Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Days before the first Northern Territory Reconstruction General Headquarters meeting began, Frost Halberd City welcomed a heavy-hoofed contingent.

Within the contingent, the banners of the Red Tide Territory fluttered and snapped in the wind, snow, and lingering frost.

Over fifty knights, their hooves breaking the silence, resembled a torrent forged of fire.

Their leader was none other than the current Viscount of Red Tide, Louis Calvin.

Winter snow had just retreated, yet corruption had not departed.

The fields and defenses outside Frost Halberd City still bore the marks of the insect plague.

Broken remnants of mother nests, gnawed bones, overturned wooden sheds, and charred ravines—all permeated with a nauseating stench. “It should have been cleaned once, but still—” a accompanying knight covered his mouth and nose, his face pale.

“The snow melted, and the smell came up,” Louis said calmly, urging his horse forward.

He had stayed in Frost Halberd City during the insect plague before winter, and the current stench, bones, and decaying atmosphere were no longer enough to faze him in the slightest.

But Emily, beside him, was different; her eyes held unconcealed shock and sadness.

This was where she had grown up, her home, which in her memory had beautiful scenery.

Now, those familiar roads were covered with countless insect corpses, and even the city walls bore frozen bloodstains, becoming unrecognizable in just one year.

“.—? Why did it turn out like this?” she murmured softly, her voice trembling.

Louis glanced at her, said nothing more, only urged his horse closer and reached out to pull her cloak tighter, covering her more securely.

Emily lowered her head, suppressing her emotions, and nodded gently, following Louis into the city.

The city’s populace had been evacuated and resettled; the streets were mostly filled with patrolling soldiers and temporary repair teams.

Though desolate, it was a miracle compared to a city that had just endured war and winter.

After settling the contingent upon entering the city, they followed the officials directly to the Governor's Mansion.

That magnificent and solemn building was now also covered in dust, its outer walls un-repaired with cracks, but it remained the center of power for Frost Halberd City and the Northern Territory.

Knowing his daughter and son-in-law were coming, Duke Edmund personally came out to greet them.

The moment he saw his daughter, his usually stern and composed face visibly softened by several degrees, as if even that deep saber scar no longer appeared so harsh.

“Emily,” Edmund’s voice was not loud, but it carried the restraint of a long-awaited reunion.

“Father!” Emily hurried forward and immediately threw herself into his embrace.

Edmund sighed softly, gently stroked her hair, and a rare trace of tenderness and weariness appeared in his eyes.

“Go, go see your mother and brother. They’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

Emily nodded in agreement, then bid farewell to Louis, and quickly walked through the familiar corridor to the inner room of the side hall.

As soon as the door opened, a soft baby’s cry wafted out.

She saw Elena sitting by the warm stove, holding a swaddled infant in her arms, a serene smile on her face.

“Emily,” Elena smiled and waved.

“Mother!” Emily ran over, sat down carefully, and her eyes lit up as she looked at the wrinkled little face.

“Is this my brother?”

“Yes, your little brother,” Elena gently handed the baby to her.

Emily carefully took him, her eyes so gentle they seemed to drip with affection.

“Hello there, little one, nice to meet you for the first time, I’m your sister.” She softly teased the infant, her small hand grasping her brother’s soft fingers, her smile full of joy.

This scene was as warm as a painting.

Elena looked at her, then suddenly smiled gently, her tone soft: “From now on, he will rely on you for more care.”

Emily paused, turning to look at Elena.

The latter’s gaze was gentle, but her words carried deep meaning.

It was a subtle entrustment, and a mother’s hope.

Emily said nothing, only nodded gently, holding her brother a little tighter.

While Emily was playing with the child, another conversation was taking place.

The fire in the hearth crackled, casting the figures of an old man and a young man.

Duke Edmund leaned back in a high-backed chair, his cloak still on, his expression slightly weary.

His beard was disheveled, and his brows bore a heavier look.

And that saber scar, once so terrifying, had now lost its former sharpness, leaving only the marks of old wounds.

