Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Night fell, and dark clouds pressed down, as if the air itself carried a heavy sense of oppression.

Deep within the Magician Forest, the ancient tall tower stood silently at the edge of the woods.

Pale moonlight barely pierced through the thick clouds, casting a cold, silvery glow upon the tower.

On the circular corridor at the top of the tower, the Supreme Mage, Aurelian, stood with his hands behind his back.

Before him, a bronze messenger raven lay still on a carved stone table, its eyes dim and lifeless, having not flickered for a long time.

That was the communication tool of his senior brother, Grand Mage Jürgen Loken, which used to regularly bring him news a few months ago.

Even if it was just a few words, it proved that his old friend was safe.

But now, months had passed, and there was nothing.

“It’s been too long. Nothing unexpected has happened, has it?” Aurelian murmured to himself, his voice betraying an undeniable heaviness.

He raised his right hand, his fingertips slowly tracing a simple circular magic array in the air, a faint blue-white light appearing.

“Come.” A low summons.

Moments later, twelve grey-robed figures arrived, kneeling on one knee before him, their silver masks reflecting a cold gleam under the magical light.

“Supreme.”

Their voices were deep and solemn, as if merging with the night.

Aurelian raised his hand, and a rough parchment map appeared in the air, marking the outline of the Iron-Blood Empire’s northern border.

“Grand Mage Yulgen Loken has not sent any letters for several months. The twelve of you are to immediately proceed to the northern border and search for his last known location.”

His voice was low, yet it carried an almost sacred sense of oppression.

“Yes!”

“Bring back everything, whether alive or dead. You must bring back the truth.”

With a flash of light, the twelve Silver Masked Mages silently departed, leaving behind an eerie silence.

The faint light of dawn filtered through the window, scattering fragmented and hazy shadows across the room.

Yesterday’s revelry had faded, and the lingering warmth of the previous night still permeated the air, so quiet that one could almost hear each other’s breathing.

Louis slowly opened his eyes, his gaze instinctively sweeping to his side.

Sif was curled up in his arms, her silver-white hair spread loosely on the pillow, her pale cheeks showing a hint of weariness,

Her breathing was steady and soft.

His gaze paused slightly, and on her sleeping face, there was a tear stain that had not yet dried at ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) the corner of her eye.

Louis’s fingertips slowly rose, gently wiping away that tear.

“You’ve worked hard,” he whispered softly, then turned and sat up, skillfully raising a hand.

A semi-transparent light screen slowly unfolded before his eyes with a “whoosh,” emitting a faint ice-blue glow.

【Daily Intelligence Update Complete】

【1: Supreme Mage Aurelian Sol, concerned about his friend Grand Mage Yulgen Loken’s lack of communication, has dispatched 12 Silver Masked Mages to the Iron-Blood Empire’s northern border to investigate the matter.】

【2: A large migration of Two-Headed Bearss is expected in seven days.】

【3: Mountain snow is melting faster, glacial stream waters are rising sharply, and the Canglu Territory’s residential area has been flooded.】

“Aurelian Sol?” Louis raised an eyebrow at the first item. He had never heard that name before, but the four words “Supreme Mage” were too significant to ignore.

Anyone with such a title should not be an ordinary person.

However, Loken Grand Mage—he was all too familiar with him.

That old man who fell before him, and before dying, forcefully expelled a wave of energy, stuffing fragmented memories and the Original Meditation Technique into his mind.

Louis didn’t know any mages, had no one to guide him, and wasn’t sure if his progress was fast or slow.

His entire cultivation felt like fumbling in the dark, his only reliance being the fragmented memories left by the deceased old mage.

“Perhaps these twelve Silver Masked Mages will give me an opportunity to access the true world of magic.”

But Louis had no intention of casually speaking about Loken’s death.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust people, but he instinctively felt that knowing too much or speaking too soon might backfire.

It was better not to mention it for now, and wait until he encountered a real mage to assess the situation.

He turned his gaze to the second item, a slight smile playing on his lips: “Two-Headed Bears migration—a resource-type intelligence.”

These Two-Headed Bearss, in essence, were “strategic livestock” in a low-magic world.

Their magic content wasn’t high, but their temperament was relatively docile, and with the Frostleaf Vine cultivated in his own territory, they could likely be tamed.

The meat of the Two-Headed Bearss also contained a bit of magic. Not only was it delicious to eat, but it could also slightly strengthen the body, making it an excellent dietary supplement for knights.

He might even be able to develop it into a commodity chain, selling it to other territories for resources.

Making “Red Tide Brand Magic Beast Jerky” didn’t sound bad either.

He was already planning in his mind: he could set up an enclosure, for domestication, butchering, curing, and smoking.

