Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Inside the Political Affairs Hall, the map on the long table was spread flat, candlelight reflecting on the parchment, revealing clear markings of various colors.

Bradley, pen in hand, circled a spot, his voice steady: "Most of the territories that need to be exchanged are clustered around the Red Tide Territory.

This way, all strategic locations can be woven into a complete road network, which will not only facilitate travel but also make it easier to set up defensive strongholds in the future."

Several officials nodded in turn, continuously adding information.

However, their gazes still occasionally fell on several red markings.

Those areas were remote and barren, not bordering waterways or connecting to trade routes.

Compared to the prosperous lands nearby, they were worthless.

Finally, a young official couldn't help but speak softly: "These places look unremarkable—"

Before he finished, an older official beside him coughed, his tone stern: "Watch your words. These markings were left personally by Lord Louis. Have you ever seen him make a mistake?"

The young official flinched, then lowered his head, his face flushed.

Bradley saw it but his expression remained unchanged as he said: "We cannot comprehend Lord Louis's orders, which only shows our limited vision.

Remember, our duty is to execute, not to question."

Silence fell in the hall for a moment, and everyone bowed their heads.

Of course, Louis didn't mark them randomly; he had used the Daily Intelligence System to gather information on most of the secret resources in the surrounding areas.

He only marked places that had strategic value.

Some had magma essence veins buried underground, some harbored rare magical plants or beasts, and others were hidden strategic transportation hubs.

What appeared on the surface to be barren hills and wasteland could, in fact, influence the entire future of the Red Tide Territory.

Of course, Louis would not tell these officials the actual reasons, but rather let them interpret it themselves, just as the sun does not explain why it shines.

After a brief silence, Bradley spoke again: "The negotiation strategy is divided into three steps. First, courtesy.

Use other territories, grain, and gold coins as bargaining chips to exchange with those minor nobles. Make them feel they've gotten a good deal, and they will willingly sign the contract."

He paused, tapping his finger lightly on the map.

"Second, if they still hesitate, cut off their lifelines: grain, iron, or raw materials needed for their workshops.

These vital resources are all controlled by Red Tide. Let them taste what it's like to lose, and they will eventually come knocking."

Finally, Bradley's voice grew colder: "Lastly, if anyone remains stubbornly unyielding, then report it to Lord Louis, and under the guise of 'defending against barbarians,' send troops to take it.

A single strike will be enough to make others understand the cost. Of course, it's best not to reach this step, as it would make Lord Louis think we are too incompetent."

The officials listened, then all bowed their heads and responded solemnly: "Understood."

After a final round of precise deductions and calculations, the list of special envoys was finalized.

They would set off with contracts symbolizing goodwill, embarking on this journey of 'courtesy before force.'

East of the Red Tide Territory, along the isolated cliff of the Wind Howl Highlands, lay a small territory called "You Teng Slope".

It was thin and barren, with no trade routes around it, and aside from vines that could be used for ropes, it had virtually no resources, with only about a hundred residents.

But according to the Daily Intelligence System, a very rare magical plant—the Abyss Silk Flower—was hidden on the cliffside there.

This was a magical plant that only grew in extreme environments; if carefully refined, it would be the core primer for the next generation of Magic Bombs.

This land belonged to a baron named Villon Garris.

A family outcast, like Louis, who had been thrown to the North due to the Northern Frontier Development Order.

Upon learning that a special envoy from the Red Tide Territory was coming, Baron Villon hosted the grandest banquet his territory had ever seen in his dilapidated old castle.

Southern silks were temporarily hung in the worn-out hall, and sacks piled in the corners were covered with straw mats, making it look decent from a distance.

He ordered his servants to bring out the only three bottles of wine left in his house, diluted with honey, and slaughtered his few fat sheep.

They were cut into two portions, charcoal-grilled and stewed, and heavily seasoned with spices, as if he wanted to use the spiciness and fragrance to mask the cold seeping through the un-repaired roof cracks and wall gaps of this desolate place, which hadn't been fixed in three months.

Even the damaged silver cups were polished brightly and arranged neatly on the table.

It wasn't for showing off, but to show respect.

Villon knew well that the lifeline of his territory was already quietly tied to the Red Tide Territory's grain cart.

Grain, seeds, ironware, salt? Almost all the supplies needed to sustain livelihoods and operate the knight order, ninety percent came from Red Tide trade routes.

