Lord: I have built a witch's sanctuary.

Chapter 113 Black Iron City's Response

Chapter 112 Black Iron City's Response

The clock tower in Black Iron City struck three times.

The dull clang of bronze pierced through the flying snow, bounced back and forth between the gray city walls, and was finally torn to shreds by the howling north wind.

Lord Os von Greyburn of Black Iron City stood at the window of the Lord's Tower, his hands behind his back, staring at the world outside that was being swallowed by a blizzard.

A thick layer of frost had formed on the glass, and his breath condensed into a small cloud of white mist on it, which was quickly swallowed up by the cold air.

The snow season has lasted for nearly two months.

It's a full two weeks earlier than in previous years.

This means that all the outposts, villages, and baronies on the wasteland that hadn't had time to retreat to the city were now exposed to the monster's fangs.

Without the protection of city walls, without the warmth of demonic fire, the people of those places—

Os didn't want to think about it.

He turned around, and the sunlight fell on the parchment map spread out on the desk.

The map marks the locations of the three major city-states in the North—Frostwolf City to the north, Black Iron City to the south, and Anvil Keep, far to the south on the other side of the mountains.

The three city-states, like three nails, were driven into the buffer zone between the far northern wilderness and human civilization.

And now, these three nails are loosening.

"Lord City Lord."

A servant's voice came from outside the door, tinged with barely suppressed tension.

"Lady Margaret requests an audience. She says—it has something urgent to discuss."

Os's brow twitched.

Margaret.

His only fourth-tier witch, the Witch of Prophecy.

This woman rarely left her home, spending all her time in her tower filled with star charts and skeletons, and she might not even ask to see him more than three times a year.

"Let her in."

When the door was pushed open, a blast of cold air, carrying snowflakes, rushed in.

Margaret's cloak was covered in snow, and her long, grey hair fell over her shoulders, making it look as if she had run all the way from the tower.

Her complexion was terrible, her lips were blue, and her eyes, which had become cloudy from years of peering into the threads of fate, now revealed a deep fear.

Os's heart sank.

"explain."

Margaret did not bow, nor did she close the door. She stood there, her chest heaving, then pulled a bone plate from her cloak.

The bone plate was covered with intricate runes, most of which were broken, with charred cracks spreading outwards from the center, as if it had been blasted open from the inside by some force.

"The divination bone is broken."

Margaret's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against sheet metal.

"I used three shoulder blades from fourth-tier magical beasts, and they all shattered. When the first one shattered, I thought it was a problem with the materials. When the second one shattered, I changed the magic circle, but the third one—"

She paused for a moment, her Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"The third piece, before it shattered, gave me a vision."

Os did not urge him.

He had known Margaret for twenty years and had never seen this woman show such extreme fear.

"The far north."

Margaret looked up and stared straight at him.

"A calamity is coming."

Oss had his servant close the door and then had two more pieces of charcoal added to the fireplace.

It wasn't because of the cold, but because Margaret was shivering.

A powerful fourth-order prophecy witch trembled with fear.

To be specific.

Oss sat down behind his desk, resting his chin on his hands.

Margaret sat in a chair by the fireplace, holding a glass of hot wine in both hands, the liquid swirling in the glass and reflecting the flickering firelight.

"The image is blurry. You know how prophecies are; the more powerful the being, the greater the cost of spying, and the stronger the backlash. But a few things are certain."

She took a sip of her drink and put down the glass.

"First, the calamity in the prophecy is the Winter Lord, not its subordinates or generals, but its true form, a fifth-tier monarch-level demon."

Os's fingers tightened.

Fifth order.

No human city-state in the entire Northern Territory possesses a fifth-tier combat power.

The strongest in Frostwolf City is a fourth-tier witch, and his Black Iron City also has a fourth-tier witch—the one right in front of us.

Iron Anvil Fortress is far to the south, and even if reinforcements were to arrive, it would be impossible for them to cross the wilderness during the snow season.

