Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Spring was warm, and the sunlight, like fragmented gold, sprinkled upon the Knight Training Plaza in the heart of the Red Tide Territory.

In the center of the plaza, a temporary high platform, reinforced with oak and black iron nails, stood silently.

Upon the high platform, Lord Louis, draped in a black and red cloak, stood tall and straight like a spear.

Behind him stood eight young men and women, clad in full armor, their expressions solemn.

Their shoulders and backs were ramrod straight, and longswords hung at their waists.

These were the eight who had survived the dripping blood stone trial last year.

A year had passed, and now they were all Apprentice Knights.

The most outstanding, naturally, was Weil; he had already broken through to become a mid-level Formal Knight.

The young man stood at the very front, the sunlight illuminating his stern profile, the Red Tide emblem on his chest armor gleaming brightly.

Below the platform, in the plaza, stood more than seventy young men and women, packed densely.

They were young and thin, their faces etched with the faint marks of malnutrition, yet also filled with excitement, anticipation, and an inexpressible yearning.

They all came from the six subsidiary territories under the Red Tide Territory's jurisdiction, holders of knight bloodlines certified by the dripping blood stone, lucky ones occasionally favored by fate.

But they knew better than anyone that if it weren't for the lord standing on the platform, they wouldn't be here today.

They were merely children of slaves, artisans, and vagrants, destined to be one of the "dead fish" that would perish in hunger, cold, and war.

Before the all-consuming winter arrived last year, their homes had already been ruined by war, their parents hunched over, gathering firewood in the cold wind, arguing and begging for food on snowy nights.

Many brothers and sisters disappeared into the winter, never even leaving a name.

But Lord Louis appeared.

He sent relief food, brought porridge pots and tents, allowing them to survive in the ruins, and dispatched people to patrol and settle them one by one.

It was he who pulled them and their parents out of the mud, he who placed the spark of hope into their hands, saying, "Take this and live."

And he used the dripping blood stone to test their blood, finding possibilities beyond their fate for them.

Among these children, there was a small, thin girl standing at the very front of the line.

Her name was Mia, and she came from the once war-torn Whitestone Village, the daughter of the carpenter Ian.

She should not have lived to this day.

Last year, when she was on the verge of death from a high fever, shivering and cowering in the night wind.

It was the Red Tide Knights sent by Louis who carried her into the camp, and the physician stayed up all night by a brazier, helping her to break her fever and dispel the cold.

Later, when the plague broke out, her father also fell ill.

If Lord Louis had not risked his life to hunt a Fireback Turtle and personally directed the development of steam therapy, her father Ian would have been burned to ashes long ago.

Louis not only saved them but also ensured she didn't become an orphan. Now, Mia can eat three meals a day and play with other children in the sunlight.

Everything was bestowed by the young man standing on the high platform.

So when she stood there, looking up at the platform, it wasn't ordinary respect.

It was a reverence akin to faith.

"I want to become stronger," she had once whispered to her father, "I want to protect you, like Lord Louis."

Her father, Ian, was reluctant to let her participate in the knight trials, fearing she would suffer, fearing she would be too far from home, fearing she would fall ill again.

But when he looked into the determination in his daughter's eyes, he finally just whispered, "Go."

Now these children stood on this legendary Red Tide Territory, their gazes drawn like magnets, fixed on Louis's handsome face. He was as solemn as a divine sculpture, yet far more real than any hero in legends or stories.

In their eyes, Louis at this moment was the sun.

And they were like underground dwellers seeing the sun for the first time.

The light was too dazzling, yet they could not avert their ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) gaze.

They were restless, whispering among themselves.

Someone secretly wiped away tears from the corners of their eyes—tears of relief at having survived, and of gratitude towards their benefactor.

Others bit their lips tightly, as if afraid that if they relaxed, they would be driven away from this land of dreams.

No one wanted to return to the past, and no one wanted to lose this opportunity.

Louis's gaze slowly swept across the plaza, over those faces, pale from the wind and snow, yet burning with fervor.

The next moment, he raised his right hand and gently waved it.

The entire plaza instantly fell silent.

Louis spoke: "Every one of you is chosen by Heaven. In your blood, there is the mark of those qualified to step onto the knight's battlefield."

He didn't use complex words, but every single word struck like a hammer blow to their hearts.

The young people below the platform were stunned.

They widened their eyes in disbelief, as if checking whether these words were truly meant for them.

Louis ignored their expressions and continued, "Many of you will fall, give up, or get lost. But some of you will truly become Red Tide Knights."

As he spoke, he raised his right hand: "A year ago, eight people passed the trial."

With a wave of his hand, eight young people walked out from behind the platform.

They stepped forward in unison, their footsteps neat, their armor clanking.

