Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The morning frost had not yet fully dissipated, and the sun had just risen over the southern tip of Red Tide Ridge, casting its light upon the vast fields.

A golden wave undulated across the rye fields, swaying with the wind; potatoes were piled like small hills; and dewdrops, still unfrozen, clung to turnip leaves, sparkling brilliantly.

The air carried the scent of earth, grains, and a faint °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° aroma of stew, which was the farmers' breakfast.

“Mmm, smells good,” Louis said, taking a breath and a slight smile playing on his lips.

He was dressed in light grey-blue riding attire, his riding boots still stained with dew and mud, but he paid it no mind.

This land, once barren, now presented a vibrant scene of a bountiful year.

He walked slowly between the field ridges, looking up at the rows of neat, plump wheat ears, as if they too were nodding in greeting to him.

“Lo-Lord Louis!” a breathless, sweaty voice called out.

Old Farmer Mick was running over from the turnip field, wiping sweat from his forehead as he hurried to meet him.

“You—you really came yourself! I was just thinking of working a bit longer before reporting.”

“I had to see it with my own eyes,” Louis said, patting his shoulder. “After all, Mick, what you wrote in your report a few days ago was so exaggerated, I was a little worried you were bragging.”

“Then I’ll show you!” he responded excitedly.

So Mick led Louis through the field paths, their feet treading on freshly turned, damp earth, still emanating a slight warmth from below.

“This year’s wheat, ah, the color is just right, the grains are plump, and the heads are uniform—like gold!”

He pointed to the field on the left, which was mostly harvested, his voice filled with unconcealed pride. “Not only is it almost double last year’s yield, but just these first two fields, I reckon, are enough for four villages to get through winter!”

Louis raised an eyebrow, turning to look at the farmers carrying sacks. The heavy bags were neatly stacked, like a series of fortresses welcoming autumn.

Mick hadn't stopped, leading him to the other side, his arm sweeping to point at the distant slope:

“This batch of potatoes also grew strong. I’ve never seen such uniformly sized tubers. Baskets and baskets dug out from the mud, truly a sight to behold.

We planted early this year, and harvested quickly. This hot spring irrigation system is truly miraculous—the soil doesn’t freeze, and the sprouts grow fast!”

He walked breathlessly, but still spoke rapidly, as if wanting to release all the accumulated thoughts of the past few months in one go.

“You’ve seen the turnips, right? This year, the roots grew deep, the leaves are tender and juicy, and the soil underground truly nourishes us.

We also tried planting a few new things: winter carrots, dark beans, and that thin-skinned buckwheat brought back from the south. Not only did they all sprout, but they actually yielded seeds too.

Red-skinned radishes are sorted by grade, tender celery is dried, tough ones are used for soup, and even moss mushrooms and other mountain goods weren’t wasted.”

Mick spoke with such animation, even the mud spots on his face seemed to sparkle.

“Besides the main grains, there are also dried wild vegetables, pickled vegetables—all stored in combination.

The smokehouse is almost full already; we need to make some new space—”

“To be honest—” he stopped, looking up at Louis, “I’ve been a farmer my whole life, and I’ve never seen a sight like this—sacks piled up like small mountains. My Lord, your methods are truly miraculous.”

Louis crouched down, grabbed a handful of fresh wheat, and rubbed it in his palm, his thumb gently rolling over the grains, feeling their plumpness and warmth.

“The color is indeed good,” he nodded, smiling. “But no matter how good the method, it still requires the skill of people like you.”

Mick rubbed his hands, revealing a smile: “Heh, yes, yes—but it’s mainly thanks to, thanks to Lord Louis. I truly thought about it all last night, our grain, I’m afraid it’s the best in the North this year.”

Bradley added from the side: “The reserve volume has reached five times that of last year. Red Tide’s surplus grain is not only enough for the local area to get through winter, but if properly allocated, it can not only meet the needs of Red Tide Territory but also support other territories.”

Louis nodded, indicating they had done well.

By the field ridge, many farmers were resting by the wheat stacks, holding steaming bowls of turnip porridge.

White mist still rose from the pot by the field, women poured soup from kettles, and children squatted on the ground, licking their fingers stained with wheatcake crumbs.

