Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The large study window was open, and the wind blew from the melting snowy mountains, carrying the scent of ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) earth and residual snow.

Louis, clad in a dark blue cloak, sat in the wooden chair in the center of the reception hall.

There was no high-backed throne before him, only a round table covered with a linen tablecloth, and the firelight cast a soft glow around his profile.

This was the seventh visitor in two days to apply for the fund.

An old lord, with white hair and a hunched figure.

He had originally been a steward in Frost Halberd City, but because a distant relative of his froze to death in winter, he was pulled in to be a so-called Baron.

However, he knew nothing at all, and seeing the remaining pitiful villagers, he could only come to Louis for help.

Trembling, he took the sweat-dampened territory map from his attendant and offered it with both hands, whispering, "Our land—if you can just send someone to look at it, I'm willing—willing to hand over management rights, too." He spoke faster and faster, his voice growing softer and softer, as if fearing rejection.

Louis took the territory map, his thumb gently brushing over the damp edges, as if he could feel the heavy helplessness held in those trembling hands.

He did not speak immediately but carefully examined the rivers and lakes marked on the map.

"Does the tributary in your territory freeze late in winter?"

The old lord paused, then nodded quickly: "Yes—yes, it does. Hunters used to fish there, but later there weren't enough people, and no one went anymore."

Louis nodded slightly, saying softly, "Although the farming conditions are poor, this water system is still there. The cold-water fish raised in the winter stream can live long and are rich in fat.

You don't have many people, so it's not suitable for large-scale farming, but you can first organize a few people to try fishing."

He looked up, his tone gentle: "I will have the logistics team allocate a few basic fishing tools to you—ice picks, net cages, salt barrels, and insulated tarps.

Fish cannot be eaten as staple food for the year, but they can help you get through the most difficult months, and you can also exchange them for some grain. We'll decide what industry to pursue after the territory has been thoroughly surveyed."

As the old lord listened, his eyes reddened.

He had already prepared himself for rejection, or even being driven away, but he never expected that the other party would not only not reprimand him but also be willing to start from practical considerations and find a viable, albeit narrow, path for him to survive.

He opened his mouth, as if to say words of gratitude, but froze.

Louis stood up, gently handing the map back. "Don't be in a hurry to give up this land. You go prepare for fishing first, and we'll see the results in three months."

The old noble took the map, bowing his head repeatedly, his shoulders shaking as if he was trying hard to control his emotions.

Before leaving, he hesitated for a moment, then suddenly knelt down with a thud, choking out:

"Thank you for your benevolence... In this winter, there are still people—still willing to help us, a group of rotten minor nobles..."

Louis did not help him up, but he also did not avoid the prostration, merely watching him quietly.

The news of the Red Tide Aid Fund stirred up a silent frenzy in the still-snowy North.

After Grant received funding, within two or three days, seven or eight minor nobles hurried to Louis's office.

They looked haggard, their robes shabby, holding their family crests and maps, softly pleading for support.

Inside the County Governor's Mansion's deliberation hall, the charcoal fire was warm, and the lights were bright.

Louis sat at the head of the table, surrounded by his secretarial team and advisory officials.

Every applicant's speech was recorded, archived, and analyzed by a dedicated person.

He himself listened quietly, idly twirling a quill, occasionally offering gentle guidance.

Like a godfather.

Of course, this was not charity; it was a thorough screening of resources and a strategic infiltration.

"Submit a detailed development plan," he said indifferently. "Land utilization maps, existing resources, manpower lists—not one can be missing."

Once the preliminary review was passed, Red Tide would send its own technicians and financial observers into the territory to assist in building so-called "infrastructure."

In reality, it was to completely control every aspect of the industry.

More importantly, all outputs must be centrally recycled and resold through Red Tide.

The channels were determined by Louis, and the prices were set by Louis.

The true purpose of this aid fund was to integrate these dying small territories into Red Tide's economic network.

Using three chains—materials, technology, and market—to create a dependent and controllable "semi-colonial entity."

Saving people? That was just an unexpected bonus.

Controlling territory, swallowing up land, expanding logistics nodes, processing points, and export markets—that was Louis's goal.

For those poor territories with no development value or geographical value, he did not hesitate at all, merely giving a casual suggestion.

