Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Ever since she saw Sif that day, Visa’s heart had been in turmoil.

She had originally thought she was ready to die, ready to end everything in silence.

But at that moment, seeing the girl she had sworn to protect with her life appear in the enemy’s territory, standing in the enemy’s ranks, her beliefs shattered.

For the next few days, she stayed deep in the dungeon, not speaking, not eating, just sitting against the wall, her gaze vacant, expecting to be executed soon.

Until that day, when the door opened.

She looked up and saw an interrogator walk in, who said in a flat tone, “You now have two choices. One is to be executed by us.

The second is to become Lady Sif’s bodyguard.”

Visa did not answer immediately.

She lowered her head and pondered for a moment, finally nodding softly.

She was not living for herself, but to fulfill an old vow.

The Frostflame Tribe had been annihilated, and Sif was the only remaining bloodline.

Visa wanted to protect her until the end, considering it a small repayment to the old chieftain.

This choice, of course, was a command issued by Louis himself.

He had considered everything thoroughly; Sif’s mental state had been unstable recently, and she needed a familiar person by her side.

Of course, most importantly, the Daily Intelligence System had a piece of intelligence stating that Visa was one hundred percent loyal to Sif.

As for the other captives, after their intelligence was extracted, they were all directly dealt with.

That night, the wind outside stirred the tent curtains slightly, and the candlelight flickered.

Visa stood outside the room for a long time until the personal guard nodded, signaling her to enter.

Her footsteps were light, yet she could still feel the slight tremor of the figure inside the tent.

Sif sat at the table with her back to Visa, several maps spread out on the table, and a pot of cold tea beside them.

Visa did not speak; she stood for a moment, then slowly knelt, single-kneed, and lowered her head: “I... am no longer worthy to call myself a Frostflame warrior.

But if you still recognize me, I am willing to use this life to protect you.”

After speaking, she did not look up again, nor did she wait for a response.

She knew what she had done; she had served under Titus, lived after the annihilation of Frostflame, yet had done nothing.

She had neither saved Sif nor avenged her tribe, and had even served the murderer.

Kneeling now was not to beg for forgiveness, but to fulfill her last duty.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, with only the gentle flickering of the firelight.

Sif slowly stood up and walked to her.

She looked down at the woman who had once held a spear to guard her when she was young, and shielded her from the wind with a blanket at night.

At that time, Visa was like an unmoving shield, her most reliable guardian.

But now, that image had shattered in blood and fire.

“Do you know?” Sif’s voice was so soft it was almost inaudible, “That day I saw you, I almost went crazy.

I thought—you had also given up on Frostflame, like them.”

Visa slowly lowered her head, her knees almost touching the ground, her voice barely audible: “I didn’t.

I just... took the wrong path.”

Sif closed her eyes and let out a long breath.

She had so many questions, so much to say—

But in the end, she just nodded gently, as if finally letting out a breath, or as if making a very difficult decision.

“Follow me.”

Visa looked up, with a hint of disbelief and a trace of struggle in her eyes.

She understood that this was not forgiveness, nor was it rekindling old affections.

It was merely an order, a tacit permission: you can still stand by my side, but you can never go back to the past.

But Visa stood up.

After this moment, she was no longer a Frostflame warrior.

She was Sif’s shadow, a blade atoning for the tribe, the guardian of the last memory of Frostflame in this new world.

She responded in a low voice: “Yes.”

Sif said nothing, only returned to the table and sat down again, as if nothing had happened.

Visa had gazed at the city’s silhouette from afar, but it was indistinct then, only feeling lively, yet too distant to feel real.

But this time, it was her first true entry in daylight.

She followed Sif’s convoy, entering the Red Tide main street from the city gate.

Sunlight shone on the neatly paved stone road, with rows of domed houses lining the streets, which were wide, and pedestrians orderly.

The shouts of vendors, the hammering of blacksmiths, and the laughter of children intertwined into a clamor she was unfamiliar with.

She saw an old man with a broken leg sitting at a street corner, drinking hot porridge, with a child nearby offering him a meat pie.

This was a scene that could not exist in her memory.

In the North, in the world of the barbarians, wounded soldiers could only be left in the snow to fend for themselves, and the elderly had to rob to survive.

But here, there were no frozen beggars, no starving people fighting for food, at least none that she saw.

