Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

In Wheat Wave Territory, the last vestiges of winter snow were melting, and the ground was still muddy, yet a warm breath of life already permeated the earth.

As the last remaining body of a Frost Giant was cleared from the valley, Louis stood on a small hill, gazing at the gradually developing basin plain, and slowly exhaled.

The giants were dead, the threat removed, and the real battle had only just begun.

Large numbers of displaced people were being orderly guided by the Red Tide Lord’s administrative hall, entering this valley once occupied by ice and monsters.

Ox carts laden with all their belongings, along with groups of displaced people, streamed in. Cooking smoke rose from the valley entrance, the cries of children, the rhythm of a blacksmith hammering, and the crisp sound of hoes breaking ground together played out a new rhythm of life.

This would no longer be a dead land.

Louis named it “Wheat Wave Territory.”

This was not just a name, but a symbol of hope.

He hoped that one day, this basin could grow enough grain to feed all of his territories, becoming the largest granary under the Red Tide banner.

Most of those entering Wheat Wave Territory this time were displaced people who had been taken in by the Red Tide Territory during the cold winter after the Worm-Eaten Household disaster; they had no other choice.

It was Louis who, in the coldest months, opened granaries, built shelters, and provided work-for-relief, ensuring they didn't freeze or starve to death.

Some still carried the tattered cloth “Red Tide Territory Household Registration Card,” hidden in their bosoms, like a life-saving talisman.

So, when the spring plowing summons was issued, they hardly hesitated before following the officials.

The valley was far, and conditions were tough, but as long as it was “land designated by Lord Louis,” they dared to cultivate it, were willing to cultivate it, and could cultivate it.

They trusted him, not just because of the grain, nor just the garrisons or land, but because he had never treated them as disaster victims, but as people who could take root in this land and support a territory.

Of course, if they left Louis, they had nowhere else to go.

Besides these displaced people who had lost their homes due to the Worm-Eaten Household disaster and were now relying on the Red Tide, there was also a small portion of territory residents who had previously followed Louis in the construction of the Red Tide Territory but had now voluntarily left the stable living areas.

They didn't have to come; the Red Tide Territory had gradually recovered, with grain, roads, and houses. Staying there would at least ensure a peaceful spring.

Yet, they still packed their bags and, following the territory’s orders, voluntarily stepped into this uncultivated valley where not even cooking smoke had yet risen.

There were only two reasons.

One was Louis Calvin, the young Lord they had personally witnessed and personally supported.

He was not the kind of noble who sat high in the hall, only capable of discussing matters on paper.

Instead, he was the young Lord who personally donned armor and mounted his horse during the Worm-Eaten Household night raid, who patrolled the shelters with a medicine pot on cold winter nights, and who fought for grain, people, and supplies for them, item by item, in the administrative hall.

They came to this barren land primarily to support him.

Of course, there was another, more practical reason.

Lord Louis said that in Wheat Wave Territory, he would allocate a portion of truly private land, as self-retained land, to these Red Tide residents who were willing to expand the territory.

Not barren land, nor temporary cultivated land, but officially private land.

“You are following me to open up this land, so you must have your place,” Louis’s words at the mobilization meeting were concise and plain, without slogans, but they made people want to nod.

Because they recognized this person and believed this promise.

Louis never made empty promises to them, the common people.

Three years ago, he had entered that desolate place empty-handed, without city walls, without granaries, without defenders, only with an imperial decree and a mere few hundred displaced people and slaves.

Yet, it was there that he painstakingly built a barren land into the current Red Tide Territory.

They had personally watched as houses rose row upon row there, and grain sprouted green shoots from the frozen soil...

They watched him build roads while fighting, and gather grain while taking in people, never shirking or avoiding responsibility.

Every word he promised eventually transformed into visible cooking smoke, satisfying rations, and eaves that could block the wind and snow.

So this time, when he stood before the valley and said he wanted to build another “Red Tide Territory,” they believed him.

Even though there was nothing here now, not even sparse tree shadows, and the wind still carried frost.

But they knew that as long as they followed this young Lord, even if the ground beneath their feet was frozen, one day it would open up a second Red Tide, a land where wheat waves could blow.

Moreover, the land division was clear and fair; most of it was public land, owned by the Lord and uniformly managed by the administrative hall.

Louis chose not to privatize the land but established an “employee-based land” system.

The administrative hall was responsible for distributing seeds, tools, and fodder, and the displaced people were employed to cultivate the land, receiving a share based on work hours or results.