"Secondly," Margaret held up two fingers, "the Winter Lord will not come alone. He will bring an entire army of monsters, the size of which—I can't see the exact number, but the oppressive feeling emanating from the shattered Divination Bone was at least three times greater than the last time the anomaly occurred."

Os leaned back against the chair, the wood making a soft creak.

Third, time.

Margaret's voice was very low.

"In at least ten days, and at most twenty days, the army of the fifth-tier Winter Lord will begin to attack all the human city-states in the entire Northern Territory."

The charcoal in the fireplace cracked with a snap, sending sparks flying that landed on the stone floor and went out in an instant.

The room remained quiet for a long time.

Os stared at the map on the table, at the three ink dots marking the locations of the city-states, his mind racing.

"Where is its first target?"

"Frostwolf City".

Margaret answered without hesitation.

"In the divination image, the blizzard advanced from the far north to the south, and the first outline to be swallowed up was the shape of Frostwolf City. Then it was us."

Os closed his eyes.

Frostwolf City.

That border earldom, guarded by the Frostwolf family for generations. He knew quite a bit about that city—a fourth-tier witch, several third-tier witches, a small knightly order, and a—

A thoroughly corrupt countess.

The last time he received news from Frostwolf City was before the snow season arrived.

The intelligence that came at that time said that the Countess was still using the land's taxes to buy luxury goods, was still withholding the Knights' pay, and was still using her connections with the Alchemists' Guild to line her own pockets.

The Frostwolf City under that woman's rule might not even survive a normal moment of upheaval, let alone face a fifth-tier Winter Lord.

Frostwolf City will be the first to fall.

Then there's Black Iron City.

Os opened his eyes and looked down at his hands.

These hands once held swords, signed countless decrees, and personally distributed the last bag of flour during years of famine.

He ruled Black Iron City for twenty-three years, transforming a dilapidated frontier fortress into the second largest city-state in the North.

But at this moment, these hands can't hold onto anything.

"Our fighting strength."

His voice was flat, as if he were reading a list: "You, fourth rank. Elena, Beth, Kara, Judith, Helen, Nora, six third rank. Plus the three hundred city defense knights, including two third-rank knights."

"That's all," Margaret said.

Yes. That's all.

Os stood up and walked to the window.

The snow is still falling.

The leaden sky hung low, like an overturned pot lid, suffocating the entire city. The sentries on the city walls, wrapped in thick fur coats, huddled behind the crenellations, only their eyes visible.

Outside the city walls lies an endless white wasteland.

There are still ten to twenty days until the arrival of the fifth-tier Winter Lord.

He has ten to twenty days.

What can it do?

Reinforce the city walls? The walls of Black Iron City are only level three. When faced with attacks from level five monsters, they are no different from paper.

Ask the kingdom for help? The roads are blocked by snow, and sending messengers out of the city would be suicide. Humans simply cannot traverse the Moment of Sudden Change without any buildings.

Evacuate? Where to evacuate to?

Iron Anvil Fortress to the south is on the other side of the mountain range, separated by three hundred miles of frozen wasteland and two canyons. If you lead a city full of civilians on a march during the snow season, the entire army will be wiped out before you can go fifty miles.

Oss's forehead pressed against the cold glass.

No solution.

This is an unsolvable problem.

"Lord City Lord."

Margaret's voice came from behind, tinged with hesitation.

"There's one more thing."

Oss did not turn around.

"Regarding Frostwolf City—Miss Olivia, whom you previously sent there—"

Os's shoulders stiffened.

Olivia.

His daughter.

To be precise, it was the daughter he found in the slums.

He said it was "the daughter he found," but he knew in his heart that he owed this child far too much.

Back then, he was young and impetuous, and had a brief affair with a commoner woman. By the time he found out she was pregnant, his family had already arranged a formal marriage for him.

He chose his family.

The woman disappeared with her child into the slums of Black Iron City.

When he found Olivia again, the girl was fourteen years old. She was as thin as a stick, but her eyes were frighteningly bright. She was squatting in a small patch of muddy ground, counting the wheat seeds one by one with her fingers.