But that was seven days later, so he silently noted down this intelligence and continued to look at other information.

As for the third item, it was a typical warning-type intelligence.

Glacial stream waters rising sharply, floods imminent.

“Such a minor matter, no need for me to go personally.”

He put on his outer robe, took up a pen, and wrote a concisely worded letter, instructing the local official stationed in Canglu Territory:

Reinforce the dams, and evacuate the population urgently;

If wood and artisans are lacking, support can be provided locally;

If necessary, divert water to protect farmland and civilian houses.

After sealing the letter, he walked to the window, summoned a Gale Bird, tied the envelope to it, and released it.

The feathered shadow broke through the air and flew away.

“Done.” He stretched, temporarily setting aside all miscellaneous thoughts.

There were still seven days until the Two-Headed Bearss appeared, and what was more urgent now was the spring planting.

He had already arranged with Mick yesterday to inspect the fields and agricultural affairs today.

The early spring sunlight still carried a chill, and residual snow lingered between the field ridges.

The damp soil mixed with rising white mist, as if the earth was slowly awakening from its winter slumber.

The sound of plowing was incessant, as sturdy oxen pulled improved heavy plows, moving slowly across the slippery soil.

The metal teeth of the heavy plow cut deep into the frozen ground, turning over black turf.

Several shirtless farmers stood barefoot in the muddy water, their cheeks flushed by the alternating steam and cold wind, their shouts rising with the white mist into the air.

Walking on the field ridge, Mick reported in a low voice to Louis beside him: “This field was plowed last year, so this year it only needs shallow hoeing and ditch repair.”

His boots were caked with heavy mud, yet he held a ball of wet mud steadily in his hand.

Louis watched him gently rub the mud open, pressing it against his palm, as if caressing something extremely precious.

“It can get one more day of warmth,” Mick said, his voice seemingly directed at the soil rather than a person, “This whole area can be hoed the day after tomorrow.”

Louis looked down at the field ridge, where a thin stream flowed, winding between the furrows, hot mist rising, as if spring was quietly emerging from underground.

That was the hot spring water.

He remembered clearly that in early spring last year, in order to plow and sow before the snow melted, he had proposed the idea of “using hot spring water to thaw frozen soil.”

At the time, everyone was full of doubt.

But now, in just one year, the artisans were able to lay channels and construct troughs on their own, even controlling the temperature difference perfectly.

“You’ve done well,” he said with a smile, nodding.

Mick stood beside him, his face beaming with joy, clearly understanding the weight of the compliment.

“We diverted a branch of the hot spring from the south,” he explained concisely, “The head artisan modified the waterway structure, using a pebble-lined trough to stabilize the flow rate and temperature. The hot water can uniformly penetrate the frozen layer, starting spring a full half-month earlier than last year.”

“But look,” Mick then led the lord to the other side, pointing to a patch of muddy ground with grayish-white crystalline stains, “It’s salt. The geothermal thawing is fast, but that bit of alkali salt from underneath has also been forced up.

Next year, we can try covering it with boards, creating a greenhouse for insulation. The hot air won’t directly hit the ground, which might slow it down.”

He didn’t say much, but his words were clear, as if he had pondered them repeatedly in his mind.

“Note that down,” Louis nodded, gesturing to Sif beside him.

Just then, a pungent odor wafted from ahead.

Mick paused, then turned and smiled: “Perfect, the fertilizer is ready.”

Several workers were pouring a cartload of dark brown fertilizer into the field head.

As the bucket lid was removed, the smell, like the decaying gas from some wild beast’s intestines, assaulted the nostrils.

“The base fertilizer is a new mix. Beast manure, plant ash, fish guts, and we even added kola powder. Insects won’t dare approach, and it’s very potent,” Mick introduced proudly.

“Is there enough kola powder?” Louis asked.

“This is Silco’s new formula. The alchemy lab is currently in full production, enough to support the main fields for spring plowing,” Mick paused, “Also, last year’s Frost Giants’ bones weren’t wasted.”

Mick led everyone to a field marked with a small wooden sign. On the wooden sign, written in charcoal, were the words 【High-Efficiency Fertilizer Experimental Field】.

He walked to a small, fenced-off plot of land nearby: “This is an experimental field, using cold crystal ash extracted from the Frost Giants’ bodies. We’re testing its effects.”

Louis said, “Keep pushing forward. You’re doing well in agriculture.”

Mick scratched his head, smiling a little shyly.

Then Mick led Louis to the seedling shed.

The shed was located in a low-lying area north of the mountain foot, surrounded by thick wooden stakes and animal hides to block the wind, and covered with a translucent grease film on top, allowing both light and insulation.

