Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Inside the castle of the Red Tide Territory, Louis was squatting among a group of children, a smile in his eyes, patiently guiding them.

The rehearsal for the Spring Festival play was entering its final sprint.

And this play was personally written by him: “The Great Lord Louis Uses Strategy to Crush the Evil Snowsworn’s Conspiracy.”

“Come on! Karl, your next move needs more momentum; you are the protagonist of this play, the guardian of the Red Tide Territory!”

“Yes!” The little boy puffed out his chest, trying his best to look imposing.

His cheeks were rosy from the cold, but his seriousness was absolutely adorable.

A few children assigned to play the “Evil Snowsworn” lowered their heads, complaining softly: “We’re not bad at all.”

Louis smiled, patting their heads: “Villains are very important; without you, how could the hero be so powerful?”

Further on, ordinary-looking children were rehearsing in rows as “flowers, plants, and trees.”

Playing the background, swaying around the granary, they happily shook their self-made paper leaves.

“Remember, when the explosion scene comes, everyone must fall backward together, pretending to be thrown back, understand?” Louis gestured.

A child excitedly raised his hand: “Lord Louis, can we shout ‘Ah—’?”

“Of course, the louder the better!”

Sif, watching nearby, couldn’t help but laugh: “You really put a lot of effort into this.”

Although the script was simple and crude: The Snowsworn infiltrated the granary at night, but Louis, wise and resourceful, used a fake granary to detonate Magic Bombs, annihilating the enemy in one fell swoop, and the people cheered, “Long live Louis!”

This was clearly a simplified version of the “Qingyu Ridge Ambush,” a modified version specifically for residents with little education.

But it had to be said, the children were incredibly invested in their acting.

Especially the handsome boy playing Louis, dressed in a “Lord’s cloak,” hands on hips, standing on a high platform, loudly declaring: “I, Louis, will never allow anyone to destroy the peace of the Red Tide Territory!”

Full of momentum, looking quite authentic.

Just as the children were enthusiastically rehearsing on stage, with laughter and shouts rising and falling.

A guard hurried over, bowing to report: “My Lord, a wandering merchant has arrived outside, saying he is from out of town and wishes to see you to discuss business.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, immediately understanding.

A wandering merchant?

Who else could it be? It was probably Miss Emily, his “fiancée,” secretly coming to investigate him.

Thinking of this, the corners of his mouth curved slightly, with a hint of playfulness.

Of course, although he was a little curious, having never seen what his fiancée looked like, as a dignified Lord, he couldn’t just casually go to meet a wandering merchant; it wouldn’t be proper.

Moreover, this great play was just reaching its most exciting part; how could he leave midway?

Louis adjusted his cloak, stood up, and looked at Sif, who was distributing red ribbons to the young actors nearby.

“Sif, I trouble you to go,” he said meaningfully.

“This wandering merchant may not be simple. Whether to do business is up to your judgment, but you might as well invite them to stay and participate in tomorrow’s Spring Festival.”

Sif looked up at him; although she didn’t quite understand the meaning in Louis’s words, she still nodded: “Okay.”

She put away the red cloth embroidered with a sun pattern in her hand, lightly flicked her cloak, and turned to follow the guard’s footsteps.

And Louis, standing still, watched her retreating figure, sighing softly, yet a smile still lingered on his lips.

Fiancée and lover meeting early?

It’s not that I have a twisted sense of humor.

He lowered his head and patted the children’s heads: “Come on, continue rehearsing, we’re about to blow the whole place away!”

Sif followed the guard to the group of “wandering merchants,” her gaze stopping on the leader.

The person wore a gray-blue cloak, the hood half-concealing their face, revealing only half of their profile: pale skin, a cheek with a faint scar, and a pair of cool, clear eyes.

It’s a woman? Sif raised an eyebrow, a slight hint of surprise.

But that was all; in these times, wandering merchants came in all sorts, so she wasn’t too surprised.

She just vaguely felt that this woman had too clean and sharp a demeanor, unlike an ordinary merchant leader.

On the other side, Emily was also secretly observing the silver-haired woman in front of her.

