Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Louis returned to Red Tide City from Wheat Wave Territory yesterday and had barely slept.

Last night, he directly compensated for a night of 'public grain' in Sif's room, and before dawn, he headed straight to the Political Affairs Office.

He arrived at the Political Affairs Center, pushed open the heavy door of his office, and a familiar scent wafted over him.

Bookshelves lined the entire room, reaching the ceiling.

Parchment scrolls, household registration ledgers, and tax account books were neatly arranged, categorized by different colors and numbers, and stacked tidily. Decrees and blueprints were archived by date and placed on the most accessible shelves, so anyone could find the information they needed instantly.

Even though he hadn't returned for nearly a month, the office was spotless, clearly cleaned daily by a dedicated staff member.

This was the heart of Red Tide Territory, and also the future heart of the North.

The moment Louis sat in the high-backed chair, he thought of a somewhat chuunibyou line: Red Tide Territory, your king has returned.

Hanging in front of his seat was a massive map of the Southeast of the North, almost taking up an entire wall.

Dense wooden pegs were stuck on the map, each representing a plot of reclaimed land, newly opened farmland, a mining area, or a river.

Red ones marked important storage points, blue ones were residential areas, and small golden flags represented newly established territory borders.

Now, it was filled with vibrant flags, which gave Louis a great sense of accomplishment.

“You've returned.” Bradley had been waiting for a long time.

The old man was as he always was, but a hint of unhidden fatigue showed in his eyes.

Louis nodded slightly, “Long time no see, Bradley. You've worked hard.”

The old man performed a butler's bow, “Not as hard as you, my Lord.”

The two smiled as their eyes met, as if all pleasantries were superfluous.

They both understood that Red Tide Territory was no longer the small territory it once was; every decision now affected the lives and deaths of countless people, so there was no need to spend too much time on greetings.

Bradley brought out a stack of neatly arranged documents and placed them in front of Louis.

“This is the complete summary of Red Tide Territory during your absence.”

Louis looked at the stack of documents, as high as a small mountain, feeling a headache, unsure where to start.

Seeing this, Bradley first pulled out a dossier and pushed it towards Louis, “Let's start with urban development, my Lord.”

Louis opened the first page, which contained drawings of city gates and walls.

Bradley introduced from the side, “The East and West gates of Red Tide City have been reinforced.

They've been fitted with newly made ironwood and cold iron cladding, and the doors have also been completely updated. Now, even a bombardment from large Magic Bombs would be able to withstand two rounds.”

“What about the South Gate?”

“Still under construction.” Bradley's finger slid across the parchment, “Expected to be completed in half a month. We prioritized the best cold iron ore to ensure the reinforcement materials are not skimped on.”

Louis turned to the next page, unfolding a blueprint depicting the Southwest corner of the city.

That was the planning blueprint for Red Tide City's fourth batch of dome house communities.

On the map, rows of small domes, alternating between dark red and deep gray, spread out radially. The semi-underground foundations were marked with thin lines indicating the locations of geothermal pipelines.

Each community's center was marked with a small assembly square, next to public wells and storage rooms.

“The fourth batch of Red Tide-style dome house communities has begun construction.” The old man's tone held a hint of unhidden satisfaction as he spoke, “A total of six hundred units, three hundred of which are expected to be topped out by early autumn.”

Louis glanced at the dossier, his eyebrows slightly raised, “What about the allocation plan?”

“Still based on contribution priority.” Bradley replied calmly, “Regardless of origin or background, only their contributions to Red Tide are considered. Artisans, military families, and officials among the old residents will be prioritized for moving in.”

“What about the refugees? With so many people, where do we house them?”

“The collective longhouse area we planned in advance has already been put into use.”

Bradley opened another, thicker atlas, revealing a brand new hand-drawn sketch.

The lines on the paper were clean, and three large strips of wooden longhouses were meticulously outlined, like the texture of a chessboard.

“The collective longhouse area we planned in advance is being rapidly constructed, and some parts are already in use.”

Bradley explained, “We considered the refugee wave before the war, so we reserved land and locations for geothermal wells. That's why they were built so quickly.” He tapped his fingertip on several ventilation symbols marked on the map:

“Each longhouse is a double-story wooden structure, with stoves and communal cooking areas on the ground floor. Simple geothermal pipes are embedded in the roof, maintaining an indoor temperature no lower than fifteen degrees Celsius.”

“Each longhouse can accommodate thirty to forty people and is equipped with unified wooden storage cabinets that are fireproof, moisture-proof, and theft-proof. The first batch built a total of six hundred units, enough to house over twenty thousand people.”

