Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Emily was utterly bewildered, trying to piece together a picture in her mind, but she couldn't imagine what the woman’s “tug-of-war competition” looked like.

“You’ll see when the time comes,” the woman said with a smile, waving her hand, then walked back to the collection point with an empty bowl.

Morning arrived in a flash.

The training grounds for the Red Tide Territory’s Knights and soldiers became lively.

It had been transformed into a temporary sports arena, with a wooden grandstand erected, topped with the Red Tide Territory’s flag.

A hand-drawn schedule of events was nailed to the front, with illustrations and crooked handwriting listing: “Tug-of-War,” “Relay Race,” “Stone Throwing Competition,” “Firewood Relay.”

Though not ornate, it exuded a simple, rustic charm of everyday life.

Emily had originally intended to “just take a look and leave,” as her identity made it unsuitable for her to linger in a crowd.

But as she reached the edge of the arena, her steps slowed.

Laughter and shouts rose and fell in waves.

Children ran joyfully, waving their self-made small flags, darting around the adults.

These warm and lively scenes drew her in.

She thought for a moment and decided not to leave, instead finding a wooden step at the edge of the square to sit down.

At first, Emily was a bit reserved, afraid of being recognized, but soon she realized that no one was paying attention to her.

Everyone’s eyes followed the competitions in the center of the field, their emotions rising and falling with the victories and losses, like a pot of boiling water bubbling.

A little boy squatted beside her, clutching half a sugar cake, muttering, “Our residential area has Long-Legged Cole, we’re definitely going to win!”

When he learned Emily was a guest from outside, he vividly explained the rules to her.

Tug-of-war used a hemp rope, with ten people mixed on each side, regardless of gender.

The sack race required running a full circle around the square, and the fastest team would win silver coins.

There was also something called “Firewood Relay,” where a bundle of firewood had to be passed around, to see which team was the most stable.

These competitions were not complicated, even a bit clumsy, but precisely because of that, everyone could participate.

Whether farmers or slaves, men, women, or children, all gritted their teeth and ran, pulled ropes, and threw stones with all their might.

No one cared about status, no one cared about origin.

Only to let their family, neighbors, and friends see their efforts, and cheer them on.

Winners would be surrounded by cheers, their medals were circular iron plaques, and prizes were silver coins and bags of food laid out on tables. Those who lost collapsed on the ground, their faces full of dejection, but they all received a small piece of bread or a candy, and a pat on the shoulder from someone nearby, smiling in encouragement.

Initially, Emily just sat quietly, a hint of confusion in her eyes.

She watched the farmers, blacksmiths, and fishermen in the center of the field running, falling, and getting back up, smiling and helping each other.

Their movements were clumsy, the scene wasn't elegant, and even carried a touch of laughable awkwardness.

“What’s the meaning of all this?” Emily couldn't help but ask herself in a low voice.

But gradually, she noticed some details.

The light in their eyes, in the moment they shouted loudly and their smiles bloomed, was real.

It was certainly not the masked fake smiles at noble banquets, nor the pretentious play-acting at noble balls.

This was a genuine, heartfelt joy belonging to ordinary people.

Children ran through the dust at the edge of the field, holding candy and medals, grinning widely.

Adults sweated profusely, high-fiving each other, and those who lost still walked off the field smiling.

Even when the outcome was decided, no one complained or argued; there were only sounds of laughter and continuous applause.

This atmosphere was so pure that it almost made Emily forget where she was and what she was there for.

This was a rare form of entertainment for the people of this land.

Finally, it was time for the last event—the grand finale of the Tug-of-War.

The square instantly erupted, the noise so deafening it made one’s heart numb.

People squeezed to the edge of the field, children peered forward over adults’ shoulders, and even the candy vendor ignored his business, pushing his small basket through the crowd.

The two teams squatted down, gripping a thick hemp rope tightly.

The participants were dozens of simple faces: dark-skinned blacksmiths, burly woodcutters, slender youths.

But not one was a noble, not one had Knight blood.

Yet their gazes were all equally firm.

The referee raised his arm, and the air seemed to freeze instantly.

“Start!”

At one command, the entire square exploded.

“Pull! Pull!!”

“Don’t let go! Hold on!”

“Almost, almost, just one more!”

Shouts, applause, and cheers blended into a single roar.

People on both sides simultaneously roared, their feet pushing hard against the ground, hands gripping so tightly that veins bulged, faces flushed red, as if trying to twist everything into that hemp rope.

Emily held her breath, watching the group of people pull desperately in the dirt.

Someone fell and was yanked back up, someone on the verge of giving up still gritted their teeth and persevered.

Sweat, dust, and shouts all mixed together, burning hot as if about to ignite.

Even her guards forgot their duties, waving their fists and shouting encouragement to strangers: “Go! Pull!”

The hemp rope moved inch by inch, and the entire crowd grew so tense that even their breathing became heavy.

“Last pull! Together! Ahh!!!”

Finally, with a burst of shouts, the hemp rope was suddenly pulled past the marked line.

“We won!!”

Applause erupted like thunder, and the crowd cheered.