She told him that she would grow enough food to feed everyone.

Oss took her back to the city lord's mansion, hired the best tutors, and bought her the most expensive dresses.

But Olivia doesn't wear skirts.

She disassembled the fabric of her skirt and made it into a bag for holding seeds.

Her tutor taught her aristocratic etiquette, and she, in turn, kept asking the tutor which type of soil was best for growing crops.

She secretly cultivated an experimental plot in the garden of the city lord's mansion, uprooted all the precious roses, and planted various hybrid wheat varieties.

Os's wife was so angry that she smashed three tea sets.

The servants in the mansion called her "Miss Mud-legged" behind her back.

His two legitimate sons never even gave this half-sister a second glance.

Os knew that the child could not stay in the city lord's mansion.

But he didn't want her to leave like that. He wanted to temper her and make her understand that she couldn't survive by farming alone.

So he gave her a baronial title, some alchemical tools, and sent her to a wasteland post near Frostwolf to "train".

Os thought that once Olivia had suffered enough in the wasteland, she would naturally come back and honestly learn to be a noblewoman.

Then the snow season came early.

It started a full month earlier than in previous years.

On the night the moment of catastrophe arrived, Os stood on the city wall, watching the northern sky shrouded in an eerie green light, and his first thought was that Olivia was still outside.

He sent people to look for them.

The scout team sent out was swallowed up by the monster tide that very day. Only one horse returned, with half of the scout captain's arm tied to its back.

He never received any further news from Olivia after that.

A first-tier alchemist, accompanied by a butler and a pile of farming equipment, was on the snowy plains during the moment of upheaval—

Os dared not think any further.

But he had to think about it.

Olivia is most likely dead.

You'll either die in the mouth of a monster or freeze to death in the snow.

Neither of them would be very respectable.

Every time this thought surfaced, it felt like a red-hot iron pressing down on his chest.

He never mentioned it to anyone, but he knew that if he hadn't sent Olivia away, if he had let her stay in the city, even if it was just to let her grow her wilted wheat in the garden—

She is at least still alive.

"What was the last piece of information we received about Frostwolf City?" Os began, his voice slightly hoarse.

Margaret thought for a moment.

"The first half of the snow season. The Countess is ruling in place of the lord, and everything in the city is as usual. The Alchemists' Guild and the Church still control most of the resources, and the city's food reserves are probably enough to last for two months."

"That means it's almost at its lowest point."

"If there are no additional supplies, yes."

Oss remained silent for a moment.

"What about Frostwolf City's fighting strength?"

"One fourth-tier witch, less than ten third-tier witches, and the knight order has about two hundred people, including one or two third-tier knights."

Margaret paused, then added, "About the same as us. Perhaps even less so. It's no secret in the North that the Countess doesn't value military preparedness."

Os gave a wry smile.

Similar to them.

That means that Frostwolf City wouldn't even last half a day against the Winter Lord.

A border city-state, ruled by a corrupt countess, militarily weakened, and on the verge of starvation, faces a massive army led by a fifth-tier monster.

This is not a battle, this is a massacre.

After Frostwolf City falls, the Winter Lord's army will continue its southward march.

Next up is Black Iron City.

Os walked back to his desk and used his finger to measure the distance between Frostwolf City and Dark Iron City on the map.

If the Winter Lord advances at full speed, and given that the monster army doesn't need rest or resupply, it will take a maximum of three days to travel from Frostwolf City to Black Iron City.

In other words, from the moment Frostwolf City fell, he had at most three days to prepare.

Three days.

Including the ten to twenty days before the Winter Lord arrived in Frostwolf City.

He has a total of thirteen to twenty-three days.

But what can he do with all that time?

Are we just waiting to die?

Oss placed his palm on the map, on the location of Frostwolf City. The parchment creaked softly beneath his palm.

The Lord of Winter.

He kept the name in his mind.

The nightmare of all the city-states in the North, an ancient being that has lingered on the far northern ice plains for countless years—the fifth tier.

