Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

July was the shortest and gentlest season of the year in the North.

Though faint, the sunlight gently spilled across the wilderness, brushing over treetops and wheat fields, and the cold wind seemed to have rested, leaving only a slight coolness that lightly twirled in one's hair.

On such a quiet afternoon, a convoy slowly approached on the main road outside Red Tide City.

Leading the way was the honor guard dispatched by the Duke Edmund’s manor, followed closely by a dozen carriages.

“Is this Red Tide Territory?”

Duchess Elena sat inside the second carriage, lifting a corner of the curtain to look at the gradually changing scenery outside the window.

She came from an old noble family in the North, and since childhood, she was considered well-traveled. She had accompanied her husband on provincial tours for many years, visiting many famous places in the North and South, but the scene before her still made her pause slightly.

The streets were clean, with no scraps of paper at the edges, and the stone pavement was as neat and clean as if newly laid.

On both sides of the road were workers neatly transporting sacks of wheat; their movements were skilled and orderly, and there was no trace of fatigue in their expressions.

Further away, several children ran and played by a low fence, their hair and laughter flying together in the summer wind.

Outside the carriage, a gray-haired middle-aged attendant approached Elena’s carriage window and quietly sighed, “Madam, I have traveled all over the province in my life, but I have never seen such a stable frontier territory.”

“Is this really the main territory that has only been developed for just over a year?” Elena murmured softly to herself.

Olivia, the head maid, who was sitting opposite her, pushed up her glasses, a slight curve of appreciation on her lips: “The farmlands are well-maintained, and the roads are very smooth.”

She paused, her tone serious, “Most importantly, the villagers’ complexions are all rosy. Even if this place isn’t wealthy, it will certainly not be poor.”

On the other side, Emily listened to these words praising Red Tide Territory, her lips slightly curved, as if a subtle sense of pride was gently surfacing in her heart.

As the convoy moved forward, the city gate gradually became clear in the distance.

A squad of Red Tide Knights lined up on both sides of the main road, wearing black cloaks with red patterns, each standing solemnly with a sword at their side.

The leading knight knelt on one knee and proclaimed loudly, “Red Tide Lord Louis Calvin commands us to respectfully welcome the daughter of Duke Edmund, the future mistress, Her Highness Emily!”

Greeting them was an elderly but extremely graceful butler. He was impeccably dressed and walked with steady steps.

“Welcome, Your Highness, welcome, Madam. The Lord is making the final preparations for the wedding. I will arrange your rest first.”

Louis did not come in person because, according to the empire’s wedding customs, especially among nobles, the bride and groom should not meet before the wedding.

So the carriage slowly drove into the main street of Red Tide City.

The city was more lively than expected.

Yet, it wasn't a chaotic kind of liveliness, but rather an orderly one, almost rhythmic.

Red and blue ribbons intertwined hung on both sides of the road, symbolizing unity and celebration.

When the wind blew, the ribbons swayed gently like waves, adding a soft rhythm to the upcoming wedding.

The market was bustling in the afternoon, with stalls neatly arranged one after another, and goods clearly categorized.

A candy vendor, wearing a clean linen apron, was putting honey-coated roasted dried fruits into jars.

A minstrel nearby strummed his lute, singing a new tune of a wedding hymn, which surprisingly had a good rhythm.

Children hummed the tune as they ran by, pulling off a ribbon and tying it around their heads like a headband, their crisp laughter echoing through the crowd.

Just as the carriage was about to turn a corner, Elena gently lifted the curtain to look at the scenery.

Not far ahead, a long queue had formed outside a grain store.

But what was strange was that the people in the queue did not look anxious; instead, they were all chatting and laughing, and occasionally a few men in coarse clothes voluntarily maintained order.

This made her very curious, so she sent a few people to investigate.

Soon after, a maid approached the carriage window and whispered into her ear, “Madam, that grain store is a relief point set up by Red Tide Territory itself.

As long as one is willing to work, one can exchange it for grain. Even the vagrants here can all eat their fill.”

“Eat their fill—” Elena murmured, as if confirming.