At lunchtime, someone handed her a bowl of steaming hot stewed Magic Beast meat porridge, and then some rye bread.

She had intended to refuse, but smelling the aroma, her body moved before her reason did.

She took a sip, and a warm current slid into her stomach, making her feel as if her soul had suddenly returned.

At that moment, she froze.

Not because the food was delicious, but because she felt bewildered.

For a long time, she had lived on dried meat and bad liquor, filled her stomach by raiding and killing, yet here, ordinary residents could eat stewed meat and bread on the street, and an indescribable sense of confusion arose in her heart.

She didn’t know that life in the North could be like this.

She walked on the street and saw that the roadside drains were designed neatly and meticulously, no longer like the tribal sewage that flowed all over the streets.

Streetlights had already been erected at night, and public bathhouses even had their opening hours and free notices posted outside.

She hesitated and entered a bathhouse.

As the hot water streamed over her body, sweat, dirt, and blood were washed away little by little.

She stood in the mist, suddenly feeling as if her skin did not belong to her anymore.

This comfort, this feeling of cleanliness, was too unfamiliar.

She touched her arm, and the thought of not being able to go back suddenly surfaced.

“Our nobles can only wash their faces with ice water in winter.

But here, the poor can take hot baths.”

She suddenly realized that the “Imperial Civilization” she had once looked down upon was not just for show, but a way of life.

Later, Visa slowly understood that Sif was not coerced into staying in the Red Tide Territory, but stood proudly at the center of power, becoming one of Red Tide Lord Louis’s two wives.

This news plunged her into even deeper confusion.

She had originally thought that Imperial nobles were nothing more than plunderers in golden armor, full of sweet talk.

They were selfish, hypocritical, accustomed to using power to oppress others, and would only treat barbarians as slaves and tools.

But Louis, the Red Tide Lord, was different in every way.

She saw him riding through the main street, and the artisans, children, and old people on the roadside spontaneously gathered, calling his name, not with shouts of fear, but with genuine responses.

Children excitedly ran after his horse, as if he were not a lord, but a long-lost relative.

This scene left her stunned, reminding her of Titus, the ruthless Frostflame leader.

When he rode by, no one dared to look up, only silent bowed heads.

People called his name because if they didn’t, they would be whipped, and following behind him were chained slaves, not laughing children.

“Our leader maintains his rule through fear,” she thought silently to herself.

She had never doubted the barbarian ways until she saw another option with her own eyes.

But what shocked her the most was not the Red Tide’s hot water, nor the order on the streets, nor Louis’s prestige among the crowd.

It was Sif’s smile.

That day, after a military meeting ended at sunset, she stood aside, silently guarding the exit.

Then she saw Sif stand on a high platform and tell a not-so-funny joke to the soldiers below.

The soldiers laughed, and Sif also laughed.

That smile had no hatred, no wariness, and none of the cold hardness she used to maintain her «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» dignity in the tribe.

It was relaxed, even a little playful, like an ordinary person.

At this moment, Visa’s heart suddenly tightened.

She had once thought: if she ever had the chance, she would take Sif back to the Northern Wastes, regroup, recall the remaining forces, rebuild Frostflame, and let the tribe’s name resound again across the ice plains.

But now she was bewildered.

If she returned to the Northern Wastes, would she have to bear hatred again, and fight alone in the cold wind? Would she have to learn to look at death with cold eyes, treat human lives as numbers, and hide her smiles?

She didn’t know which direction she should dedicate her life to.

Her past beliefs had shattered, but her new life had not yet found a foothold.

She could only stand silently not far away, as if that bit of laughter was the furthest distance between her and the past.

At the construction site of the Red Tide Territory’s northern defense line, the air was filled with a mixed scent of lime, grease, and sawdust.

Stone masons stood on scaffolding, striking the grayish-white mountain stone with chisels, producing rhythmic clanging sounds.

As the cold iron beams were hoisted into place, they emitted a dull metallic echo, making the ground tremble slightly beneath their feet.

This section of the defense line began construction last autumn and has been ongoing for nearly a year.

The main northern defense wall is 60% complete, with the remaining sections still being unroofed stone structures and exposed wooden supports.

The formed wall sections are grayish-blue, with some arrow towers initially erected, and the wall height reaching four to five meters, with heavy cold iron beams embedded in the stone layers, like a gradually forming steel barrier.