Then he smiled and refused: "I suggest you try to help yourselves first. If there are tangible results, we will then re-evaluate."

And among these lords, there were, of course, no shortage of arrogant individuals.

That afternoon, a noble draped in a white fox fur cloak strode proudly into the County Governor's Mansion.

He did not remove his hat in greeting but merely tossed down an application letter: "I'm here because I'm willing to give you some face."

The secretarial team's expressions changed.

Louis glanced at him, his tone icy: "Face? You're not even willing to call me 'County Governor.'"

The man seemed about to say something more but was silently "escorted" out by two knights, and even the application letter was left on the doorstep.

Silence returned to the hall.

Louis turned to the next document, saying indifferently, "Next."

He was not in a hurry; as long as the first batch of successful cases yielded results, others would sooner or later line up to offer their land and resources, just to join Red Tide's system.

Just as the Red Tide Aid Fund was being vigorously promoted, the Snowpeak Council also quietly came to a conclusion.

"Voted and elected by representatives from all parties within the County, ensuring the interests of the common people and noble autonomy."

The official announcement sounded grand and righteous, as if it were a major leap in the North's political civilization.

But the long table in the deliberation hall had long been a chessboard meticulously arranged by Louis.

The so-called representatives, of course, could not be just anyone.

Most seats were nominated by individuals deemed "reputable and capable."

To translate, it can roughly be understood as: Louis's trusted aides could enter, obedient ones could stay, and disobedient ones? Sorry, the door is over there.

Yoen and Willis sat near the head of the table, their smiles composed.

Edward, Roland, and others, though not close to Louis, were included because they were "reliable and easily controlled."

As for those old-fashioned nobles who still clung to "noble dignity"?

After several private banquets and exchanges of agreements, one or two were grudgingly squeezed in to serve as "decorative vases."

The Council ostensibly had "advisory power," but in reality, it was a voting mechanism with a hidden veto power.

True control lay not in rejecting a proposal but in deciding which proposals could leave the room alive.

On the first day of the Council, the atmosphere was warm and enthusiastic.

A grassroots representative proposed allocating part of the road construction budget to epidemic prevention in border villages.

Louis listened, then smiled and nodded: "A good suggestion. We can try to adjust a small portion."

Yoen led the applause, and others followed suit.

The Council's initial opening needed a good atmosphere, so some sweet rewards were given.

The next proposal, put forward by a "decorative vase" noble who had been arranged to be there, suggested that the Council should have the right to consult on the deployment of troops in various territories.

The scene suddenly fell silent for a moment.

Louis remained impassive, his gentle gesture of picking up a water glass concealing the fact that his secretarial team was already quietly passing notes behind his back.

Yoen yawned: "The timing isn't quite right, is it?"

Willis was more direct: "Matters of the military cannot be meddled with lightly."

Edward's mouth twitched, and he shook his head nonchalantly.

A few seconds later, the proposal was declared shelved due to "majority opposition."

Louis put down his water glass, revealing a polite smile: "Since everyone has different opinions, we will respect the majority voice and discuss the next item."

His words were unhurried, his tone gentle.

But the noble who had proposed the motion had already lowered his head, sweat beading on his forehead, as if realizing what a "taboo" his opening had been.

And his "non-confidant inner circle" around him also became as quiet as a frozen forest on a snowy night at that moment.

The Snowpeak Council continued to operate, like a clock, with perfectly meshing gears, a pristine white dial, and accurate, clear hands.

Only, Louis could adjust its time at will.

This County Governor's meeting, which lasted for a full week, finally concluded on the evening of the seventh day.

Nobles from various regions left Snowpeak City with different moods, returning to their fiefdoms.

Some were silent, some were frowning, and some wore smiles, as if they had walked away from a casino with a substantial stack of chips.

When they left, no one dared to call him "boy," "lucky fellow," or "that young man who was promoted after the war" behind his back anymore.

They knew that the one now sitting at the head of the County Governor's Mansion was a true "Lord of Snowpeak."

Controlling Snowpeak, integrating resources, and enforcing commands without question.

And they had thought that with the meeting over, everything would return to peace.

But they never expected that the true "aftermath of the meeting" had only just begun.

Just as these nobles stepped into their territories.