An accompanying elderly knight added in a deep voice, “In Frost Halberd City, vagrants outside the regular military corps are either stealing or causing trouble, but Red Tide can use a system of feeding its people to control its soldiers, and it’s not even chaotic. This—this is simply incredible.”

Hearing this, Emily’s lips unconsciously curved upward, feeling a sense of shared honor.

She secretly glanced at her mother, only to find that Elena’s eyes had softened a few shades, even showing some thoughtful approval.

Emily’s cheeks immediately flushed, and she lowered her head, gently biting her lower lip, a sweet feeling rising in her heart.

He hadn’t done anything world-shaking, nor had he made people grovel, yet the people here sincerely regarded him as their sun, simply because he could let them eat their fill.

Soon they arrived at a three-story mansion.

In the flowerbeds in front of the gate, early summer roses were in full bloom, and the air was filled with a rich floral fragrance, as if even the sunlight was tinged with a hint of sweetness.

With the continuous expansion of Red Tide Territory and Louis’s growing influence in the North, the original collective underground dwelling style was no longer the only way of life.

Today’s Red Tide not only had strict and orderly urban planning but also had successively built a batch of residences and reception centers specifically for foreign guests, and this courtyard was one of them.

On the balcony of the mansion’s second floor, the wind blew through the window curtains, carrying a hint of rose scent and the singing from the distant market.

Governor’s wife Elena sat quietly, her gaze fixed on the neatly arranged streets and rooftops in the distance, her expression lost in thought.

The sunlight slanted across a few strands of silver hair at her temples, softening the usually dignified and graceful profile of her face.

She remembered how unwilling she had been to this marriage alliance.

The North was desolate and cold, and Red Tide Territory was just a frontier land established for just over a year.

And that young man named Louis, though from the Calvin Family, one of the “Eight Great Families” on par with the Edmund Family, was after all just a frontier noble without a foundation. What could he truly give Emily?

She was not Emily’s biological mother, but she had personally raised the child since Emily was six years old.

She couldn’t bear to see this intelligent and gentle girl marry far away to this desolate land.

She had hoped that she could stay in the Imperial Capital or marry into the warm and prosperous South, to live a truly comfortable and leisurely noble life, rather than suffering and freezing in the North, accompanying a young man to “conquer the world.”

But now, it seemed, perhaps she had been too pessimistic then.

What she saw were clean villages, bountiful fields, and the bustling yet orderly market, the well-prepared wedding, and the respect in the eyes of every Reception staff (receptionist).

Footsteps gently sounded.

Emily approached, wearing a pale blue gown with her family crest.

She did not disturb her mother’s contemplation, but quietly walked to her side and gently took her arm.

“Mom,” she softly called.

Elena turned her head, looking at the girl she had raised, and a myriad of complex emotions surfaced in her eyes.

She slowly raised her hand and gently placed it on Emily’s hand.

“I used to be very worried that you would suffer,” her voice was soft, but her tone was light, “I advised your father to let you marry to the South, at least you wouldn’t suffer in the future.”

She paused, looking at the children dancing by the street in the distance, and then glanced at the city walls and the straight-standing guards on the watchtowers in the distance.

“But you see,” she said softly, “this city is built more orderly than your father’s territory; and the people are smiling—as if they are not afraid of anything. I, too, unconsciously feel at ease.”

Emily said nothing, just gripped her hand tighter, a slight glint of moisture quietly appearing in her eyes.

The Governor’s wife sighed softly, but she was smiling: “Perhaps marrying here really isn’t mistreating you.”

“Mm-hmm,” Emily responded softly, her cheeks slightly flushed, as she gently leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder.

In her mother’s eyes, she had already entrusted her fate.

And this entrustment, her mother could finally willingly let go of.

The sunlight in Red Tide City was a bit dazzling.

Pal Calvin rode on his horse, his cloak billowing in the wind, but his gaze was as stern as ever.

Pal didn’t like crowds, and he especially didn’t like weddings. He had originally wanted to decline.

But his father had coldly stated in a letter: “Go make an appearance at your brother’s wedding.”

The family had too few people in the North, so his father sent him to help out.

He was very dissatisfied with this marriage.

Because he had seen Emily from afar once in Frost Halberd.

