Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Inside the castle study, the fireplace crackled softly, casting a red glow on a corner of the stone wall.

Outside the window, the streets were clear after the snow, and the residents were methodically shoveling snow and tidying up, maintaining perfect order.

Thanks to thorough preparations, this winter had been exceptionally peaceful, with almost no major incidents.

Louis finished processing the last report at the long table and let out a long sigh of relief.

During winter, he usually stayed in his study for work and no longer went out on inspections.

This wasn't just because he was lazy; it was also because he knew that the foundation he had laid was strong enough to support a peaceful winter.

Just then, the door was gently pushed open.

Sif entered, wrapped in a thick wool cloak, her eyes smiling: "Do you want to go see the greenhouse? We've cultivated something very unusual."

She smiled mysteriously, a hint of playfulness in her tone.

Louis was momentarily stunned, already having some guesses in his heart.

But he feigned ignorance, gently closing the book, though the smile on his lips was impossible to suppress: "Alright, work's done now, so it'll be a good way to relax."

Inside the greenhouse, a faint scent of mint and earth permeated the air, and warmth enveloped them.

This was a flower room Emily had personally renovated for cultivating flowers indoors; flowers and plants were arranged artfully, and vines grew along the framework, making it her own little world.

Emily stood in front of a flower stand, holding a small bundle wrapped in flannel in her arms. She looked unusually nervous, her lips gently pursed, as if waiting for a 'correct reaction' to arrive.

As soon as Louis entered, he played dumb: "What's wrong? Did you really come up with some new kind of flower?"

Sif chuckled, moving a potted plant aside: "Open it and see for yourself."

Louis took the bundle, his eyes showing a 'cooperative' confusion.

After gently unwrapping it, he saw an embroidered baby's handkerchief, a pair of flannel soft boots, and a hand-drawn note.

The paper showed silhouettes of a family of four, with a small question mark drawn on the head of the little baby in the middle.

Emily's voice was as soft as a mosquito's buzz, but her eyes were filled with gentle light: "We're going to have a baby."

He had known this prophecy for a long time, but hearing Emily say it herself still made his heart pound.

A second later, Louis suddenly picked Emily up and spun her around in the greenhouse, like a triumphant youth returning from battle.

"What did you say? Say it again!"

Emily's face was as red as a ripe apple: "It's true, I'm pregnant."

He was so excited he was almost incoherent: "I, we, you—this is too good, too good!"

After putting her down, Louis still kept his hands gently cupping her belly, his eyes reddening.

Sif stood by, initially wanting to tease them, but her gaze met his reddened eyes, and her smile froze.

Louis suddenly pulled her into his embrace too, holding both of them tightly.

Sunlight pierced through the glass dome of the greenhouse, falling on their three shoulders.

Beyond the cold winter, spring had quietly begun to bloom.

Louis did not publicize the news of the child.

He only informed three people; the first two were Duke Edmund and Duke Calvin.

This was mainly to tell them that the family's bloodline had been extended, and to see if he could get some gold coins out of it.

And the third to know was Bradley, the old butler, so he could make arrangements for related matters.

Louis knew better than anyone that behind this joy lay an even heavier responsibility.

He was no longer just a ruler, a fighter, but a father.

There was finally an existence in this world that he had to protect to the very end.

However, as the Daily Intelligence System continuously updated, the situation in the North became clearer and more unsettling.

He summarized and categorized the intelligence from recent weeks, finally piecing together the outline of a key figure: Titus Frostflame.

The former leader of the Frostflame tribe, he rose to power through a bloody coup, forcefully integrating the Smashed Axe, Red Rock, Blazing Tooth, and Black Horn barbarian tribes.

He had already formed the "Frostflame Legion," with a conservative estimate of three to four tens of thousands of troops.

The troop structure was fanatical and extremely unified, with a tough [N O V E L I G H T] military style, possessing extremely high combat will and emotional appeal.

Such efficient integration and "legionized barbarians" with alienation abilities were unprecedented.

Moreover, he was suspected of having acquired an unknown psychic power—the "Burning Pain Vine Garden"—which could influence the mental state of his subordinates.

There was still too little information about it, and it could only be pieced together from multiple intelligence reports. It seemed to be an ecological structure, nourished by emotion, spreading through anger, and gradually eroding the minds and beliefs of living beings.