Preparing to have a long-awaited glass of red wine and hum a tune by the warm fireplace, they saw those figures.

Clad in black cloaks, with the Snowpeak County Governor's emblem pinned to their chests, the steady-footed Auditing Department officials, like shadows, seemed to have emerged from the snowy night, silently stepping out of carriages and passing through the city gates.

They gave no notice, holding letters of appointment sealed with the "Snowpeak County Governor" wax.

Their faces wore standard professional fake smiles: "Don't be nervous, we're just here for a routine inspection. It will be quick, and won't delay your dinner."

The nobles' faces immediately turned green, then black.

"The Auditing Department? He actually pulled it off?"

"Wasn't this just talk?"

"And he even sent people directly to the fiefdom—how is this any different from ransacking a home?!"

They couldn't help but burn with anger, pounding on tables and stomping their feet, but in the end, they could only grit their teeth and coldly snort: "It's just a formality."

Say what they might, the nobles still obediently handed over their fiefdom records.

Of course, hiding some false reports in the accounts and some goods in the warehouse was a "traditional skill."

The Auditing Department knew this, but they remained impassive, only recording, compiling, and transmitting the information back to the County Governor's Mansion.

And Louis did not act immediately, nor did he demand accountability or overturn the tables for a reckoning.

He merely smiled faintly, neatly filing away each record, dating it, and placing it in a wooden box labeled "Observation Period."

These various minor infractions, as long as they weren't matters of principle, would be brought out when the time was ripe.

The Snowpeak County nobles thought they were still on the chessboard of a game, but only after the meeting ended did they realize they were merely pawns on the board.

With three powerful moves, Louis played his trump card to control Snowpeak.

The first move: the Revitalization Fund.

This was a gilded carrot; whoever was obedient and cooperative would receive preferential aid in grain, medicine, ironware, and artisans.

Conversely, forget about aid; you wouldn't even touch the door of the granary.

The second move: the Snowpeak Council.

Ostensibly for gathering wisdom, it was actually a legitimate stage for establishing rules and regulations.

Council seats were ostensibly recommended by local lords, but in reality, they had already been filtered by Louis using a "loyalty sieve."

Most proposals passed as soon as they were introduced; those that didn't would "become clear" after a few routine inspections by the Auditing Department.

The third move: the Auditing Department.

Cold-faced and ruthless, independent of the noble system, holding "County Governor's Special Orders."

Ostensibly a routine audit, it was actually Snowpeak County's second nervous system.

At the slightest sign of trouble, it would send signals like a nervous reflex to the nerve center—the Red Tide Territory.

Thus, the Snowpeak Council and the Auditing Department became Louis's "left and right hands."

The Council managed direction, policy, and institutional design—it was the rational brain.

The Auditing Department managed order, execution, and deterrence—it was the cold blade.

And beneath them, a complete set of resource allocation mechanisms and public opinion guidance systems came into being.

Whoever shouted slogans the loudest, whoever cooperated obediently with governance, would preferentially receive grain, tools, firewood, and technical support.

And by this time, Louis was no longer the "young man who parachuted in after the war and rose through family connections" in people's mouths.

He was the true County Governor.

Military, financial, public opinion, and supervisory powers were all vested in him; the County Governor's title and reality were one.

He was not just "a person" sitting on the County Governor's throne but the central hub of an entire new political power system.

A young, decisive, calm, and ambitious dominator of Snowpeak County had been born.

Of course, not all nobles were willing to submit.

Some disgruntled old-timers secretly took detours, secretly writing letters, sending gifts, and even proposing marriage alliances to old noble families outside the County in the North.

They did not believe that a young man could truly control Snowpeak alone.

"As long as external aid intervenes, won't Louis's 'new order' collapse too?"

For a time, several old noble families outside the County in the North also began to stir, preparing to "discipline" this young County Governor who didn't understand the rules, under the guise of "peacekeeping and stability."

Until two pieces of news spread, instantly calming everyone down.

The first was the fate of Joseph Kaladi and the Kaladi Family.

The second piece of news was even more astonishing:

Duke Edmund's daughter, one of the most important noblewomen in the North, was formally betrothed to Louis of the Calvin Family.

At that moment, many old nobles who had been eager to act steadily put down their wine glasses.