If he lost Red Tide's favor, his so-called noble status would not be worth half a copper coin.

Moreover, the special envoy this time was Hoen Grayland, personally dispatched by Red Tide, said to be a highly trusted individual by Lord Louis.

Even if Villon had doubts, at this moment he could only respond with a smiling face.

After all, in this North, rebuilt amidst snow and bones, he knew very well who truly controlled the situation now.

Sir Hoen Grayland was tall and upright, his attire simple yet refined, his sword never leaving his side.

He said little upon taking his seat, merely opening several wooden crates brought by his accompanying soldiers, revealing jars of golden-glowing pottery within.

"This is Red Tide Territory's newly brewed mead. It can stimulate the activity of fighting qi within the body. Consider it a small gift for Your Excellency, the Baron."

Villon was stunned.

He hadn't expected this special envoy not only to avoid putting on airs but also to bring a gift, which slightly relaxed his taut nerves.

Villon carefully took a sip of the mead; indeed, a subtle energy surged in his blood, and his fighting qi actually increased slightly.

"Good wine—" he blurted out involuntarily.

This gift eased the atmosphere of the banquet, and the two ate and drank without discussing business.

But Villon remained uneasy, pondering Hoen's intentions.

It wasn't until halfway through the banquet that Hoen put down his wine glass and slowly began to speak.

His tone was gentle, without any official jargon or pretense: "Baron Villon, the Red Tide Territory wishes to exchange territory with you."

As the words fell, the smile on Villon's face imperceptibly froze for a moment.

He quickly regained his composure, even pouring a glass of wine himself, but his heart was already in turmoil.

So, they had their eyes on this wretched land under his feet.

On the surface, it always seemed shrouded in mist, giving it a mysterious aura, but he knew best what a terrible place it was.

It barely grew any grain, the soil was barren, and the annual harvest wasn't even enough to feed livestock.

For three whole months, sunlight couldn't penetrate, and the mist hovered among the treetops like the sighs of the dead; some knights had even reported seeing specters, which had alarmed half the territory at the time.

And the most critical thing was that this place simply couldn't be developed; it had no resources whatsoever.

He sent people to try and cut down vegetation, but within two days, it all turned to ash. He tried to build a fortress, but the foundations always collapsed.

The only resource was a type of vine that could be used as rope, which he used to exchange for supplies with the Red Tide Territory.

Carelessly claiming this territory was his biggest mistake since gaining the qualification to develop the Northern Frontier.

So, at this moment, when the people from Red Tide Territory actually offered to exchange that land, his first reaction was not anger, but pleasant surprise.

A thrill of striking it rich surged through him.

Are these Red Tide people blind? They actually want this land?

But immediately, the hint of caution hidden behind the joy also emerged.

No, wait, these people wouldn't make a losing deal. Hoen is an official envoy of the Red Tide Territory; they are always as cunning as foxes in their dealings.

Villon's smile stiffened, and a sense of unease welled up in his heart.

If Red Tide exchanged it for something worse, like "Blackwater Marsh" or "Icebite Ridge," those hellish places where even birds froze to death, wouldn't he be jumping from hardship into hell?

However, just as Villon was weighing the pros and cons and trying to steer away from the topic, Hoen unhurriedly produced a parchment scroll.

He unrolled the scroll in front of everyone, and under the firelight, a meticulously drawn topographical map unfolded, with a red seal of the Red Tide Political Affairs Office affixed to its corner.

"Your Excellency, the Baron, please see." Hoen's tone was gentle and composed, as he lightly tapped with his fingertip, "We are willing to exchange this fertile land to the north for your You Teng Slope."

The area he pointed out was located in the northern part of the Southeast, adjacent to a tributary of a large river, with flat terrain and abundant water sources.

The map was marked with numerous annotations in fine ink.

River mouth wetlands, three marked usable farmlands, two small paths, and a suspected cold iron vein.

"This area has stable terrain, not prone to waterlogging; the soil on the southern slope is gray-brown, and surveys show it's suitable for growing wheat," Hoen added, looking up, "More importantly, there's a suspected extension of a cold iron ore belt here, very likely an iron mine."

Villon's heart was suddenly shaken, and his breathing even slowed by half a beat.

Cold iron mine? A mature ore vein like that could almost support an entire territory!

It could be said that this was a rather good piece of land, compared to his You Teng Slope, which was so barren it could grow ghosts; it was practically a proper fief that a noble would dream of.