Louis looked at him, his heart sinking slightly; it seemed the Duke’s injuries were not minor.

This disaster seemed to have aged this protector of the Northern Territory by more than ten years.

“... The situation in the Northern Territory is more fragile than ever,” Edmund murmured, his gaze fixed on the window. “This winter, I didn’t even dare to send people to meticulously count the deaths, fearing I’d scare myself.”

Louis was silent for a moment, then said softly: “You have already done very well.”

The old Duke shook his head and sighed: “I am alive only to maintain some semblance of order for them.”

His tone carried a rare hint of vulnerability and helplessness.

Louis took the opportunity to steer the conversation: “I heard—the report on the merits after this disaster has already been submitted to the Imperial Capital?”

Edmund glanced at him and nodded: “I wrote it myself. I originally intended to request a count title for you; your achievements are certainly sufficient.”

He paused, then sneered, “Unfortunately, the Emperor personally rejected it. He didn’t give much reason.”

“Because I am from one of the Eight Great Families,” Louis said calmly, as if he had already expected it.

“It seems you are also aware,” Edmund sighed. “You are from Calvin, and my son-in-law; your identity is too sensitive. It won’t be easy to advance another step—”

He then changed the subject: “But don’t worry, your merits will not be forgotten. From my end, I will give what I can. If the peerage cannot be raised,

I can compensate with territory. I can make the decision on this matter.”

Louis’s heart stirred.

He had been wondering how to guide the conversation towards “territory rewards,” but unexpectedly, Duke Edmund brought it up himself, saving him the trouble of beating around the bush. He said nothing more, simply took out an unrolled map from his personal bag and pushed it in front of Edmund: “Actually, I have already prepared some drafts.”

The old Duke raised an eyebrow, and upon seeing the map, he laughed aloud: “So you, young man, had plans all along.”

He picked up a pen and marked a few strokes on the map: “These places are well-chosen—especially this Southeast Valley, the soil is good, suitable for growing grain.”

“But this area,” he pointed to a circled mineral belt on the map, frowning, “the mining difficulty is too high, and there aren’t many minerals. A few years ago, those noble families who invested manpower there didn’t even retrieve their bones.”

Louis silently scoffed: You don’t have the Daily Intelligence System, how would you know how many good things are hidden beneath?

But on his face, he displayed a faint smile: “I have some of my own ideas; I will implement them slowly.”

“I trust your abilities,” Edmund nodded, but then suddenly smiled, “These few areas on the map are all yours, and furthermore—

On top of this, I will allocate three times more land to you.”

Louis was stunned: “Three times?”

Edmund found his reaction somewhat amusing: “The Northern Territory now, do you think it’s like before? None of those little rascals from the south can get anything done. If I give the land to them, I might as well give it to you.

These places are unmanaged anyway; too many nobles have died, most without even heirs. The Northern Territory now has no shortage of unmanaged land; you can just take it.”

He paused, his tone becoming serious, and he looked at Louis gravely: “But you must remember, don’t disappoint me.

I am willing to entrust these things to you not just because you are my son-in-law, but also because I believe you can support the future of this wasteland and find a path for the Northern Territory.

Right now, you should be as low-key as possible. The Emperor is treating the entire Northern Territory as a chess game. You and I—to survive, we don’t rely on brute force, but on occupying our positions first.”

Louis nodded, put away the map, his eyes calm.

The early spring snow was still astonishingly thick, as if winter was reluctant to depart.

Heavy gray clouds pressed down on the sky, obscuring the sunlight, and vast expanses of ice and snow covered both sides of the road, piled into dirty white snow walls.

Hooves trod on the frozen ground, emitting dull clops. Several heavy supply carts got stuck in the deep snow, only to be slowly pushed out by the soldiers’ shoulders.

In the distance, the Royal Escort slowly advanced, banners fluttering in the cold wind, the golden royal emblem particularly dazzling.

Asta August sat in the main carriage, gently lifting the curtain and looking at the long procession slowly moving outside.

Even though he was the most overlooked prince, at this moment, he was the face of the Empire.