The output of these fields would be entirely used for Louis’s grain distribution and reserves, not entering the market or circulating, solely to support the entire Red Tide system’s grain supply.

And beyond the public lands, Louis also specially allocated a portion of “private land.”

These fields were small, just enough for a family to grow some vegetables, sow some beans, and plant a few fruit trees.

Of course, this land could not be rented to others or sold. This was the most direct suppression of land annexation.

This small plot of land was Louis’s promise to the original Red Tide residents who were willing to immigrate.

He also promised that after five years, any displaced people who remained in Wheat Wave Territory for its construction would also be able to own their own land.

If they made contributions in road building, labor, or disaster relief during this period, they could even redeem it earlier, or even exchange it for wider, more fertile land.

As soon as the news broke, the crowd fell silent for a moment, then, like a stone dropped into water, an uncontrollable excitement rippled through them.

Some had red eyes, others smiled with pursed lips, as if holding their breath to keep from shouting out loud on the spot.

“It’s true.”

“If we follow him, we can really have our own land.”

“Lord Louis always keeps his word.”

Low murmurs rose from the fields, but no one stopped their work.

Instead, the rhythm of shovels hitting the ground became more urgent, wooden beams were carried more steadily, and even those mixing mud began to sing as they worked.

It wasn’t that no one was tired, or cold, but everyone worked harder.

They all knew that this time, as long as they persevered, as long as they built the roads, opened up the fields, and planted the first batch of seeds.

Their children, their names, would be able to take root in this new land.

They didn’t ask for much, nor did they hope for any awards or glory. All they wanted was a piece of land that truly belonged to them, enough food to fill their stomachs, and a Lord who kept his word and could shield them from the wind and snow.

They worked desperately, not because they were forced, but to fulfill Louis’s promise, and to repay his trust.

A Lord gave them land, and they were willing to give him the entire spring.

Thus, under Louis’s promises and plans, the development of Wheat Wave Territory entered a period of intense construction, with clear divisions of labor.

The pioneers started with the most basic tasks: clearing the environment.

They cut down the twisted fir trees in the forest, cleared giant rocks and frozen soil from the ground, and filled in beast dens, molten pits, and abandoned holes left by the Worm-Eaten Household disaster.

If decayed bones or monster claw prints were found along the way, a specialized knight squad would search and clear them.

Every shovel of frozen earth turned seemed to tell them that this land no longer belonged to monsters, but to humans.

New homes were also being built simultaneously.

“Semi-underground collective residences,” modeled after the Red Tide Territory’s original design, quickly rose from the valley floor.

This was a residential structure that combined insulation, wind protection, and rapid construction, appearing like grassy mounds on the outside but warm and compact inside.

With round timber as the frame and mud as the skin, the semi-underground design could block out the biting cold of the northern lands.

It allowed light and ventilation during the day, and retained heat from fires at night.

For these people who had been displaced by the Worm-Eaten Household disaster, these earthen mound houses were a temporary refuge and the embryo of future hope.

“This is sturdier than my old house.”

“When spring comes, if we plant some green onions and yellow root grass at the entrance, it will feel even more like home.”

And, of course, there was the water source team, as this was the lifeline of everything.

The survey team had set out early to investigate the underground water veins at the foot of the mountain and began constructing reservoirs and irrigation channels along the streams.

On one side were clean water wells specifically for drinking, with layers of filter cloth, sand, and purification stones.

On the other were planned irrigation channels, connecting to future fields and nurseries.

“This year, we won’t rely on the heavens for food; it will all depend on this canal system.”

Roads were also being laid out, bit by bit.

Mountain paths were leveled, and the muddy tracks that originally led to various villages and the Red Tide main road were widened and reorganized. Internally, a “cross-axis” road system was pre-planned for future development of districts and markets.

“This isn’t just building a shed to live in; this is building a city.”

Thus, under countless shovels, hoes, and bonfires, this once desolate valley had now begun to take shape.

Roads connected, irrigation channels formed, semi-subterranean dwellings sprouted like mushrooms from the earth, and wooden stake fences stood guard over the new boundaries amidst the wind and snow.

The people were no longer refugees fleeing disaster, but pioneers about to reclaim their homeland.

It was already late March, the time to start preparing for spring planting, which was the most crucial period of the year.

So Louis decided to hold a spring plowing mobilization meeting first, to boost the morale of the territory residents.