The air inside the shed was humid and warm, as if every breath carried the scent of soil and decaying leaves.

Mixed with a hint of sulfur, warmth wafted over them.

Louis stepped into the seedling shed, and warm, moist air immediately enveloped him.

In the center of the open space, a massive Fireback Turtle lay quietly sleeping.

It was curled into a ball, its shell covered with reddish Nami cracks, like a hot volcanic rock.

The turtle’s breathing was slow and heavy, occasionally punctuated by low snores.

Faint heat emanated from the cracks in its shell, dispelling the chill within the shed.

Mick said in a low voice, “This Fireback Turtle has been hibernating here since it was moved from the hot zone. Its body temperature continuously releases heat, just enough to maintain the temperature of the seedbeds. It’s a great stroke of luck for us this year.”

Louis gazed at the quiescent turtle, nodding inwardly. With the Frostleaf Vine stabilizing the Fireback Turtle, most of the temperature control issues in the seedling shed were resolved.

Along the central path, seedling beds were neatly arranged on both sides.

Rye sprouts had just emerged with green tips, while turnips and potatoes still lay quietly buried in the moist soil.

Mick explained, “Your idea back then was indeed effective. The advantage of seedling cultivation is that we can gain time.

Especially being able to start planting before the fields thaw, it also helps avoid the high incidence period of pests and diseases, and the seed germination rate has also increased significantly.”

Louis nodded, his gaze fixed on the patches of green sprouts that had already broken through the soil: “More importantly, this ensures better management during the seedling stage.

Centralized seedling cultivation allows for better pest control, watering, and fertilization, and also enables us to select out weaker seedlings, ensuring that only the strongest ones are finally transplanted.”

He approached a particularly vigorous turnip seedling, gently touched its tender leaves, and felt the vitality and potential of the young plant: “This is truly a time-saving and labor-saving method.”

That row of seedlings appeared somewhat unusual—the leaves were yellowing, and a shallow gray mold covered the soil.

Mick immediately stepped forward, explaining in a low voice: “This row of seedlings—the humidity in the shed was too high a few days ago, and ventilation wasn’t sufficient.

As a result, mold appeared. I’ve already had people isolate them, and we’ve reopened the ventilation holes on the shed roof, so it won’t affect other seedling beds.”

His tone betrayed undeniable self-reproach, yet he still forced himself to maintain composure.

Amidst the rows of lush green seedling beds, there was also a corner that appeared dim.

The edges of several seedling leaves were blackened, and their stems were faintly whitish, clearly indicating a fungal infection.

Mick quickly stepped forward, his voice tinged with regret: “There were some problems with this row of seedlings, mainly due to severe dampness at night a few days ago and insufficient ventilation. I’ve already had them isolated, so it won’t spread.”

Louis crouched down for a look; the mold was indeed confined to a small area, and it had been dealt with promptly.

He didn’t blame him, only said softly: “It’s fine, you arrange it.”

Just a few words, but they made Mick’s heart tremble.

He lowered his head, bowing in response: “—Yes!”

At that moment, Mick’s eyes reddened.

He remembered when he first arrived at Red Tide Territory, he still wore a slave’s collar, his hands were covered in frostbite and scars, and he cowered in the mud and snow, avoiding gazes.

And now he could stand in the seedling shed, leading a team to cultivate fields, his words listened to, his suggestions adopted.

All of this was given by this young lord before him, and he would always remember the lord’s kindness.

Louis didn’t notice Mick’s reddened eyes, nor did he perceive the weight and gratitude behind that phrase, “I will always remember.”

He simply looked at the rows of tender green sprouts, nodding inwardly: Well done.

This was what he wanted—not just a warm and humid seedling shed, not just those sprouts and leaves surrounded by mist.

It was a territory that was becoming orderly, self-sufficient, and even sustainable.

His thoughts had already extended beyond this shed area, reaching out to the more distant borders.

Besides the Red Tide Territory, the other five fiefdoms had also successively begun spring reclamation.

Although they didn’t have geothermal resources like the Red Tide Territory, or the Fireback Turtle and hot spring irrigation channels available.

But they had distributed reclamation tools, basic food reserves, and a set of “Red Tide Model” that had been verified by practice.

If it could be implemented thoroughly, without any major incidents, this winter, it would be possible to achieve self-sufficiency for the first time, without needing to purchase grain from outside.

A warm current of air slowly wafted from the depths of the seedling shed, carrying the scent of earth and vitality.

He withdrew his gaze and nodded to Mick behind him: “Keep it up, and record all your experiences from this year.”

Mick straightened up abruptly, a glimmer of light in his eyes: “Yes, My Lord.”