Six thousand knights, their steps uniform, like an iron current:

A retinue of over twenty thousand, including engineers, physicians, alchemists, craftsmen, civil officials, and heavy carts piled so high they almost crushed the horses, laden with grain, building materials, spare alchemy furnaces, and cold-weather equipment—

He even saw the figures of the Silver Dragon Knights, the elite directly subordinate to the Imperial Capital, renowned alongside the Dragon Blood Legion, and one of the royal symbols.

As well as his own personally trained Imperial Guards; they were not yet seasoned, but their loyalty was paramount.

He leaned back in his seat, exhaling a long plume of white breath.

“It seems Father isn’t simply sending me to my death,” Asta murmured, a hint of relief in his voice.

He had initially thought this journey to the Northern Territory was an exile, a convenient way to dispose of him.

After all, having spent decades in the palace, he was accustomed to being treated as invisible.

He was never ostentatious, never vied for favor, never took sides, and lacked the ability to do so; he was the kind of prince whose full name even imperial nobles bothered little to inquire about.

But the current display was too grand.

He knew this wasn’t about valuing him, Asta, but about valuing the Royal Family’s prestige.

Even the most insignificant prince, His Majesty would not allow him to arrive in the Northern Territory in a shabby state.

However, even if it was just for appearances, he could still achieve something.

Asta gently placed his hand on the Northern Territory map already spread out inside the carriage.

“If this is a mess—then I’ll see if I can find a way out of a pile of broken pieces.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a nearly imperceptible curve, his eyes like the first gleam of light in the snow, full of vigor.

However, as the carriage moved forward, the sound of iron hooves treading on snow gradually became heavier and slower.

The snow was no longer pristine white; it was stained with large patches of dry black-brown and decaying grayish-purple.

Asta lifted a corner of the curtain, and cold wind immediately rushed into the carriage, making his eyelashes tremble.

He looked down at the road in the distance—no, it couldn’t even be called a “road” anymore; it was a path paved with blood and corpses.

Amidst the shattered walls and ruins, some villages still showed signs of life.

Old men huddled inside their homes, their expressions blank; children's hands, red from the cold, clutched tightly to food wrapped in coarse cloth.

The look in their eyes as they watched the caravan was neither excitement nor joy, but a dullness mixed with primal awe and deep-seated numbness.

Further north, bodies began to appear.

Piled in heaps beneath the snow, the wind would blow them open, revealing a dried arm or a frozen shoe.

Some bodies had been gnawed by beasts, incomplete; others maintained a fighting stance, long since frozen into statues.

One could even see strange grayish-white spores growing wildly along broken armor, clearly residual Mother Nest contamination.

A strange odor wafted in and out of the carriage, and a civil official finally couldn't help but gag.

Another carriage even overturned due to panic, spilling unsealed potions and fuel from its rolling cargo boxes.

Asta August heard the horn of the guard unit ahead sound, ordering the path to be cleared, seemingly for the fifth time today.

He did not speak, merely gently lowered the curtain, his eyelids downcast, his fingertips slightly clenched.

The Northern Territory was far more broken than he had imagined; this was not a land to be “governed,” but a scorched earth after destruction.

Asta August had long known that the Mother Nest War was brutal, but he had never expected it to be this brutal.

This place was not like a living territory at all, but more like a desperate land abandoned by God.

The cold wind seeped into the carriage through the cracks; he subconsciously pulled his cloak tighter, but his fingertips remained icy.

He noticed that his fingers were trembling slightly.

It wasn't cold, it was... fear.

A dull and viscous panic was spreading within him.

He considered himself not inexperienced, but this scene before him was far more terrifying than the open and hidden schemes of the Imperial Capital—

This was not a chessboard for him to make a move; this was a war-torn ruin that had been completely destroyed.

He suddenly felt breathless, as if an icy rock was pressing on his chest.

At this moment, he genuinely had an impulse to turn back.

“What if I find an excuse—to petition Father to re-evaluate the situation? {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} Or say there isn't enough supply and return to the Imperial Capital to prepare for a while.”

