give myself a reason to live.

He could only keep running in that direction.

Breathing felt like rust scraping against my chest, and every step felt like stepping on red-hot iron.

But he dared not stop.

After running for almost two hours, something finally appeared in front of me.

It's a campsite.

Ian was stunned.

He's been to this place before.

Before the war, I worked as a carpenter in this small village and repaired houses.

But now the village no longer exists; everywhere are collapsed houses, charred wooden beams, and axe marks and arrows on the blackened earthen walls.

It looks like this place has also been attacked by the Snowsworn.

Unlike their own village, a cluster of tents had sprung up amidst the ruins, with bonfires illuminating the night, smoke rising, and figures moving about.

He couldn't believe his eyes.

The air was still filled with the aroma of warm porridge, and some people were sitting by the fire, blowing on their bowls, their faces full of satisfaction.

Soldiers patrolled, children peeked out from inside tents, and wounded soldiers lay in a corner, bandaged. A medic in clean robes knelt beside a wounded soldier, carefully bandaging his wounds.

The tents weren't new, but they were sturdy, dry, and didn't smell musty.

The porridge was a thin porridge made from coarse grains, but it was warm, fragrant, and enough to fill one's stomach.

Compared to his recent days, this is paradise on earth.

The most eye-catching thing is a flag that stands tall in the center of the camp.

The crimson flag fluttered in the wind, with a bright golden sun at its center.

Ian quickly found where his daughter was.

It wasn't because he had a great sense of direction, but because there were too many people gathered there and the commotion was too great, so he rushed over almost instinctively.

There stood the largest tent, its curtain half-lifted. Around the tent stood a circle of equally ragged refugees, their expressions anxious. Some wept softly, while others bit their lips and remained silent.

Several doctors dressed in white robes were running back and forth inside, their hands covered in blood and smelling of herbs.

Most of the injured, like him, were ragged refugees and survivors who had suffered greatly.

He even recognized several familiar faces, his neighbors from the village, some with bandages wrapped around their legs, and others with injuries on their faces.

Then he saw his daughter.

Amidst a pile of herbs and curtains, a small figure lay on a makeshift wooden bed, pale-faced and breathing weakly.

The doctor beside her was carefully applying herbal paste to her forehead. The green ointment had a pungent, bitter smell, but it also carried a reassuring quality.

Ian practically lunged forward, kneeling beside the doctor, his voice trembling like a broken bellows: "Can...can she still be saved?"

The doctor didn't even look up, just continued what he was doing: "She can still be saved. Her fever isn't too high, and it's come down a bit. It mainly depends on whether she can hold on, but the chances are pretty good."

Those two short sentences seemed to pull Ian back from the brink of disaster.

His eyes welled up with tears, his body went limp, and he knelt down, his forehead touching the ground as if to kowtow.

Before he could even kowtow, a hand grabbed his arm and roughly pulled him aside.

"Stop blocking the way, there are people waiting in line behind you!" The voice wasn't loud, but it was tinged with impatience.

Ian could only be pulled back, but he kept muttering "thank you."

Tears streamed down her face.

He couldn't remember the last time he had shed a tear.

But at this moment, he finally dared to cry.

The hope for my daughter's survival... has finally arrived.

And so Ian stayed there watching over Mia all night.

He didn't leave the tent at all; he squatted down in front of her bed, staring intently at her face.

Her face seemed less pale, and the fever on her forehead had subsided somewhat. Although she was still unconscious, her breathing had stabilized.

His heart felt as if it had been slowly pulled up from hell.

“Much better…” Ian murmured to himself.

A faint light was already appearing outside the tent; dawn was approaching.

Someone came in from outside; it was a boy carrying a wooden bowl, wearing a red armband from the Red Tide Clan.

Seeing that Ian hadn't left all night, he didn't say anything, but simply placed the bowl of hot porridge beside him.

"It's freshly cooked, keep it hot." The boy left those words and turned to attend to other things.

Ian stared blankly at the bowl of porridge.

The bowl was made of wood. There was no meat in the porridge, only a few grains of rice, some unknown wild vegetables, and a few yellowish beans, with a light sheen of oil floating on top.

But after he picked it up and took a sip, the faint fragrance hit his nostrils.

The hot porridge slid down his throat, and a long-lost warmth rose in his stomach, but he almost couldn't help but choke up.

He lowered his head and drank the bowl of plain porridge, which wasn't very tasty, while tears streamed down his cheeks and fell into the bowl.

(End of this chapter)