Controlling emotions, infecting mutated beasts, driving Frost Giants...

The more Louis read, the colder his expression became.

Between spring and summer, a truly large-scale war was sure to come.

Perhaps Titus would strike directly from the Frost Plains into the Imperial controlled territories, destroying the remaining order in the Northern Realm.

Regardless, the Red Tide Territory had to defend itself.

In the stone-walled war room, a brazier burned with the scent of pine resin and wolf oil, and candlelight cast flickering shadows.

At a long table covered with parchment, Louis was using a quill to mark a rough map.

"—They are stirring."

He straightened up, his voice low, as he surveyed the Red Tide Territory's legion commanders and deputies standing on either side.

"Most of the Northern Frostflame tribes have completed integration. Smashed Axe, Red Rock, Blazing Tooth, and Black Horn—all have been incorporated. According to intelligence estimates, the Frostflame Legion already has over forty thousand troops."

At this point, he put down his quill and pressed down heavily on the northern border of the map.

"This cannot be an ordinary barbarian raid," he slowly looked at everyone. "It is war, a long-planned, full-scale war."

Silence spread through the room. They had finally enjoyed a good year, but war was coming again so soon.

"You mean—" Lambert frowned, "They are going south?"

"And it's very likely to launch as soon as the spring snow melts next year." Louis nodded, "We don't have much time."

He pointed to the intelligence records nearby; the pages showed rough arrows drawn in thick black ink, indicating possible barbarian attack routes.

Louis paused, his gaze sharp, "According to intelligence, they have acquired some kind of ability that can trigger anger, berserking, and even control Frost Giants."

"Frost Giants?" Lambert repeated softly, the wrinkles on his face seeming deeper than before.

"Precisely," Louis replied.

"What we need to do," he waved his quill, tracing the outpost defense line in the Northern Realm, "is to keep them out, to stop their first impact, and not let us collapse."

The crowd was silent, and as the firelight flickered, the air seemed to grow heavy.

"I suggest extending the wolf and hidden scout lines." Heller, the commander of the North Legion, was the first to speak, tapping his knuckles on the table. "The reconnaissance range must be expanded. The northern treeline, Wind-Cut Canyon, not a single spot can be missed."

"I advocate for setting up three lines of firewalls and chevaux de frise in advance." Resha, the deputy commander of the West Legion, immediately seconded. "Especially around Frozen Spring Pass. If infected individuals break through there, the entire supply line will become as fragile as paper."

Louis nodded slightly, and the record keeper noted down their words on parchment.

"And Red Leaf Ridge." Tur, the tactical officer of the South Legion, stood up, a hint of almost imperceptible anxiety in his tone.

"We originally only set up outposts there, but if the enemy sends Rage Giants, even just one, it could uproot the watchtower on that cliff. I suggest deploying at least two Magic Bomb ballista towers, equipped with high-angle Magic Bombs."

"Red Leaf Ridge is too far, the supply line is too long." Ver, the deputy commander of the East Legion, retorted. "Magic Bomb production is already tight; diverting more there will only deplete the main city's reserves."

Tur was unyielding: "If we don't even have early deterrence, how many more people will die when the fighting starts?"

Ver snorted but said no more, lowering his head to stare at the map, his brows tightly furrowed.

"In the southwest, I recommend deploying psychic shock bombs." Ranger, the vanguard captain of the North Army, suddenly spoke, his tone heavier than his usual playful levity.

"Infected entities will quickly gather when approaching that area. We need to disrupt their emotional core. Even just a few tens of seconds of chaos could buy us breathing room."

Everyone offered their suggestions, but they were disjointed and lacked system or order.

"I've noted everyone's opinions." The record keeper bent over, tidying up the quickly scribbled pages of parchment, his wrist aching, but he dared not stop.

Louis's gaze swept over everyone at the table, his voice turning low and powerful: "Everyone's suggestions are good. Now, let me tell you my own deployment."

Silence suddenly fell in the room.

Resha folded the half-opened map and sat up straight. Heller stroked his chin and remained silent. Lambert pushed aside the wine glass with the quill in it and nodded slightly. Firelight illuminated Louis's profile, highlighting his unwavering eyes.

He stood up, his fingertip tracing lightly over the Northern Realm border, then pressing down heavily on a crossroads marked with a dark red symbol on the map.

"Red Tide Main City, within a hundred miles, no Frost Giant shall step closer."