But as soon as this thought arose, Asta August almost immediately bit down hard on his teeth.

“No.” He uttered two words in a low, hoarse voice, as if to suppress that trace of weakness within himself.

He knew that once he retreated, truly everything would be lost.

Not only the Empire's last shred of patience with him, but also his own fate, which had never been prominent in his life.

“If I am only here to hold the fort, I should at least be given a land that can still be rebuilt.”

His thoughts abruptly ceased; he swallowed hard, forcefully suppressing the surging panic in his chest.

The movement was small, but that moment of tension seemed to pull his entire being back to reality.

Asta August did not lift the curtain again, but he knew that the bodies were piled like mountains.

The heavy smell of blood and decaying corpses in the air made it almost impossible to breathe.

After a few more days, Frost Halberd City finally appeared in the team's view.

The once towering and majestic city walls were now riddled with cracks, large collapsed sections filled with timber and temporary rocks.

The city gate was wide open, and black crystalline shells, remnants of Mother Nest scorching, still clung to the gateposts; a faint scent of corrosive demonic energy could be detected upon approaching.

Inside the city, there was an occasional deliberate spraying of plant fragrance, but it could not mask the lingering smell of charring and the aftermath of the insect plague, making the scent even stranger.

Asta August arrived at his designated quarters and received a notification before he had even taken off his coat.

“The Governor of the Northern Territory requests His Royal Highness, the Sixth Prince, to immediately attend a meeting in the Governor’s Mansion.”

Though covered in dust from the journey, he had no choice but to change into his royal formal cloak, tidy his appearance, and then follow his guards to the conference room in the Governor’s Mansion.

Governor of the Northern Territory Edmund sat opposite the fireplace, his face aged but still upright, his eyes as sharp as ever.

The scar that ran across his left cheek appeared deeper in the firelight than in paintings, but it had lost the ruthlessness of his youth, gaining a hint of sternness.

He rose to greet him, stepping forward two paces, his tone neither fast nor slow, carrying a noble steadiness: “Your Royal Highness, you have had a difficult journey.”

Asta August immediately bowed in salute, his voice respectful: “Father is concerned about the Northern Territory and specifically ordered me to come and participate in the reconstruction. Asta August is unworthy, but I wish to do my humble best and overcome these difficulties with all of you.”

Edmund nodded slightly, his gaze as calm as a deep well: “His Majesty the Emperor is far-sighted; the Northern Territory is immensely grateful. Your journey here is the hope of the people of the Northern Territory.”

The two exchanged brief pleasantries, both speaking appropriately, yet neither touched upon sensitive terms such as real power, jurisdiction, or military authority.

For example, the snow fell early this year, there were too many refugees on the roads, and what had happened recently in the Imperial Capital.

Edmund also casually mentioned stories of fighting alongside the Emperor in his youth, and Asta August laughed and responded, circling back with news from the Imperial Capital. Both were very polite, but not a single crucial word was spoken.

Edmund appeared amiable and spoke neither fast nor slow, but in reality, he was impenetrable, while Asta August outwardly cooperated, but inwardly grew increasingly wary.

Soon, Asta August brought the conversation to the main topic: “I have been ordered to be stationed in the North this time. If the Royal Territory could be established in the Southwest corner of the Northern Territory, close to transportation hubs, it would facilitate the dispatch of affairs and allow for rapid organization of relief efforts.”

Edmund agreed immediately, with almost no hesitation: “I have long considered this matter. The Southwest region has stable terrain and accessible transportation; it is a suitable choice.”

He waved for a servant to bring the map, and directly circled an area on it, “Here, it’s reserved for you.”

Asta August was slightly taken aback; it was too fast.

He had expected several rounds of probing, mediation, and maneuvering, but he hadn't anticipated that the other party would directly allocate the land, without even asking many questions.

“Thank you for your consideration, Duke.” He lowered his head, his voice docile, yet he subtly put away a trace of doubt.

