Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

In less than half a day, the Swiftwind Bird soared through the cold sky, landing steadily on Louis's shoulder with a reply.

He took the scroll, his eyebrows slightly raised, evidently not expecting such a quick response.

The reply was not long. Regarding Mckinney's death, Duke Edmund did not mention it at all, as if the life and death of a minor lord of such a level held no weight and were not worth his ink.

The main point of the letter was in the last paragraph.

Mckinney has no direct bloodline heir, so the territory will be temporarily managed by Louis, with further arrangements to be announced later.

Louis read the letter and smiled faintly, as it was just as he had guessed.

In Edmund's eyes, Mckinney was nothing more than an insignificant pawn; his death was inconsequential, and he couldn't even be bothered to inquire too much.

Instead, he had naturally acquired an additional territory.

The so-called subsequent arrangements would likely never materialize; as long as he governed it, it would tacitly become his territory.

This outcome, where he was not held accountable but instead benefited, was precisely what he wanted.

A new problem emerged: what should be done with those emaciated, dying freemen and slaves?

Louis stood in the center of the dilapidated square, his gaze coldly sweeping over the huddled, dying crowd.

The best method would still be to let them slowly die off, and then bring in new residents; this would be the most resource-efficient approach.

Of course, this answer never appeared in his mind.

After all, he was not a fool like Mckinney, who treated people like livestock, but rather the rising sun of the North.

Louis then raised his hand and ordered, “Distribute food.”

The knights followed his command, dragging out the pile of grain that Mckinney had forcibly seized.

Sacks were torn open, and coarse grains, smoked fish, and cured meat spilled onto the ground. Soon, large pots were set up, boiling water to cook porridge.

The porridge even had fine strands of meat floating in it, and its aroma diffused in the cold wind, making the crowd's eyes stare blankly.

At first, people only watched, trembling, filled with fear and suspicion. Although they swallowed their saliva, not a single person dared to step forward.

“Is...is this a trap? Impossible, how could such a good thing fall upon us?”

“Do they want to trick us into gathering and then kill us all?”

“Don’t...don’t go over. This isn’t real....”

But when they truly saw the food being brought to them bowl by bowl, those emaciated, disheveled men, women, and children, one by one, their eyes widened, and they uttered hoarse sounds as if seeing an illusion:

“Is...is this not a dream? Is it true—someone is giving us food?!”

“Can I really eat it? This isn’t a joke, is it?”

“Oh my god—there’s meat in the porridge—it’s meat! I haven’t touched meat in three years—”

“Look, it’s real! It’s real! Someone’s eating!”

The knights distributing the food announced loudly, “Listen up, everyone! All of this is given to you by your new lord, the great Lord Louis!

From today onwards, you are under the jurisdiction of Red Tide Territory, and Lord Louis is your true master!”

At that moment, all doubts, all hesitations, were shattered by these words.

“He—he’s the new lord? He gave us such good things?”

“Do people like us truly deserve to live?”

“He is not a man, he is an envoy of God, a savior sent by the Dragon Ancestor!”

When the ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) truly hot porridge was brought before them, those who had been numb for so long finally broke down.

The cold wind still howled, and the ice and snow mercilessly battered the dilapidated eaves, the biting air seemingly able to cut human skin.

Those freemen and slaves should have been huddled in corners, trembling, but at this moment, no one cared about the cold anymore.

Each person was wrapped in tattered burlap sacks, moldy blankets, or even just a few pieces of scavenged rags, with no shoes on their feet.

Barefoot on the icy muddy ground, despite trembling, they still rushed out like madmen.

“Food—there’s food!”

“It’s real, it’s real!”

Hunger overcame everything. Even though the cold wind made their bodies tremble, it could not stop their approaching footsteps.

A mother trembled as she held her child and took the first sip, tears mixing with the broth, her cheeks red from the cold, and the tears freezing into icy streaks as they flowed.

A child sipped in small mouthfuls, as if tasting the most precious holy water in the world, but stopped halfway and handed the rest to his younger brother lying beside him.

An old man knelt on the cold stone ground, trembling uncontrollably, eating while muttering, “May the Dragon Ancestor bless Lord Louis with eternal life—”

A little girl held a bowl, crying and laughing, with rice grains on the corners of her mouth and cheeks red from the cold, yet she couldn’t bear to put the bowl down. The white breath she exhaled steamed into the air in gusts, and the aroma of the hot porridge, mixed with their heavy breathing, permeated the square, forming the warmest scene.

This was the first time they truly felt “human warmth” amidst the intertwining of death and cold.

The entire square seemed to tear open a rift from frozen hell.