“Ah—this time it’s truly different,” an old farmer with white hair stirred his porridge, his voice filled with heartfelt emotion.

“In previous years, at this time, we’d still be counting every blade of grass to get by. Now look, even the children can eat their fill of porridge!”

“Isn’t that true?” The burly man next to him gulped down his soup, then grabbed half a wheatcake and chewed. “Unlike other territories, where they plant three parts, two parts rot, and of the one part harvested, most has to be handed over! Back then, hoping for a piece of cake was harder than hoping for snow to melt!”

“No wonder these past few months, a bunch of people have been secretly running over from other regions, saying they’re ‘visiting relatives,’ but who doesn’t know they just want to come to our territory to get some food!” Someone chuckled, adding, which made everyone burst into laughter.

“You guys, why do you think we had such a harvest this year?” a young man asked, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his sun-tanned, gleaming arms. “My wife says it’s Lord Louis’s—what was it—fire turtle sheds, and that black powder, she said it keeps bugs away and loosens the soil.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” The old farmer immediately nodded. “I’ve been growing turnips for thirty years, and I’ve never seen so few bugs. That black powder, when you sprinkle it, the soil breathes!”

“Ah, when it comes down to it,” another person sighed, their voice lowering a bit, “all these years—I’ve heard many nobles say they care for the common people, but who among them actually went down to the fields? Who would stand by our fields and ask, ‘Are you full?’”

“But Lord Louis—he really has picked up a hoe and worked. When has he not seen with his own eyes, tried with his own hands? Do you remember when he stood in the field last year, trying out the fire turtle sheds? I saw with my own eyes, his pant legs were blistered from the heat, and he didn’t even cry out in pain!”

“Oh, now that you mention it, I really do feel like crying,” a young wife said, stifling a laugh. “My child even said: ‘Lord Louis seems to be casting magic on the land, and the land is willing to grow more food!’”

“Heh, that’s well said! Living in Red Tide Territory feels like being blessed by a god!”

Amidst the laughter, a light cough was suddenly heard.

Turning around, they saw that Louis, accompanied by Bradley and Mick, had appeared by the field edge, looking at them calmly.

After a moment of silence, an old farmer suddenly reacted, quickly putting down his bowl and standing up: “Lo-Lord Louis!”

Almost instantly, a large section of the crowd stood up with a rustle.

Then all the farmers put down their food and tools, and uniformly and fervently knelt before Louis in salute.

Their voices merged into one chorus:

“Long live the Red Tide Lord!”

“Lord Louis, you’ve worked hard!”

“Thank you for feeding us!!”

One shout after another echoed through the fields, those rough voices carrying a fiery warmth, sincere and powerful, more surging than the rolling wheat waves of the afternoon.

Louis paused slightly, clearly surprised by this sudden outpouring of enthusiasm.

After a moment, he smiled and raised his hand: “Everyone, please rise. The food is still warm; don’t let it get cold because of me.”

But the crowd’s enthusiasm was not so easily extinguished by a single sentence.

Someone offered him a bowl of soup, and several farm women eagerly urged him. He had no choice but to accept it, and then sat down on a long bench by the field, taking a few sips of the hot soup.

The warm steam, carrying the scent of wild celery and stewed bones, mixed with the distant aroma of herbs and earth, warmed his heart.

Soon after, he rose to leave, walking another round around the main field ridges, checking the growth and harvesting progress of various crops.

Wherever he went, farmers would stop their work and cheer.

Nearly half of the rye had been harvested, and turnips and potatoes were gradually being stored. Occasionally, children could be seen carrying muddy carrots like trophies, showing them off to the adults.

“...Very good,” he finally stood at a high corner of the field, gazing at the golden wheat waves surging in the distance.

He squinted. “Mick, you’ve done very well.”

Mick stood beside him, scratching his head, his face flushed, whether from the sun or happiness: “I wouldn’t dare take credit, it’s all thanks to your methods from back then—I just followed them.”

Louis nodded contentedly, then turned to look at Bradley beside him.

“Give me a brief overview of the current harvest and reserves.”