Edmund then seemed to mention casually: “Coincidentally, the first full meeting of the Northern Territory Reconstruction General Office will be held tomorrow in Frost Halberd. At that time, all thirteen council members and Imperial Capital supervisory officials will be present. I invite Your Royal Highness to attend as well.”

Asta August’s heart suddenly jolted.

He had not received any notice of the meeting.

Logically, for a meeting of this level, invitations and agenda backups should be delivered days in advance, even if only for symbolic preparation.

But now, he had just entered Frost Halberd City, and was suddenly “invited to the stage.”

“I—” He almost blurted out a refusal, but the words caught in his throat, and he swallowed them back, gritting his teeth. “As arranged.”

After the brief meeting, he returned to his carriage and did not speak again along the way.

He returned to the temporary camp in Frost Halberd City.

Asta August paced slowly in the tent, his cloak trailing on the ground.

“They knew I was coming, but no one informed me of the meeting in advance,” he muttered lowly, his tone cold and somber.

This was not just a sudden arrangement, but seemed to be intentionally designed to catch him off guard.

He stood up, pacing slowly in the tent, his cloak trailing on the ground.

He wondered if these local powers were trying to undermine him, which made him very anxious and uneasy.

Just then, the tent flap was gently lifted, and an old man entered the tent; it was his mentor, Seifer.

Seifer went straight to the point: “Your Royal Highness, this is an arrangement, not an oversight.”

Asta August frowned slightly: “An arrangement?”

Seifer nodded, picked up a brief from the table, flipped through it, then glanced at the map, and smiled faintly.

“Duke Edmund is not maliciously making things difficult for you. If he truly wanted to trip you up, he could have delayed the land allocation, or made you wait outside the city for two or three days, and the lords would immediately know you have no real power.”

“But he didn’t. The moment you entered Frost Halberd, he met you immediately, exchanged pleasantries, allocated land, and invited you to the meeting, not missing a single step.”

Asta August did not speak, his gaze deepening a few shades.

Seifer gently brushed away the dust on the table, as if clearing a layer of mist, and said: “He does not reject cooperation, but he is not a benevolent person either.

Edmund is an old fox, long experienced in the life-and-death power struggles between noble factions.

Of course, he wants to give you a welcoming gift. You are stepping onto the stage unprepared, without allies. He wants to see if you are a docile rabbit or a fox with teeth.”

Asta August lowered his eyelashes, listening quietly.

“A deeper layer.” Seifer’s voice slowed, “He is currently surrounded by representatives from three departments: Finance, Surveillance Council, and Ministry of Military Affairs. Each has their own agenda, and no one trusts him.”

“He needs you, the Prince, this thorn in their side, to use you to keep them in check.”

“If you behave like a docile mascot, he will sideline you, but if you handle yourself well, show judgment and foresight, then you will be incorporated into his next phase of the Northern Territory's layout.”

Asta August looked at the Southwest territory allotted to him on the map, his expression complex: “So I—must go on this stage.”

Seifer nodded, his tone calm but unyielding: “You have no way back, Your Royal Highness. The structure of this meeting is very clear: thirteen seats.

Eight seats belong to the Northern Territory nobles, all nominated by Edmund; the remaining five seats are jointly appointed by the Surveillance Council, the Ministry of Finance, Ministry of Military Affairs, and the Imperial Capital Logistics Bureau—and the last seat, is yours.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the map spread before Asta August, and added in a low voice: “Your identity as a prince does not mean you have their trust. Don’t think about using this meeting to seize power or rush to take sides.

Those who came from the Imperial Capital are not your comrades; they only act on imperial orders and also seek their own profit; anyone could stab you in the back. And the local power, Edmund, is an old fox, but you can’t bite him for now.

So what you need to do is not to draw your sword, but to observe the situation. They are all waiting for you to declare your stance. But your smartest approach is not to declare a stance, not to take sides, not to act impulsively, and not to give them leverage.

Let them know you are watching, that you understand, but that you will not easily enter the game.”

Asta August frowned slightly, pondered for a long time, and finally responded in a low voice: “...I understand.”