The temporary administrative hall was a building converted from an old granary, its rough wooden beams still bearing smoke stains from when the Worm-Eaten Household was burned.

But now it was painted with the Red Tide emblem, its windows had new glass, and the walls were adorned with Red Tide insignia.

Before the meeting began, people had already started gathering.

Some were elders from various villages and communities, some were capable individuals transferred from the Red Tide Territory, some were blacksmiths, foremen, and Agricultural Affairs Officers, and there were also farmer representatives with reddened faces from the cold, sitting ramrod straight.

And just as the sun shone directly into the doorway, Louis Calvin, draped in a black cloak and with his sword at his side, entered.

He did not have an honor guard clear the way for him, but simply walked steadily to the front, standing and looking at the crowded hall.

Under everyone’s gaze, Louis, wearing his black cloak, walked onto the podium, his steps steady and strong.

“I know you are all very busy.” He began with a smile, his voice steady, “Many of you have barely slept this past month.”

“Some cleared land, some dug canals and diverted water, some organized household relocations, and some stayed up all night drawing land deeds and household division maps.”

He paused, scanned the hall, and said earnestly, “But these are all things you should do, because you are the backbone of the Red Tide Territory. Most of you have followed me all the way from the ruins of the Red Tide to today.”

Most of the village chiefs, Village Chief, and foremen were promoted by me, one by one, from displaced people and even slaves. We endured the Worm-Eaten Household together, we endured the harsh ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) winter, and now we stand here, not for a meeting, but to begin a new round of conquest.”

No one spoke below, but a few pairs of eyes had quietly reddened.

Louis raised his hand, and behind him, an aide unrolled a parchment inscribed with red patterns.

“From now on, the ‘Spring Plowing Mobilization Order’ is officially issued!”

His voice rose, clanging like a sword drawn from its sheath: “All villages and communities are to enter spring plowing preparation status immediately. Village chiefs are the primary responsible persons for cultivating land preparation, and progress must be reported daily.

All requisitions, labor, and materials shall be prioritized for agricultural use. Within three days, inspection officers will be dispatched in groups to patrol villages;

At the end of next month, a ‘Mid-Spring Plowing Summary Meeting’ will be held, launching three major follow-up projects: irrigation canal excavation, livestock breeding, and border field military settlements.

Each village, settlement, and workshop, your own fields, your own channels, your own territory—this time, you will lead the way!

I am not here to make decisions for you, but to have you, with your people, secure this year’s first round of sowing!”

The faces of several village chiefs were flushed with youthful excitement, eager to begin, as if Louis had just issued not an agricultural order, but a battle command.

Louis stepped down from the platform and slowly walked to the village chief in the front row, patted him on the shoulder, and then looked around at everyone.

“I am also announcing something here. From today, all villages, settlements, workshops, and administrative groups will be uniformly incorporated into the ‘Performance Incentive’ system.

Those who meet targets and lead in increasing production will receive bonuses per capita, land allocations, and commendations, and will be prioritized for official employment. Those with outstanding performance,

can even be pre-selected as county officials and transferred to the Red Tide main city for appointment.”

Then he changed his tone: “But anyone who is lazy, makes false reports, embezzles, or forms factions will, in minor cases, be penalized with work hours and ration deductions, and in severe cases, be dismissed and exiled. No one will be able to protect them.”

The entire hall suddenly fell silent; everyone knew this was not mere politeness.

But immediately after, the people below clenched their fists, their eyes full of hope.

Because everyone knew that under Louis, rules and opportunities were never just empty words.

“Let me put it more bluntly.” Louis slowly scanned them, his tone growing impassioned: “Spring plowing is not just a simple act of cultivation; it is a war between us and hunger!”

“I don’t demand that every inch of your land yields grain, but I demand that you do not give up any hope.

This land is called Mai Lang. In the future, it must be filled with wheat, it must feed the entire Red Tide, and it must firmly establish its roots in the northern lands!”

“And all of this in the future depends on you!” He suddenly swung his arm, and the aides held up their respective official plaques, distributing them one by one to the village representatives and chiefs.

These were wooden pieces engraved with the Red Tide emblem and village numbers, symbolizing:

This land, from now on, would be watched over by people, belonged to people, and would be defended to the death by people.

Many in the audience had reddened eyes and straightened their backs.

They were not afraid of hardship; what they feared was that no one would believe in them.

But now, the great Lord Louis had entrusted the entire future of the Red Tide to them.

This was a task, and also an honor.