That beautiful short hair, deep blue eyes, and the kind of aura that clearly belonged to a northern tribe quickly gave Emily a subtle feeling, something too natural.

A hunch arose in Emily’s heart: This woman’s relationship with Louis is not simple.

However, she didn’t show any emotion.

This world was inherently polygamous; it would be abnormal for a nineteen-year-old young noble not to have several close women in his possession.

Just a small hint of curiosity: She’s from the North, actually?

And... I have to admit, that face is indeed quite pretty.

Then Emily smiled slightly: “Are you an official here?”

“My name is Sif, Lord Louis’s secretary.” Sif nodded.

“A secretary?” Emily raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a half-smile, “I’m Emily.”

“Hello, Lady Emily.” Sif nodded politely, “My Lord is currently busy with affairs and cannot receive visitors. However, I can act as an intermediary.”

“It’s understandable that your Lord is busy.” Emily said lightly, but couldn’t hide a small hint of disappointment on her lips.

She had originally intended to at least secretly catch a glimpse of Louis, after all, he was her fiancé, but she still couldn’t get her wish.

But she had already anticipated it; given Louis’s current status, it was impossible for him to casually receive a strange wandering merchant. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the conversation quickly returned to business.

Sif walked to the side of the cart, her gaze briefly sweeping over the displayed goods.

Several bolts of decent silk, fragrant spice packets, some dried medicinal herbs, and a few bags of dried fruits and oils from the south—all common goods.

She casually brushed her fingertips over the edge of a silk cloth, saying lightly: “These... look like good things, but for our Red Tide Territory, they are not urgently needed at the moment.”

Emily smiled slightly, not showing surprise, “Indeed, this trip was just a detour through the North; the goods I brought are just regular supplies, nothing rare.”

Sif looked up at her, a polite smile on her lips: “We won’t be purchasing anything for now.”

With that said, the atmosphere wasn’t awkward, as everyone knew that this “business” wasn’t the main point.

Sif suddenly remembered Louis’s earlier instruction and added: “However, tomorrow is our Red Tide Territory’s Spring Festival.

If you and your caravan are interested, you are welcome to stay and watch with us.”

Emily was secretly pondering how to shamelessly ask to stay, but unexpectedly, the invitation came to her.

Her eyes lit up, and she quickly replied: “Really? Thank you so much for your kind invitation; we will definitely stay.”

She spoke politely, but inwardly, she let out a small sigh of relief.

Excellent, not only can I stay, but I can also personally witness the Red Tide Territory’s festival—

Perhaps I can find another opportunity to glimpse my fiancé in person.

Seeing that the matter was settled, Sif made a gesture: “Please follow me; I will take you to your resting place.”

Walking along the street and through a few alleys, soon, a series of semi-underground houses came into view.

The houses were half-buried below ground, with only a low doorway and thick earthen walls exposed.

Sif pushed open the door of one of them: “You will stay here for now; please let us know if you need anything.”

The group walked in, and Emily looked around.

Although the house was simple and sparsely furnished, the corners were neatly tidied, the wooden beds were covered with thick animal furs, and the interior was much warmer than outside, making one feel at ease upon entering.

In the corner, there was a crude pottery water pitcher and a few cups, simple yet thoughtful.

Emily looked around, a hint of novelty in her eyes: “This kind of house—I’ve never seen it before. It feels very suitable for the northern environment; it must be especially warm to live in during winter.”

Her hand gently touched the wall, feeling the faint warmth emanating through the thick earth, and she nodded to herself.

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Emily politely nodded to Sif.

“You’re welcome.” Sif smiled slightly, then turned and left.

Once the door closed, the room instantly became quiet.

Emily walked to the bed and sat down, her fingers casually fiddling with the cups on the table, contemplating her eventful day.

Although she hadn’t seen her fiancé today, the Red Tide Territory had already given her so many surprises.

But thinking of tomorrow’s celebration, her heart felt even more anticipation.

“I hope this ‘Red Tide Lord’ doesn’t disappoint me—” she murmured softly, her tone filled with barely concealed curiosity and anticipation.

Before the first ray of morning sun had pierced through the thick clouds, Emily opened her eyes.