The group of people collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath with smiles, their faces so dirty they were unrecognizable, but their eyes were full of light.

Nora clapped excitedly: “How fun, this is the first time I’ve seen a competition like this!”

Emily didn’t respond to her words. As a noble daughter trained since childhood, besides the fun, she could «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» see much more in it.

The people on the field were laughing, shouting, and singing.

That wasn't simply a smile of victory, but an indescribable sense of honor.

Or rather, a sense of belonging, of unity.

It was the people’s genuine love for this land.

If it were just for a few prizes, to fill their stomachs, they wouldn’t have surrounded the teams after the competition, singing songs until their voices were hoarse, unwilling to stop.

They were fighting with all their might for “Our Red Tide Territory.”

This was not an outcome achievable by a few policies, but a sentiment already deeply rooted in their hearts.

Louis had taught the people here to be proud of themselves, and of him.

Emily felt a chill in her heart, yet a subtle tremor arose. And her fiancé, whom she had originally thought had only risen through a few brilliant battles, was now quietly sowing seeds that had never appeared before in this desolate and young land.

“Louis, how did you do it?”

Emily’s thoughts drifted back to Frost Halberd City, a place she knew so well she could walk every street with her eyes closed.

The wealthiest territory in the North, without a doubt.

But what about the people there?

Always walking with their heads down, always living cautiously.

They could eat their fill, and dress warmly, but they never smiled.

Even on festive days, they were merely ordered to line up and observe, watching the noble celebrations as if they were just decorations.

She suddenly realized—that city had never truly allowed people to live.

Instead, they were permitted to “survive.”

“Why is it like this?” Emily murmured to herself.

She suddenly began to fantasize, if she could bring this atmosphere, this competition, this real connection between people, back...

Would there one day be a time when the children of Frost Halberd City would also run in the snow, smiling and holding their parents’ hands, striving with all their might for a small medal?

But she quickly understood that it wasn’t a matter of systems, not something that could be replicated by a certain law or event.

The reason Louis could achieve this wasn’t because he distributed a lot of grain or built many houses.

It was because he personally stepped into this land. Because he gave these people trust, patience, and hope.

And in her father’s territory, the connection between people and the land had long been severed by the burdens of life, leaving behind only cold silence and numb survival.

A thought occurred to her: perhaps her fiancé could change the entire North.

Actually, Emily’s thoughts were correct.

This lively “Red Tide Games,” where even children could go up to the stage to receive awards, was not a spur-of-the-moment whim, nor was it a pastime conceived by a resident on a whim.

This was an event personally approved by Lord Louis, and even designed in detail by him.

Its purpose, of course, was not just to “make everyone happy.”

In this early spring season, with the lingering chill of the North, resources were already somewhat scarce, and the shadow of war had not completely dissipated.

Precisely because of this, such a competition involving everyone seemed especially important.

By competing in physical strength, speed, and tacit understanding, they could win prizes, applause, and, more importantly, a sense of “collective glory” – a victory not for an individual, but for “us, the people of Red Tide.”

For Lord Louis, this was a meticulously planned strategy.

He wanted to use the competition to foster an atmosphere of friendly rivalry, allowing people to draw closer in their pursuit of excellence.

He wanted them to find a sense of belonging and identity with this place amidst laughter and cheers.

More importantly, those moments of practicing together, forming teams, and cheering each other on would slowly cultivate something in their hearts:

“Territory pride.”

As long as people were cheering for the same team in the square,

As long as they felt regret when they lost and shed tears when they won, a change was quietly taking place.

They didn't know what it was called, because it was a subtle, gradual process.

It allowed the residents to be more than just managed; it gave them a sense of ownership over the Red Tide Territory.

But Lord Louis knew that with this, when the Red Tide Territory faced a great crisis, they would be able to unite and overcome the difficulties together.

After the commoners' competition ended, the cheers had barely subsided when another tremor, guided by a horn, reverberated through the entire square.

“Next up, the Knights’ Exhibition Match!”

The scene instantly quieted for a few breaths, then erupted again in the excited shouts of children and youths.

Rows of armored Knights appeared in the sunlight, their black and red cloaks, unique to the Red Tide Territory, billowed in the wind, like burning flames, solemn yet fiery.

They wore heavy armor, swords at their waists, and their steps were perfectly uniform.

As they passed in front of the audience, every movement was like a meticulously rehearsed ritual, without the slightest excess or looseness.

The sunlight glinted off their silver-gray breastplates, reflecting dazzling light, and the rhythmic sound of their hooves was like war drums, beating against the hearts of everyone in the vast square.

It made everyone subconsciously hold their breath and straighten their backs, as if they too were an insignificant part of this iron current.

Emily was captivated.

She was a noble lady, accustomed to dealing with the Elite Knights under her father's command.

Those men prided themselves on being elite, well-trained, and strictly disciplined, but she had to admit that the discipline and morale of the group before her were not much different from theirs.

In fact, without comparing their cultivation realms, they were even superior.

That unified rhythm, that silent, tacit coordination when working together, that sense of dedication that never wavered even during a performance—she had never seen it in her father's Knights.