At that time, Emily, like a red plum in the snow, walked past him with the aura of a high mountain flower.

Pal thought she would be drawn to the ideal type of noble like himself, “silent, enduring, and self-reliant.”

He wasn't an Pioneer Baron (Pioneer Baron) who relied on good luck and could easily win favor.

Yet, she chose Louis.

It was like a fresh flower stuck in cow dung!

"That guy just stumbled upon a fertile piece of land and conveniently latched onto Miss Frost Halberd's leg," Pal gritted his teeth.

He was naturally unconvinced, utterly unconvinced.

Back then, to show his spirit of "I can expand territory on my own," he refused the land near Red Tide arranged by the Governor.

He personally chose Wolf Plain Slope south of Cold Mist River, which intelligence indicated had rich mineral deposits and trade potential.

But reality was harsher than he imagined.

Reclaiming frozen land was as difficult as ascending to heaven; it only got a little better with his second brother's recent support, barely surviving on the meager food and morale he'd managed to accumulate.

But he refused to admit defeat.

"Anyone else would have collapsed long ago; my ability to endure is already proof."

He always believed that as long as he had complete resources and sufficient support, he would never be worse than that "guy favored by fate"!

Even now, with mud stains on his clothes and his carriage rattling and old as he arrived at Red Tide.

Standing outside the city gate, seeing those rows of red and white ribbons and the lined-up Knights, he still snorted inwardly.

"Is this all the pomp? Hmph, when my Wolf Plain rises, there will be a day they all see."

But before that, he still had to uphold this "face-saving" mission.

Perhaps he could also take this opportunity to see Emily again.

Just to prove to himself: "She made the wrong choice."

Pal rode his horse slowly through the streets of Red Tide City, his gaze unconsciously wandering around.

His gaze was originally contemptuous, even somewhat expecting a joke to unfold. But as he walked, his expression gradually froze.

The city gate was heavily guarded, soldiers stood with spears, their armor bright and expressions solemn.

Unlike the mere decorations of some noble households, these men had truly experienced battle.

"Hmph, but that's all it is," he sneered, his lips curling, speaking stubbornly.

But this taunt was only half-uttered before the sight within the city choked off his words.

The streets were so clean they didn't seem like the North.

Red and blue ribbons hung outside shops, children ran in the alleys, and someone shouted loudly: "Quick! The Red Tide Lord's wedding is about to begin!"

Further away, several older children were gathered around younger ones, telling stories.

They spoke of the "Red Tide Sun" who had crushed the Snowsworn in the Battle of Qingyu Ridge and rescued three villages.

Pal led his horse forward slowly, his brows slightly furrowed.

He saw commoners in coarse cloth helping to repair the road at the street corner, with officials guiding the routes nearby, but there was almost no scolding or driving away.

His attendant beside him was also surprised, unable to help but say: "This order is rare."

"Hmph," Pal snorted, as if trying to hide something: "They're putting on a good show."

But he himself noticed that his words sounded a bit hollow.

The Red Tide Knights arrayed on the city wall made him even more uneasy. They weren't the loose appearance of typical noble private soldiers.

Pal recognized that most of these Knights came from the Calvin Family, and then looking at his own Knights, also born of the Calvin Family,

Why was their morale so different?

He wanted to find fault, but found that he couldn't find any at all.

"How is that possible in just over a year?" His heart chilled, asking himself that he couldn't have done this.

He realized for the first time that Louis Calvin, who was only twenty years old, might truly not be the lucky man he had imagined.

Walking past the main street, Pal met an acquaintance, Willis Calvin, in a square covered with a red carpet. Willis had just finished greeting the Red Tide City reception official, slowly turned around, and his gaze met Pal's.

The two paused, after all, they were half-brothers; though not close, they hadn't reached the point of enmity.

"Long time no see," Pal smiled, his tone neither warm nor cold.

"Indeed," Willis nodded, responding gently.

The two walked towards the banquet hall, one behind the other, their steps half a pace apart, their conversation barely natural.

"I heard spring plowing started quite early on your side?" Pal probed.