Bradley turned to another page, pointing to the detailed annotations beside it, “These are the locations for gruel distribution points, herbal stations, public wells, and sewage ditches. According to the plan, the three longhouse areas are self-contained and will ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) not interfere with each other.”

Louis's brows slowly relaxed, “At least they won't be sleeping in the snow anymore.”

Then he turned to the next page; the map depicted Wheat Wave Territory.

A hint of admiration flashed in Bradley's eyes, “Wheat Wave Territory, as the core granary of Red Tide, has already begun expanding with two new granary complexes, with a total capacity of seventy-five thousand tons of grain.”

The drawing in the dossier was slowly unfolded by Louis, depicting Wheat Wave Territory with exceptional clarity:

To the north was the first granary, already in use, with its thick stone walls and underground insulation meticulously drawn.

On the two blank plots to the Southwest, the locations of two semi-underground new granaries were marked, with symbols for double-layer sealed valves and ventilation shafts drawn next to their foundations.

Bradley continued to report, his tone tinged with pride, “We are using double-cellar granaries, with an outer layer for ventilation and heat dissipation, and an inner layer for reinforcement and sealing. We utilize geothermal energy and ventilation shafts to maintain a stable temperature, effectively preventing moisture and mold.”

Louis smiled, “This is good news. This winter—I hope to see these granaries filled.”

Hearing this, Bradley smiled, “They will be. I'm even worried they won't be enough.”

Then Louis opened a new report.

Stapled to the thin booklet was an exploration map sent from Starforge Territory, on which several dark vein lines, like blood vessels, ran through the earth, extending deep into the Northwest.

“This is the situation in Starforge Territory.” Bradley's voice lowered, “The geological workshop's exploration team has confirmed the discovery of an essence of magic mine in the Ninth Mining District. Its reserves—may far exceed those of Red Tide Territory.”

Louis's fingertip gently traced the dark vein mark; he wasn't too surprised.

After all, he had already learned of the existence of this vein through the Daily Intelligence System.

It was just that at the time, there was insufficient population and limited miners, so rash exploitation would only increase the burden on himself and his people.

Now, with the influx of refugees and the increasing number of available people, he could naturally act accordingly.

“Has the expansion already begun?”

“Yes. Workshops, smelters, and artisan dormitories have all been approved. A mining town is also in the planning stages.”

“Notify Starforge.” Louis leaned back in the high-backed chair, “They can begin mining, but carefully. Start from the periphery, prioritize safety, and avoid collapses.”

Bradley acknowledged and made a note.

“Also, send more refugees there. Mining area dormitories should be expanded first to prevent workers from sleeping out in the wilderness.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

After finishing the last page of the dossier, Louis leaned back in his chair, his fingertips gently caressing the edge of the paper.

He paused, then looked up at Bradley, “Bradley, we don't have enough construction workers anymore, do we?”

Bradley replied softly, “Yes, my Lord. The scale of Red Tide's construction has far exceeded initial expectations. Now, young and strong individuals are continuously selected from the sheltered refugees and trained as a new batch of construction artisans through an apprenticeship system.”

Louis nodded slightly, his voice carrying a suppressed power, “Very good. Remember to let them know that effort and reward are commensurate. As long as they are willing to learn and work, Red Tide will give them a future.”

Bradley smiled faintly and said softly, “Yes, my Lord.”

Louis's fingertips gently closed the dossier and opened the next thin booklet Bradley pushed over, his gaze quickly scanning the four large characters on the first page: Spring Plowing Mobilization.

“The next one is about spring plowing.” Bradley understood, bowing slightly, “You know the situation in Wheat Wave Territory; you just returned from there.

And in the other jurisdictions of Red Tide Southeast, a total of three thousand two hundred mu of new farmland has been opened up. Most of it was cultivated by the labor of the refugees.”

Louis's eyes lit up slightly, and he looked up at the large map on the wall. While not as much as Wheat Wave Territory, three thousand mu in the currently desolate North still meant the survival of countless lives.

“Have Wheatwave's experience and technology been dispatched to all the settlement points?”

“The deployment order has been issued.” Bradley's voice carried a hint of pride, “Wheat Wave Territory's farming methods, cold-resistant wheat, and geothermal greenhouses are all being replicated. An increase in grain production is expected this year.”

Louis lowered his head, looking at the “Estimated Harvest” figures in the booklet, his fingertips slowly caressing the paper. His long-unfurrowed brow relaxed slightly for the first time.