She even felt that if this force were sent to the battlefield, they might not lose to the veteran Knight orders of the North in the same realm.

Then came the official exhibition match.

First up was the mounted jousting duel.

Two Knights reined in their horses at opposite starting lines, holding lances, their visors down, and at a signal,

“Hoo-ah!!”

Hooves like thunder! Lances like dragons!

The two riders charged forward, colliding with a dull thud in the center, their lance tips accurately striking the targets on each other's chests, sparks flying.

The audience instantly erupted in waves of cheers!

“So powerful! So cool!”

“Is he... is he okay?! That lance strike looked like it really hit!”

“I want to be a Knight when I grow up!”

Flames seemed to ignite in the children's eyes; it was their lifelong dream.

Next was the unarmed combat demonstration.

Two heavily armored Knights, wielding blunted swords, confronted, probed, blocked, and swept legs, each movement heavy and powerful.

Although they used training equipment, every impact was so real it made hearts pound faster.

The audience watched with bated breath, some involuntarily mimicking the movements of each stance and move.

The Knights' performance concluded with the grand finale.

“A real combat segment with a magical beast.”

When the host announced this loudly, the audience immediately erupted in excited commotion, countless people even standing up directly,

Stretching their necks higher than giraffes, afraid to miss even a second.

Several Elite Knights appeared, red battle qi swirling around their longswords, like fiery streams of light, dazzling to behold.

Their opponent was a Glacier Boar.

It was as large as an elephant, with thick hide, rough flesh, long tusks, and fast legs—a common low-level magical beast in the Northern lands.

Although insignificant on the battlefield, in this square, it was still an excellent performance prop.

And these Knights clearly understood “performance” as well.

They didn't rush in and instantly kill the boar; instead, they traded blows, their battle qi flickering as if providing special effects for a beast-fighting show for the audience.

Sometimes they would charge fiercely, other times they would deliberately slide to dodge, and while maintaining control of the overall situation, they made the boar spin in circles, yet each time narrowly letting it off the hook.

Cheers surged like waves throughout the venue.

Some audience members jumped up excitedly, shouting, “Catch it! Split it with one sword!”

Others grabbed their friends' arms: “Oh my god, did you see his charge just now?!”

Emily stood among the crowd and couldn't help but chuckle softly.

She had never seen such a sight, not because hunting magical beasts was rare.

But this fighting style of “intentionally slowing down for everyone to watch” was almost like a staged opera with a magical beast.

“So combat can also be watched as a performance. It's quite exciting.”

The beast-fighting show ended, followed by the most thrilling segment.

As the trumpeter blew the melody of victory, the Red Tide Knights, arrayed in neat formation, simultaneously raised their lances, breastplates clashing,

Hooves stomping the ground.

They shouted loudly: “For Red Tide! For Lord Louis! Long live!!!”

This roar was like thunder.

At that moment, the entire square seemed to resonate in the air.

Children excitedly jumped up, mimicking the movements, adults cheered enthusiastically, some with tears in their eyes, others clenching their fists.

Cheers layered upon cheers, sweeping in all directions like a tide.

“Long live Red Tide!!”

“Long live Lord Louis!!!”

Everyone, in that instant, seemed to converge into a scorching torrent.

Emily stood amidst the crowd, as if swallowed by this wave of heat, even her breathing hitched.

She looked at those people—those warriors, commoners, children—

The undisguised pride and reverence on their faces burned in her heart like fire.

It wasn't because of bloodline, not because of birth, nor because of family honor.

They were truly, genuinely revering one person—Lord Louis.

Not because he was a noble, not because he was the young Lord who defeated the Snowsworn.

But because he gave them hope.

He made them feel that they too belonged to this land, to this name, “Red Tide.”

He was not just their Lord, but also their patriarch, their sun.

Emily felt a little suffocated; such a scene had never been seen in her father's territory.

Her father was the ruler of the entire North, the highest authority, but people feared him and obeyed him, yet they never truly supported him.

Emily clenched her fists; at this moment, her curiosity about Louis reached a new peak.

But what she didn't know was that, in a pavilion not far away, Louis was also quietly overlooking the joyous square.

He stood behind the sunlight, arms crossed, his expression calm.

“Hmm—the effect is good,” Louis murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips, “At least it will let them know that even if there's another war in the future, they have a Knight order behind them that can fight at any time.”

The people's fervor and reverence at this moment were not unfamiliar to him, nor were they worth indulging in.

Because he knew too well that this land of the North was continuously in danger.

The current peace was merely a brief respite, and he knew clearly that a greater disaster would strike the North this winter.

He had to maintain the current peace with clear, strong order.

This Knight demonstration, in fact, was never intended to please anyone from the beginning.

It wasn't a show-off, nor was it romantic.

The reason was simply to demonstrate the territory's military strength and give them a sense of security.

Then Louis turned and asked, “How are the preparations for the banquet coming along?”

Bradley nodded, “Almost done. All ingredients have been delivered to the square, and the performance teams are in their final rehearsal. It can start in about an hour.”

“Mm.” Louis nodded, raising his eyes to the sky.