What does fifth order mean?

This means that one person could destroy all the defenses of a city.

This means that all the witches and knights under his command combined wouldn't be enough to slap him.

This means that in its presence, the walls, the Witch's Tower, and the alchemy equipment that humanity is so proud of are all just decorations.

No one can fight it.

In the entire Northern Territory, there is no force capable of directly confronting a fifth-tier being.

Oss loosened his hand from the map.

A damp mark was left on his palm, which was quickly absorbed by the dry air.

"Margaret."

"exist."

"Is there any turning point in the prophecy?"

Margaret was silent for a few seconds.

"In the last scene before the Diviner's Bone shattered, a blizzard engulfed the outline of Frostwolf City and continued its southward advance. The scene cut off before it swallowed Dark Iron City."

"It's broken?"

"The bones are broken. All three pieces are broken. I don't have any more Tier 4 materials to do a fourth divination."

Os nodded.

broken.

It's unclear whether Black Iron City was also swallowed up, or if some other unexpected event occurred.

But in any case, hoping to save a city with a vague and incomplete prophecy is itself a form of despair.

He walked back to the window.

The snow is still falling.

The sentries on the city wall had changed shifts, and the newly arrived soldiers were stamping their feet to keep warm.

Below the city wall, several civilians wrapped in tattered cotton-padded clothes were queuing up to receive their daily ration of black bread.

The line was very long, stretching from the granary all the way to the street corner.

These people don't know.

They had no idea that in ten days, or perhaps twenty days, an unimaginable disaster would befall them.

They are still worrying about today's bread, about tomorrow's firewood, and praying that they will have enough to eat for the next meal.

They didn't realize that these worries would soon become meaningless.

Because by then, they might not even be able to save their lives.

Oss's forehead pressed against the cold glass once again.

He thought of Olivia.

I remember that stubborn girl, covered in mud, with a fire always burning in her eyes.

She said she wanted to farm. She said she wanted to make sure everyone had enough to eat.

She said she never wanted to see anyone starve to death again.

What a wonderful wish.

But this world has never cared about wishes.

It only cares about power.

But they lacked sufficient power.

"Margaret."

"exist."

"Starting today, the entire city is on high alert. All witches will cease their daily duties and dedicate themselves to strengthening city defenses. The Knights will cancel their rotations and all members will intensify their preparations and training. Food rations will be reduced by 20%, with any surplus stored in the strategic warehouses."

"Yes."

“And one more thing,” Oss turned to look at Margaret, “use all your remaining divination materials. I don’t need the complete prophecy; I just need to know one thing.”

He paused.

"The exact date of the Winter Lord's southward journey. Detailed down to the day."

Margaret stood up and pulled her cloak tighter around herself.

"I will do my best. But Lord City Lord, even if we know the exact date—"

She didn't finish her sentence.

Os didn't let her finish speaking.

"Go."

The door closed.

The sound of footsteps gradually faded away in the corridor.

Oss stood alone in the empty room, facing the flickering flames in the fireplace.

The firelight reflected off his face, flickering on and off.

He reached out and picked up a small wooden frame from the mantel.

The frame contains a charcoal sketch—a young girl squatting on the edge of a field, holding a wheat seedling in her hands, her face covered in mud as she smiles.

He had the artist draw it secretly.

Olivia never sat down properly to have her portrait drawn.

Oss ran his thumb along the edge of the frame; the wood had been polished smooth.

"sorry."

He thought to himself.

Then he put the picture frame back on the mantel and turned to walk toward his desk.

The map on the table was still spread out.

The creases he had just created at the location of Frostwolf City had not yet smoothed out.

He picked up a charcoal pencil and drew a circle around the location of Black Iron City.

Then, next to the circle, a line of text was written.

"Hold on to the death."

The pen tip lingered on the parchment for a moment before he crossed it out.

He rewrote two words.

"To live."

The wind outside the window picked up, and snowflakes hit the glass, making a soft, rustling sound.

It was as if something was walking towards us step by step from the far north.