Bradley had been waiting at his side, and at the words, he bowed slightly, opened his personal ledger, and spoke in a steady but slightly proud tone:

“Yes, My Lord. Currently, seven-tenths of Red Tide Lord’s three main grains have been stored. Among them, rye has the most abundant reserves, and turnips and potatoes are both three times higher than the same period last year.”

“Early crops and experimental crops from the fire turtle shed area, such as winter carrots and dark beans, have also completed their initial harvest. Although the quantity is small, they can already be used to supplement meals.”

He paused briefly, turning to another page: “Additionally, in terms of fishing, all fishing points have completed their respective catches.

Smoked salmon, pickled carp, and dried fish are all stored according to proportion, combined with deer meat processed in the smokehouse, air-dried wild poultry, root mushrooms, and dried wild vegetable packets, totaling enough to sustain six thousand people for over three months at standard consumption.”

“As for herbs and backup by-products, they have now been handed over to the Medical Guild for sorting and categorization, and some have already entered the medicine warehouse.”

After speaking, he stepped back slightly and stood with his hands at his sides.

Louis nodded lightly: “What about the other territories?”

Bradley whispered: “Canglu Territory and Snow Plain Territory, due to altitude differences, some early-maturing crops have entered the harvest season; Han Shan Territory’s harvest is delayed by about a month due to soil influence; Ice Ridge Territory and Winter Dawn Territory are still colder, and large-scale production is not expected until late autumn.

However, all of them have adopted the improved planting methods you proposed, including crop rotation planning and the use of 'Golden Kola'—although they lack geothermal advantages, overall, they will yield one to two times more than the territories of other lords.”

Upon hearing this, Louis pondered for a moment: “So, although Red Tide has the earliest harvest, this year should be a bountiful year for all the territories under my command.”

“Yes,” Bradley nodded.

In the distance, accompanied by a shout, the carts between the field ridges slowly began to roll, and the sacks were packed one by one and neatly stacked.

Rye, potatoes, turnips—all fully loaded, flowing back and forth with human-powered carts. The field head was already as bustling as a temporary transfer station.

Louis’s gaze fell on the heavy sacks of grain. After a moment of thought, he said: “Half of this grain will be transported back to Red Rock Warehouse, and the other half will be divided and sent to the earthen buildings in various places.”

Hearing this, Bradley hesitated slightly, then lowered his voice and leaned closer to remind him: “My Lord—Red Rock Warehouse has constant temperature, is moisture-proof, and insect-proof, allowing for longer preservation.”

He was referring to the grain storage facility built in the territory last year, which had been specially widened and expanded this year to store more.

Now, the warehouse corridors were deep, the rock chambers connected, and even surface temperature differences could hardly affect it, truly a valuable storage location.

Louis looked towards the distant mountains, his expression slightly serious: “There may be huge changes ahead. Whether it’s war or plague, but just in case there’s a major upheaval, it’s faster to dispatch grain from the earthen buildings.”

His voice was not loud, but it made Bradley jolt, and he immediately lowered his head and responded: “Understood.”

The “earthen buildings” now were no longer just the main city of Red Tide Fortress.

Under Mick’s supervision, two relatively simplified circular earthen buildings had been newly constructed on the eastern and southern sections of Red Tide Territory, following the main city’s structure, to serve as residential settlements and material transfer points.

And the other six affiliated sub-territories each had a simple, easy-to-defend earthen building, distributed like stars, echoing each other.

Those were for defense against winter, war, and the Mother Nest.

“Furthermore—” Louis withdrew his gaze and turned to Bradley, “through the Calvin Merchant Guild, purchase more grain from the south. Even if this year’s harvest is entirely stored, we should still have extra preparations.”

Bradley jotted down the instruction in his ledger, nodding gravely: “Understood, I’ll contact them right away.”

He paused, then added, speaking softly: “These past few days, everyone has been discussing how, thanks to you, we’ll have a good winter this year.”

“I hope—it truly will be so.”

Louis did not turn back, simply stood quietly by the field ridge, watching the sunlight fall on the wheat awns, as if beneath that layer of gold, there was another layer of unrevealed shadow.