This made the children below the platform instinctively straighten their backs.

They were the same age as the children below, not particularly tall, yet a sense of oppression slowly approached.

Weil, at the very front, was the most noticeable, already a mid-level Formal Knight.

His posture was ramrod straight, like a long spear ready to be wielded at any moment; though he said nothing, he made many of the young people below instinctively swallow.

His face was stern, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze unmoving, like an ice sculpture.

But if one looked closer, the tips of his ears were slightly red, and his eyes held an uncontrollable elation.

That's right, he was happy, ecstatic.

This was the first time in his life that "Lord Louis personally called his name," and he was even standing at the very front.

He was trying very hard to hold it in.

But outsiders couldn't tell; he was still that genius knight.

Louis's voice rang out again, louder and more powerful than before: "They were once like you. Green, confused, even fearful. But now they are the sharp swords guarding this land!"

His voice, like a trumpet, cut through the lingering snow: "You can too!"

As his words fell, the plaza erupted.

The children were instantly ignited.

Applause, cheers, and excited shouts rose and fell in waves.

"Ahhh! I want to be a knight too!"

"I can do it! I can stand there too!"

"Lord Louis, I won't disappoint you!"

Many young people immediately flushed, clenching their fists tightly, their faces turning red, so excited they almost jumped.

At that moment, they believed: their destiny could truly change.

On the high platform, the wind blew Louis's cloak.

He merely looked at them faintly, as if saying, "Then prove it to me."

Then a man in heavy gray iron armor and a Red Tide Knight's cloak stepped onto the high platform.

His footsteps echoed in the boys' hearts, each step heavy and powerful.

His face was grim, his muscles taut as rock, and his gray iron shoulder guards were etched with mottled battle scars, silently telling of the blood and fire he had endured.

He was none other than Barnes, the chief instructor of the Red Tide Reserves.

He was originally the Apprentice Knight instructor of the Calvin Family, but because he offended someone, he had no choice but to follow Louis to the North.

Making him the chief instructor of the Red Tide Reserves was perfectly suitable.

Barnes stood still, scanning the crowd in the plaza, his gaze like an icy, bone-chilling chisel, cold and merciless.

He said in a deep voice, "I will not be gentle with you. This is a preparation ground for the battlefield. Those who cry, go back. Those who can't stand it, get lost and go home."

His opening words carried an invisible oppressive force.

The faces of a few younger children turned pale, their necks instinctively recoiled, and some even trembled slightly at their feet.

But not one person retreated.

They stood there, faces pale, yet as stubborn as small blades of grass bent by wind and snow but refusing to break.

Some bit their lips until they were white, others lowered their heads and clenched their fists tightly.

They thought of their parents, their ruined villages, and their past selves, once burning with fever, lying on their beds, barely clinging to life. They thought of who had pulled them out of hell to stand here today.

It was the lord standing on the high platform, shining like the sun—Louis.

This kindness could not be wasted, this opportunity must not be missed.

Louis smiled with satisfaction at the sight.

Looking at those young faces, he murmured to himself, "Now I lack neither money nor resources. As long as I can cultivate even ten Formal Knights, all of this will be worth it."

He knew very well that what truly determined victory or defeat on future battlefields was never cold weapons or the thickness of walls, but the number of knights.

It was those who could wield battle qi and confront the enemy with extraordinary power.

To cope with future upheavals, lurking crises, and even potentially larger-scale wars, he had to have more knights of his own.

He had once considered directly recruiting Formal Knights.

But reality was cruel.

Those knights of noble birth who had already reached the Formal rank were almost all fiercely loyal individuals cultivated by aristocratic families since childhood.

Even if he could afford the price, they would not easily "change allegiance."

"That's not loyalty that can be bought with money," Louis knew full well.

Of course, he hadn't given up; as long as there were unaligned, war-torn, nomadic lone knights, he was still willing to offer high prices to recruit the most capable among them.

Anyway, he wasn't short of money now; once the magic marrow mine opened, it was like a money printer.

He could even be considered a "mine boss" now.

Of course, the knights he personally cultivated were always the ones he could truly trust.

Thus, he had already formulated his next plan in his mind:

Each time a new group of refugees and slaves joined the Red Tide Territory, organize a dripping blood stone test to identify children with knightly talent.

Establish temporary knight academies to provide food, lodging, and training for children from distant places.

Rely on the Daily Intelligence System to secretly and specifically seek out those "hidden talents."

In fact, among these children, three or four had already shown extraordinary knightly aptitude, and Louis had secretly noted their names in his heart,

Preparing to focus on their cultivation.

Although no Peak Knight talent other than Weil had been discovered yet—

But he believed that day would not be too far off.

These young but unyielding children would be the cornerstone of the future "Red Tide Knights."