But wait, this isn't right—

Why? Why would Red Tide use such a good place, almost suitable as a main city's vassal territory, to exchange for his land?

But no matter what, he knew he had to raise the price.

So he slowly put on a troubled expression, sighed, raised his wine glass to hide his face, and forced out a smile: "Your Excellency, your words are quite sudden. This is my ancestral land—"

Hoen didn't wait for him to finish, his tone still gentle, but with a straightforwardness that made one break out in a cold sweat: "Your Excellency, the Baron, you have only «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» been in the North for two years; the term 'ancestral' is perhaps a bit too shameless."

The air suddenly froze.

Though Villon was thick-skinned, his heart still skipped a beat, and he nearly spilled his wine.

He coughed twice, forcing an awkward smile: "Ahem—indeed, I misremembered."

But Villon was still thick-skinned enough; his expression changed, and he immediately put on a feigned look of sorrowful regret, his tone mournful: "Though there is no bloodline inheritance, this land and I have a deep affection. Daily patrols through the mountain mist, listening to the birdsong within the fog, I have long regarded it as my own child."

A nearby attendant almost spat out his wine.

Hoen, however, was unmoved, merely smiling faintly, as if he had long anticipated this rhetoric.

"Since that is the case," he said unhurriedly, "then we will add one hundred gold coins, and three months of territory grain quota."

He said it lightly, as if discussing an insignificant business deal, and then casually added:

"The Red Tide Territory merely wants this land for its convenient terrain for trade. If the Baron truly finds it hard to part with, it's fine."

Villon's heart leaped with joy: This is it! My outrageous demand was indeed correct!

But he still maintained a wronged expression, his brow furrowed enough to trap a mosquito: "This—Your Excellency is indeed a reasonable person—but—"

He paused, his eyes conveying a hopeful "add more."

Hoen did not respond, picking up his wine glass and taking a sip, merely looking at him calmly, with no impatience in his gaze, nor any intention of raising the price.

The two stared at each other in silence for several breaths.

Villon, lacking negotiation experience, realized that this might be the maximum price Red Tide could offer. If he demanded more, the duck almost in his mouth might fly away.

He could only grit his teeth, finally giving up the thought, clearing his throat, and adopting an expression of weighing the greater good, slowly nodding: "This—alright, for Lord Louis's sake, let's exchange it."

After speaking, Villon deliberately covered his face with his hand, muttering softly, as if he had suffered a great loss, but the corners of his mouth had already subtly turned up.

A barren slope, perpetually foggy, where even knights were unwilling to patrol, exchanged for fertile land, a river, an ore vein, gold coins, and grain. "It's like a pie falling from the sky; the Red Tide Territory is truly generous!" Villon chuckled inwardly.

Hoen tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over Villon's barely concealed smugness.

This newly appointed frontier noble was still trying to suppress the corners of his mouth, but doing so very unnaturally; truly a negotiation novice.

But Hoen still didn't expose him, merely smiling faintly.

He had achieved his goal.

Although Hoen also didn't understand why Lord Louis had personally designated this almost unproductive barren slope as a top-priority exchange target.

But what he did know was that, with the current exchange terms, the Red Tide Territory could have offered at least three to four times the price.

In other words, Hoen had acquired an unusually valuable target at a very small cost.

"The mission has been perfectly accomplished." Hoen smiled slightly, spreading the already prepared dossier on the table.

"If there are no objections, Your Excellency, the Baron, please sign and stamp."

Villon was already impatient; before the envoy arrived, he could still maintain some composure, but now, seeing the other party proactively offering pen and paper, he smiled so widely that the corners of his eyes crinkled like flowers: "Of course, of course!"

He pretended to flip through a couple of pages, muttering about "reasonable terms" and "Lord Louis is indeed a righteous man."

Then he unhesitatingly stamped his family's crest.

Hoen quietly took notes beside him, then rose with a polite farewell, slowly retracting the map and contract.

Baron Villon, meanwhile, remained immersed in his small satisfaction of being a negotiation genius, as if he had just gained the upper hand in a dangerous bargain.

But neither of them knew that beneath this seemingly insignificant barren slope, lay a priceless treasure.

The Abyss Silk Flower's root system meandered like a spiderweb; if its core nerve fibers could be successfully extracted, it would become the primer for a new generation of Magic Bombs.

In the future, it would become the core of a weapon that could turn the tide of battle.