Faint human voices came from outside, and a warm scent drifted on the wind.

It was the aroma of bread and porridge, spreading through the slightly cold air, like a premonition of the Spring Festival, making one’s heart fill with expectation.

She put on her cloak, and the moment she opened the door, sunlight happened to spill onto the freshly swept street.

People in the streets and alleys also began to emerge from their homes.

Everyone wore their cleanest, most presentable clothes.

Although most were still coarse cotton clothes, they were clean and neatly pressed, and that seriousness made Emily involuntarily slow her steps.

“Is it because there’s a festival today?”

She mumbled to herself, watching the bustling crowd in the square, and couldn’t help but follow their footsteps.

Then she, along with a few guards and Nora, arrived at the square and found that people were already queuing up.

The lines were divided into several rows; although there were many people, the order was surprisingly well-maintained, completely different from the scenes of northern refugees she remembered.

Emily had expected to queue for a while, but unexpectedly, it was her turn in less than ten minutes.

When she took the wooden bowl and bread handed to her by the soldier, she was completely stunned.

The bread was golden brown, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, clearly made from good quality rye flour.

And the porridge in the bowl made her almost wonder if she was dreaming.

Not only were the grains distinct, but there were also chopped vegetables, minced meat, and even a hint of green onion aroma floating in it.

The porridge was rich and warm in color, with a faint sheen of oil.

Just smelling it made her stomach start to rumble.

“This isn’t food commoners can eat, is it?” She stared blankly at the food in her hand, subconscious doubts rising in her heart.

Winter had just passed; logically, the territory’s granaries should be nearly empty, so how could they still make porridge of such quality?

She turned her head and quietly asked the middle-aged woman beside her: “Excuse me—do you eat this well every day?”

The woman looked her over, saw her neat attire, and probably recognized her as an outsider merchant, then smiled and explained:

“No, it’s not. Today is the celebration, so we have this hot porridge and big bread. Lord Louis said everyone should eat well and have a lively time.”

Emily secretly breathed a sigh of relief; it was indeed just a special day.

She thought so; at this season, many places were still gritting their teeth to get by, so to eat such a bowl of porridge every day would be too extravagant.

“However,” the woman continued, slowly sipping her porridge, “we can go to the grain station once a week to collect grain and cook it ourselves at home. They give us a lot; we can eat three full meals a day.”

Emily’s hand paused.

She looked up, ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) staring at the other person, almost thinking she had misheard.

Looking at the woman’s undisguised expression of contentment, she was momentarily speechless.

This... is she really not lying?

Residents of Frost Halberd City, in late winter and early spring, were considered well-off if they could manage two meals, even if only half-full.

But these people in front of her—rosy-faced, relaxed, even with the energy to chat and joke.

This place—it’s rich like a dream.

“Three... three full meals a day?”

She repeated softly, her tone even carrying a hint of hesitation.

“Mhm.” The woman smiled, “We eat well, we eat warm, and the children no longer cry from hunger.”

The woman slowly spooned the last bit of porridge into her mouth, her voice filled with genuine gratitude: “Thanks to Lord Louis... if it weren’t for him, how could we have the life we have today?” The woman spoke and smiled, that smile, a blend of past hardships and new hope, made Emily feel a little stunned.

Emily had originally intended to quietly, with a mix of curiosity and doubt, observe what kind of person her fiancé, whom she had never truly met, was.

After all, from what she heard, he was just a young noble, with impressive military achievements, too sharp-edged.

She wasn’t sure if it was just a facade or if he truly possessed some ability.

But she never expected that what awaited her was not a cold military record, not empty praise, but a town like this.

She looked down at the hot porridge, and the warmth from her palm brought a strange sense of peace to her heart.

“You need to eat your fill,” the woman reminded with a smile, “there’s a competition later.”

“What competition?” Emily looked up, asking curiously.

“Hmm.” The other person scratched the back of their head, seemingly unsure how to describe it, “It’s a rope, and then people pull people—well, it’s—it’s about who can pull whom.”

Emily was utterly confused, trying to piece together a mental image, but she couldn’t figure out what kind of “competition” it was.