He switched hands, spreading a simplified deployment sketch on the table, circling points one by one with a charcoal pencil.

"This time, we are to construct a three-line interception zone." His pace was unhurried, but his eyes were sharp as knives.

"First, the outer defense line." He lightly tapped his pointer in the northwest direction.

"Focus on deploying Magic Bomb minefields, combined with folding chevaux de frise and fire walls. Ensure the enemy's first charge encounters maximum confusion and casualties."

"Second, the middle circle." He picked up a small flag from the table and planted it behind the defense line.

"Heavy crossbow towers and Magic Bomb arrow patrolling cavalry will be responsible for suppressing Frost Giants and mutated beasts, prioritizing their elimination."

"Third, the inner circle, which is our final defense line."

He said each word distinctly: "steel beast platforms, grappling hook formations, and multi-point coordinated Magic Bomb arrow fire will form a net-like firepower lockdown zone. Any mutated beast legions that break through must be torn apart here."

He spoke slowly, as if dissecting a simple puzzle, but with every word, the hearts of those present grew steadier.

"Our biggest trump card remains the Magic Bomb." Louis looked back at them. "The types of bombs must be optimized. I don't care if they are fire bombs, freezing bombs, shock bombs, or even poison bombs—utilize all of them."

As he spoke, his fingers moved, shifting a row of small wooden markers, tied with hemp rope, towards the mountain passes and river valleys at the northern end of the map.

"Special teams will also begin pre-deployment. The Frost Howl team will ambush at the Snow Ridge Pass, cutting off the enemy's offensive rhythm and prioritizing the beheading of their leaders.

The Blazing Breath team, in groups of three, will be responsible for patrolling the fire line, ensuring no omissions between defense zones. If we can hold it, we can seal it.

The Red Frost team will be re-equipped with heavy ammunition. One strike, and they must break the enemy's spine."

He paused, let out a long breath, and finally sat back in his chair, looking down at the map, then slowly raising his eyes.

"We are not fighting a war of attrition," he said. "We are fighting for a decisive blow, not allowing the enemy to cross our bottom line by a single step."

No one spoke in the room.

There was silence, but not a heavy one; rather, it was like the final solemn stand before the war drums.

The several legion commanders, whose expressions had been tense, now had a clearer sense of purpose on their faces.

Heller sighed softly, a nearly imperceptible smile playing on his lips.

Resha lightly tapped her fingernails, musing, "...Then what are we waiting for?"

Lambert mumbled, "This battle, we'll fight it so they won't even dare to look south next time."

Everyone silently gazed at the densely marked map, with its lines and heavily inked defense outlines.

Their eyes no longer hesitated, for their great Lord had already arranged everything.

Inside the war room, candlelight flickered, illuminating the serious or determined contours on each face.

The recorder put away the last page of notes, nodding quietly, indicating he had recorded everything.

The moment the pen tip came down, it felt like the period at the end of this meeting.

Thus, the Red Tide Territory's border war quietly took shape in this oil-lit war room.

"Alright," Louis put away his pointer, his voice as steady and powerful as ever, "This meeting is adjourned."

His gaze swept over each legion commander, his tone softening slightly but without losing its sharpness: "Keep everything I just said in mind. From now on, it is your respective battlefields."

Everyone responded in unison, "Understood."

Then they stood up and, one by one, gave him a solemn knight's salute, expressing their loyalty.

Under the firelight, figures clad in leather armor and thick cloaks successively left the war room, pushing the door open. Cold wind, laden with snow, rushed in, yet no one flinched.

Their footsteps receded, and the thick wooden door slowly closed in the cold wind, leaving the war room in silence.

Only Bradley and Louis remained by the long table.

The old butler bowed slightly, poured a cup of warm wine, and spoke softly: "My Lord—will the Spring Festival still be held as usual this year?"

Louis paused, his gaze fixed on the map on the table. After a moment, he nodded gently: "Yes, it must. People have been working so hard; they need a festival to catch their breath. It's also time for everyone to gather again and strengthen their morale." 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Bradley showed a relieved smile and nodded respectfully: "Then I shall make the arrangements according to your wishes."

With that, he stepped back and quietly closed the door.

The firelight still burned, illuminating Louis's silent profile as he sat, as if contemplating the impending crisis beyond the distant snow and wind.