Rise of the Northern Warlord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

As battle energy clashed, wild winds swept up dust from the ground.

On the battlefield, Lambert and Haskell fought again.

This time Haskell in boiling blood state was like a wild beast—even bleeding continuously, he felt almost no pain.

He roared and swung his axe down, directly forcing Lambert back several steps. The axe blade smashed cracks in the opponent’s chest armor, fresh blood flowing down through the breach.

Lambert chose not to continue the hard fight, instead using flexible movement to delay time, not giving Haskell another chance to close in. freёnovelkiss.com

"HAAAAAH!!"

The surrounding Snow Swearers were also inspired by this strike, falling into boiling blood berserk and madly charging at Crimson Tide knights.

Crimson Tide knights immediately reacted, quickly tightening formation in the chaotic battle.

But even with Vaerik’s foresight and pre-battle preparations, one young knight was still careless.

Struck squarely in the chest by an axe, he was sent flying and crashed heavily into stone walls—spine broken, dying instantly.

Lambert’s expression grew heavier seeing this scene.

Though victory was assured, continuing like this would cost several more knights.

Moreover, warriors in boiling blood state couldn’t last long—no need to clash with them head-on.

"Adjust formation, disperse!"

He called out lowly as Crimson Tide knights quickly changed tactics.

They opened distance, no longer engaging enemies head-on, instead using cavalry mobility and ranged attacks for continuous harassment.

Snow Swearers in boiling blood state indeed didn’t last long, their movements gradually slowing.

Their bodies began showing backlash: skin ulcerating, spitting blood from mouths, roars becoming screams.

"AAAHHH!"

Some Snow Swearers collapsed rolling in agony, convulsing in pain.

Others chose to continue fighting through pain, but disrupted battle energy only hastened their deaths.

Lambert didn’t let his forces approach, continuing the war of attrition.

As long as they dragged it out, this battle would ultimately belong to them.

Haskell still persisted, staggering to his feet as muscles began rupturing, blood flowing down the axe handle to his fingertips.

His eyes had lost focus, yet he still moved forward.

"Follow me!!!"

He roared, carrying his last trace of battle energy, charging at Lambert.

This time Lambert didn’t retreat, steadying his mount and raising his spear to meet the enemy.

"Come on."

Battle axe and cavalry lance collided mid-air—Haskell’s axe blade finally shattered, iron fragments flying.

His chest was also pierced by Lambert’s spear, blood gushing forth.

Yet he didn’t fall.

"I’ll drag you to hell with me!"

He shouted and lunged forward, gripping Lambert tightly like a wild beast.

His surrounding battle energy began going berserk, the air filling with scorching breath as he prepared to self-destruct and perish together with Lambert.

Fortunately, a nearby Crimson Tide knight charged up with a horizontal sword slash, severing Haskell’s right arm and shocking him away.

Haskell crashed heavily to the ground, battle energy dissipating as he lay on his side, gazing at the sky.

The setting sun was red as blood.

"Father... I... ultimately still couldn’t..."

Before finishing his words, he unwillingly closed his eyes.

The battlefield fell silent.

...

Dust hadn’t yet settled as John lay at the cliff edge, mouth agape like an "O."

He’d forgotten how many times he’d been shocked.

From ambush start with rockfall and arrow rain to three-line knight encirclement—the entire process was spectacular like watching a drama.

Every step precise, every warrior coordinating perfectly.

But the opponents were Snow Swearers with that terrifying boiling blood berserk.

He’d originally thought Crimson Tide Domain knights would pay heavy costs, yet in less than half an hour, the situation was decided.

"I’ve... been shocked several times now," John muttered quietly.

He turned to look at the man beside him, mouth twitching: "Boss, how did you do it? Prophecy? Or do you actually have people in the Snow Swearers..."

Vaerik glanced at him flatly: "Shut up."

He looked at the knights cleaning the battlefield below: "One knight died—this ambush wasn’t successful."

John was stunned hearing this.

"Are you... serious?" His brain couldn’t process this momentarily.

His first reaction: this guy was showing off.

But he didn’t dare say it.

John recalled the entire battle—from ambush setup to combat rhythm control to restraining boiling blood berserk.

If it were himself or that arrogant, impulsive Zachary, when their knights encountered these madmen...

He even suspected they might not have time to react before being crushed to pulp by those maniacs.

Total annihilation.

This phrase circled in his mind.

These are the enemies we’ll face later?

Duke Edmund clearly wanted to push southern pioneering lords into corpse pits!

John swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Previously he’d only thought Vaerik was somewhat stronger than them—smarter, good with people, could arrange formations.

But now he understood this wasn’t "somewhat" different—it was a vast gap.

The level of crushing defeat, hanging up to beat, digging battlefield traps three days in advance and waiting for you to jump.

Simply not the same league.

A thought suddenly emerged in John’s mind with unprecedented firmness:

Must cling to this powerful leg, must cling for dear life.

He jumped up, patted off dust, straightened his back, and stood seriously beside Vaerik: "Boss, do you need money?"

"Shut up."

"Yes sir!"

John immediately closed his mouth, face smiling, chest out and head high, standing beside Vaerik.

A picture of "I’m your most loyal subordinate."

Meanwhile, Vaerik stood at the cliff edge looking down at that blood-stained battlefield below, silent for a moment.

Even having won the battle, he still felt a trace of lingering fear.

Without the Daily Intelligence System’s warning, without advance traps and battle lines laid in this canyon, catching them off guard—Crimson Tide Domain absolutely couldn’t have won.

"Snow Swearers’ boiling blood berserk is too dangerous," he murmured quietly. "If every future battle must face such madmen, that would be real trouble.

Must quickly find methods to deal with such warriors."

Just then, footsteps came from below.

It was Lambert, bloodstained with broken armor corner and a diagonal wound on his shoulder, but normal expression.

He walked to Vaerik’s side, kneeling on one knee: "My lord, battle ended—all enemies eliminated."

Vaerik nodded with approving tone: "Well done, Lambert."

Lambert looked up calmly: "As it should be."

He was silent for a moment, then continued asking: "How should enemy corpses be handled?"

Vaerik looked toward the bloody valley bottom, tone cold: "Cut off their heads, not one left. Clean them well, pack in sacks.

I’ll send them as gifts to Earl Foss."