Louis, draped in a black and red lord’s cloak, stood at the edge of the construction site, gazing at the unfinished wall line.

He remained silent, his gaze slowly tracing the outline of the wall, as if assessing a future battle line.

Bradley stepped forward to report the latest progress: “The main structure uses local mountain stone as its skeleton, reinforced with continuous cold iron beams.

The exterior is treated with lime and waterproof grease, and it is expected to withstand battering rams, hot oil, and fire attacks upon completion.

Arrow towers are spaced every sixty meters, with firing slits and double crossbow platforms at the top.

The final wall height will reach six to eight meters, with a thickness between two and a half to three meters.

In the sunlight, the wall surface appears grayish-white, mixed with cold iron rust stains, looking like bone armor growing from the mountain.”

Upon hearing this, Louis looked around, his lips moving slightly, and said faintly, “You have executed it very well.”

Bradley smiled with relief upon hearing Louis’s affirmation: “Thank you, Lord.

However, these blueprints were set by your own direction; I merely followed them.

What truly makes this wall stand is your foresight, which is far beyond ours.”

Louis smiled faintly, not denying it.

They walked a few steps forward, to the edge of the as-yet-unroofed parapet, and looked down at the moat below.

Around them was a circle of artisans, all listening to the conversation between the supreme lord and the territory manager, occasionally offering their own suggestions.

“The defenses are not enough,” Louis said, his gaze still sweeping over the city wall.

“I agree,” Bradley nodded, “especially against climbing and fire attacks.

The barbarians have been fond of night raids and arson in recent years, and a wall that is too smooth is difficult to clear.”

“Then polish the outer wall and embed cold iron spiked plates.

They’ll cut hands if they climb up.”

“Hmm, the city gates also need treatment.

I’ve ordered the armory to prepare fire-retardant grease and add another layer of iron plating.”

“What about the moat?” Bradley asked tentatively.

“Bury cheval de frise, and use reversible spiked cages.

When there’s any movement, drop them from the city wall.”

As they spoke, they gestured with their fingers on the blueprint, discussing intensely yet restrainedly.

The topic finally turned to “fire vents.”

These were projection holes for throwing oil canisters from the top of the city wall, or directly using flamethrowers, to counter climbing enemies.

“How are your preparations coming along?” Louis suddenly asked, his tone light, but clearly not casual.

“I’ve already ordered men from the militiamen to form a separate team for training in throwing fire pots, and some Apprentice Knights to operate flamethrowers.”

Although their voices were not loud, each word spread, and the artisans silently noted down every phrase.

Visa, standing at the edge of the crowd, had remained silent, only listening quietly.

She was not an engineer and didn’t quite understand the blueprints, but as these technical terms kept falling into her ears, they felt heavier than knives.

When she heard words like “fire protection,” “cheval de frise,” and “fire oil holes,” she thought of the methods used in countless tribal raids in the past—night attacks, arson, and charging with Magic Beasts.

Those were the tactics she was familiar with.

And now, someone was blocking them one by one.

She instinctively glanced at Sif.

The young woman, wearing a Red Tide army winter cloak, stood nearby, not interjecting, but her expression was focused.

A complex, indescribable emotion welled up in Visa’s heart.

After a moment of hesitation, she spoke softly, her voice not loud, but it made everyone around turn their heads:

“Northern clans now prefer to use giant Magic Beasts to clear the way.

They use them to ram gates, pull city hooks, and trample cheval de frise. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Magic Beasts aren’t afraid of arrows, but they are afraid of loud noises.”

She paused, then added: “You could consider deploying some devices that make loud noises.

Not for killing, but for scaring.

Even scaring them for a second, if the giant beasts lose control, it can disrupt their rhythm.”

Bradley raised an eyebrow: “Are you talking about Magic Bombs?”

Visa shook her head: “We don’t have those things over there; we make them ourselves.

Sometimes it’s just a large iron barrel packed with gunpowder; pull a rope and it explodes, deafening you.”

“They’re cheap and not very powerful, but they’re very effective against Magic Beasts.

Especially the ones that have been trained with whips by the barbarians since they were young; they’re afraid of unfamiliar sounds.”

Louis listened, raised an eyebrow slightly, and didn’t rush to speak: “That’s a very good suggestion.

Let Silco handle it.”

Sif listened quietly nearby, but she turned her head and glanced at Visa, saying nothing, but with a hint of affirmation in her eyes.