"Yes, Louis helped me a lot," Willis's tone was calm, "We've already designated three hundred mu of land as a pilot area, planting cold-resistant black rye. This year—we should be able to harvest some food."

His tone was unhurried, neither boasting nor concealing.

"Oh?" Pal raised an eyebrow.

"The waterwheels ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ and planting teams were also dispatched from here," Willis continued, "At first, the villagers were a bit unfamiliar, but the Agricultural Official Louis sent taught meticulously, and progress has been quite smooth."

He mentioned "Louis's help," with gratitude in his words.

Pal listened, but felt a strange discomfort.

He had, of course, heard rumors that Willis had actively pledged allegiance to Louis after being stationed in Snowpeak County, even planning his fief according to Red Tide's system.

He had originally thought it was a desperate measure of "dependence for sustenance," but he hadn't expected the other party to speak so steadily at this moment.

It didn't sound like boasting, but it was more cutting than boasting.

"Things are pretty much the same on our side," Pal forced a relaxed demeanor, "The water system in Wolf Plain Slope is still passable, I've had people clear the land first. Although the magical beasts are a bit troublesome, they're mostly cleared, and spring plowing has also started."

As Pal spoke, he used vague words like "also," "not bad," and "similar" to obscure the current situation.

He didn't want to say that the permafrost was deep and the land couldn't be turned over, that the common people dispersed quickly, and that he still had to rely on Knights patrolling at night to prevent theft from the camp.

Even more, he didn't want to say that the seeds he could barely plant this time were still brought by his second brother from the south.

He finished speaking and glanced at Willis.

The other party just nodded quietly as always, without further questions, without sarcasm, instead appearing overly steady.

At this moment, Pal suddenly felt a strange sense of frustration.

The more Willis was this modest and serious, the more it made him feel like he was putting on a brave face. He tugged at the corner of his mouth: "We're all doing pretty well, let's grow bigger and stronger together."

He said this, but what he was thinking was: "Living off his own younger brother's charity—isn't that shameful?"

Pal perfunctorily responded a few times, and then the two exchanged some innocuous pleasantries, maintaining a superficial decorum. But until they parted, a strange, bitter taste lingered in his heart.

He was the eldest of the three brothers, and had the best birth; logically, he should be the most stable one now.

But now, compared to Louis, who had burst onto the scene with numerous military achievements, Red Tide City had almost become the new rising star territory of the North.

Although Willis started late, he caught the wave of Louis's strong support and was also thriving, at least well-fed and well-clothed, with a well-formed administration.

And what about Pal?

His territory was overrun with magical beasts, the people's morale was scattered, he barely held on with his second brother's relief, and to this day, he still hadn't managed to get the land in order.

If what Willis said was true, then the one doing the worst was himself.

The more he thought about it, the more irritated he became, following the Red Tide guards all the way back to the guesthouse.

The city streets were clean, the soldiers disciplined, and even the young pages were polite, as if this place was not a newly rising noble territory but an old noble family that had ruled the North for many years.

This made his mood sink a few more points.

Back in the guesthouse, he flung off his cloak and sat down heavily. His eyes were dim, and he picked up a silver cup, as if to drink it all in one gulp, but only took a shallow sip, forcing out a sentence:

"Hmph—he just got lucky."

The butler respectfully poured wine nearby, gently reminding him: "My Lord, this visit is a gesture of goodwill personally instructed by the Duke."

It is not about competing for superiority or victory."

Pal didn't answer immediately.

He, of course, knew that coming to Red Tide this time was to represent the family's stance.

To make him acknowledge that Louis was no longer a peripheral figure, but a real new core of the North.

He just didn't expect reality to be more dazzling than he imagined.

He had thought that even if Louis had some military achievements, it was just dumb luck.

Willis merely latched onto Louis's leg; it wasn't a true skill.

But what he had seen and heard today—

Pal's mind flashed with the orderly military formation, the stable market, the "Red Tide Lord" revered by the common people, and Willis's calm and firm tone. He gritted his teeth and drained the red wine in his cup.

"Let him be proud for a while," Pal said in a low voice, "To truly believe he can sit firmly in the North with just a few victories—that's too naive."

But even he could hear that there wasn't much conviction in his words.