The steam, the tears, the trembling gratitude, together wove a picture that was almost sacred.

And when Louis passed through the crowd again, the scene had completely spiraled out of control.

Those people had been weeping softly, trembling with gratitude, but when their gaze caught that young figure, they seemed struck by lightning, freezing for an instant, then their cries burst forth like a broken dam.

“Lord Louis—!”

“Our savior!”

People knelt one after another, first a scattered few, then in an instant, the entire sea of people prostrated themselves simultaneously, their foreheads heavily hitting the cold stone slabs, making dull thudding sounds.

“It was he who saved us! It was he who let us live!”

“Great Lord, please accept our loyalty—even if it means our lives!”

They disregarded their dignity, the mud and gravel beneath their knees, and even if their wounds split open from hitting the ground, they continued to kowtow again and again.

Like believers seeing a god descended from heaven, they only wanted to get closer, even if just a little.

“Thank you, thank you, Lord Louis.”

They cried, shouted, and trembled, the scene was almost suffocating.

And Weil, standing beside Louis, seeing such a scene, had already turned red-eyed with excitement, trembling all over.

He straightened his chest, his voice incredibly firm: “This is the man I follow, Lord Louis!”

These people were so agitated because they had never been treated as “humans.”

During the years of the Mckinney family’s rule, they were merely tools, livestock, living corpses whose lives were worse than death.

Even the most basic warmth and sustenance were a luxury.

Not even a fleeting word of comfort had ever been spoken to them.

They lived only so that others could live better, and no one would remember their names when they died.

These people had long given up on any hope of salvation; they had long learned to close their eyes, clench their teeth, and live one day at a time.

But just when they thought everything would remain the same, that young lord arrived.

He ordered the distribution of grain, the cooking of porridge, sent knights to maintain order, and even commanded people to carry the weak elderly and children out of their homes one by one,

and provide them with hot food.

The porridge actually had meat, and oil, steaming hot, without water or ash, it was truly life-saving food.

This was not a superficial act of charity; it was a kindness they dared not even dream of.

They certainly knew Louis didn’t have to do this.

He was the new lord, and he had every reason to continue treating them as a “mess.”

Like Mckinney, letting them die off, and then clearing a “clean” piece of land.

But the great Lord Louis did not.

He chose to save them, even though they were as dirty as mud, as thin as withered branches, and had almost forgotten the very idea of “living.”

That is why they knelt and cried out like this.

Not because of who Louis was, nor because they blindly worshipped anyone.

But because they finally believed that their lives mattered to someone.

They wept for the family members who had fallen the day before, with no one to collect their bodies.

They kowtowed for this belated bowl of hot porridge today.

They cried out for the hope that even if tomorrow was still bitter, they could finally see a little light.

At that moment, they finally remembered that they were originally “people,” not just tools of labor.

Of course, it wasn't just a simple distribution of food; Louis ordered a thorough census of the population first.

After half a day, the knight in charge of the matter brought back a sobering figure.

“Across the entire territory—those still able to move, there are only one hundred thirty-two people left in total.”

Louis stood in the cold wind, looking at the countless corpses on this desolate land.

This number was within his imagination; after all, winter had been here for some time, and even if this place hadn't been harassed by the Snowsworn, most people would likely have died under that good-for-nothing's governance.

“We cannot leave them here,” he murmured.

Start building from scratch?

It was no longer possible.

Mckinney's territory was already rotten to the core, and now it was deep winter; rebuilding from scratch would only drag everyone down.

Louis quickly ordered: “First, migrate them in batches, sending them to Canglu Territory, Ice Ridge Territory, Snow Plains Territory, and Han Shan Territory.”

Those were the four new camps Red Tide had established in recent years. Although order was just being established and resources were tight, as long as he allocated more grain, it shouldn't be a big problem.

As for Red Tide Territory, he did not arrange for these people to enter.

That was the true core of Red Tide; if any unstable elements, even just a little infectious disease, were to mix in, it could lead to irreversible consequences.

Thus, a grand winter transfer began.

Initially, some worried they would be ostracized.

But on the first day of their arrival, people took their burdens from their shoulders and offered hot porridge and clean bedding.

The people of Red Tide had long been accustomed to mutual assistance,

because they, too, had been rescued by Louis from a miserable life not long ago.

Therefore, they had enough empathy to accept the new residents.

This was a testament to their faith in Louis, not blind worship, but rather sharing warmth and helping others in the midst of wind and snow.

And this wasteland, Louis also gave it a new name: Winter Dawn Territory.

“It signifies the first ray of dawn at the end of winter,” he said.