This was what he cared about most.

The North could be without iron armor, without city walls, but it absolutely could not be without food.

“Still not enough grain.” Louis murmured softly, “If the people are hungry, all order will collapse.”

Bradley respectfully nodded, “Therefore, we must expand the granaries in advance, to prevent problems before they arise.”

Louis had just closed the spring plowing dossier and was rubbing his temples, wanting to rest for a while, but Bradley had already replaced it with the next thick booklet, whose cover read “Population and Resettlement Report.”

“The refugees accommodated after the war currently number over eighteen thousand.” Bradley introduced, “Currently, food is distributed daily from the granaries, which maintains basic stability.”

Louis opened the pages, his gaze sweeping over rows of densely packed names.

Eighteen thousand people—this was wealth, but also a burden.

“What about the epidemics?” he asked.

“That wave of cold and flu epidemic in late winter is basically under control.” Bradley replied, “The medical workshops and potion workshops operate all day, distributing herbal medicines in fixed quantities daily. But the North is cold and damp, so we still need to be vigilant against a secondary outbreak.”

Louis nodded.

A population surge was an opportunity, but even a slight misstep, and famine and plague would destroy everything faster than war.

Bradley continued to introduce, “To resettle the refugees, the Political Affairs Office is implementing a household registration contract system. We provide them with farmland, oxen, tools, and temporary housing. After signing the contract, they officially become citizens of Red Tide, enjoying the protection of territorial laws, reasonable taxes, education, and opportunities for redemption.”

This contract, seemingly a favor, was in fact the bond of Red Tide.

After all, he wanted not just people, but Red Tide people, citizens who could be mobilized, educated, and trusted.

“Additionally, the first batch of three thousand skilled slaves purchased through the Calvin Merchant Guild is already en route. We only select valuable slaves such as artisans, herders, blacksmiths, and apothecaries, to be invested in infrastructure construction.”

Louis did not look up, only said softly, “Don't buy too many at once. Test them first, integrate them gradually, and avoid any unexpected issues.”

“Understood.”

The booklet turned to the latter half, and several hand-drawn red lines appeared on the pages, marking the edges of Red Tide's new city in the Southeast.

“This is the Border Guard Village pilot project.” Bradley's fingertip tapped lightly on several small dots, “We are accepting remnants of barbarian tribes who are willing to surrender. Most of them have lost their tribes, food, and shelter, so they are very willing to obey, seeing it as a lifeline.”

Louis's gaze fell on a small name next to the marked symbol: Sif.

Was her identity being used to appease them?

“Yes.” Bradley answered frankly, “Although they may not necessarily believe in the Cold Moon Tribe princess, it at least gives them a psychological step down.”

Louis exhaled softly, not responding immediately.

This was a delicate game.

These barbarian remnants were potential fighting forces and laborers, but also hidden dangers. Therefore, Red Tide had drawn a “buffer zone” for them in its system.

On the surface, it was autonomy, but real power was firmly in Red Tide's hands.

“The military household system, educational training, collective punishment, and patrol camps are all being implemented simultaneously.”

His voice was calm, as if issuing a perfectly natural command.

“Give them the illusion of autonomy on the surface, but every lifeline, every mouthful of grain, every weapon must be held in our hands.”

Bradley's eyes lit up, and he bowed slightly, “Understood, my Lord.”

His tone carried a rare sharpness, as if he had absorbed a hint of Louis's iron-blooded aura:

“If they want to sing praises of their so-called tribal glory, let them sing. But their grain, their soldiers, their descendants, all belong to Red Tide.”

At this point, the old man's eyes were as calm as water, “Don't worry, they will soon understand that only under the protection of Red Tide is there a future.”

Louis smiled, noncommittal.

“Oh, right,” Louis suddenly remembered something and asked softly, “How is Red Tide's overall morale?”

“Higher than ever, my Lord.”

The old man slowly looked up at the young lord sitting behind the desk, his voice tinged with emotion, as if speaking for countless Red Tide people:

“Whether they are new refugees or old residents of Red Tide, they all understand that they are alive today because of you.”

He lowered his head slightly, “They call you the Sun of the North.”

Louis's lips curved slightly, but he did not respond.

Bradley saw this and continued, “They feel that as long as they work hard under your protection, they will be rewarded.

The refugees who fled from war and famine say that Red Tide Territory is the only place where one can see a future.”

And just then, the morning light outside the window pierced through the thick clouds, casting a faint golden streak that landed precisely on the map.