Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

On the first morning after Duke Frost Halberd's death,

Emily solemnly handed him a document sealed with red wax, addressed to "Louis Calvin."

"Father wrote this himself," she said. "He told me to give it to you after he died."

Louis slowly pulled out the thick letter.

It was a stack of over ten pages, neatly arranged like military dispatches, yet all written in the Duke's own hand:

The opening section detailed methods for responding to the seasonal disasters in the Northern Territory.

The second page outlined the deployment procedures for Frost Halberd's three armies and brief character assessments of their commanders.

The third page contained detailed strategies on how to maintain a stable, yet unbalanced, relationship among the nobles.

The fourth page directly listed the weaknesses and inherent flaws of several noble families in the Northern Territory.

All told, there were over a dozen pages, filled with his political and military governance experience, even including tables for warhorse feed ratios and drafts of inspection systems for military provisions within the territory.

On the final page, there was no more formal language.

Only a few lines, scrawled but clearly written very slowly, stroke by stroke:

"These are merely my personal experiences; they may be outdated, they may be corrupt. You should follow your own ideas. Also, please take good care of Emily and Isaac for me."

Louis was silent for a long time, turning over every page of the letter, then rereading it from the beginning.

Some of the governance methods were too old—conservative, cumbersome, bearing the deep imprint of the old Empire nobility.

One page even contained content like "How to distribute stewed meat during festivals to appease the populace," which Louis found both amusing and exasperating.

However, in the military section, he admitted he had never thought of things in such detail; this was likely the Duke's life essence.

Battlefield deployment, supply rhythms, command hierarchy, crisis response triggers—Louis gleaned many crucial experiences from it.

But whether useful or not, Louis saw in it the Duke's expectations for him and his sincere affection.

He carefully folded the letter, pressed it flat, and placed it in his personal letter box.

News of Duke Edmund's death did not shake the land like thunder, but rather fell like a silent first snow, quietly settling into every Northern Territory.

The old Duke, who had guarded the frontier for over thirty years, ultimately did not survive this winter.

The news was discreetly released by the Frost Halberd City internal affairs, without public mourning or memorial music.

Yet even with such discretion, it was like a dull, old sword, piercing the hearts of every noble and knight in the Northern Territory.

They were silent, not out of fear, but out of respect.

"He held on for too long."

"No one understood the Northern Territory's ice and snow better than him."

"The Walls of Frost Halberd, he built them brick by brick."

Everyone had received favor from this Duke, knowing what a great man he was.

But in the Northern Territory's markets, in farmhouses, at mine entrances, the obituary was merely a piece of waste paper fluttering in the wind.

Most of the shabbily dressed commoners simply glanced at it, then indifferently turned back to their shouting, chopping wood, and driving carts.

"The Duke has died."

"Oh, really?"

In their eyes, the "Shield of the Empire" was too distant, existing only in the words of those high above.

It was just another lord who had died, and another name would take that seat, continuing to issue tax decrees.

Meanwhile, in various parts of the Empire, several black envelopes from the North quietly arrived.

Swiftwind birds traveled a thousand miles, personally delivering them to several long-dormant "Edmund Family branch lines."

These included Count Edmund of Huaiyan City, Viscount Edmund of the Northwest Wasteland, a distant relative serving as an intelligence assistant in the Southern Territory Army, and several young men eager to inherit titles.

They opened the ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) letters to find only a few brief, almost cruel lines: "I hereby pass my title to my youngest son, Isaac.

Effective immediately, all military and political affairs of the Northern Territory will be managed by Red Tide Lord Louis Calvin as acting governor."

There were no pleasantries, no room for discussion, and no "what if" scenarios.

At that moment, many stirring ambitions felt as if they had been doused with a bucket of cold water.

They had, of course, entertained such thoughts.

Who wouldn't want to become the "new Duke Edmund"?

Especially now, with the Northern Territory Knight Order still intact, vast fiefdoms, and real power vacant.

But precisely because they understood the situation, they dared not act rashly.

These branch lines knew very well: they had no Northern Territory army, no granaries or gold to keep Frost Halberd running.

If they forcibly took over, they would only sink into the deep sea, like stones thrown into an icy lake.

So they held back, observing, waiting, but not without inner mockery:

"A mere child, dares to take on the Northern Territory?"

"He thinks winning a few battles can control the Empire's frontier? Absurd."

"Is that Emily's husband? Well, no wonder—"

Outwardly, they respected the Duke's last wishes, but inwardly, they were like a flock of patient vultures.

Waiting for the storm to come, for the avalanche to bury people, for Louis to make mistakes, lose control, and be defeated.

Waiting for the day Frost Halberd turned to ruins, so they could swoop down, tear apart the remains, and feast on warm bone and blood.

During Duke Edmund's final moments, he wrote an order into his will.

The title would go to Isaac, to be taken by his mother Elena to Red Tide Territory for upbringing, with Louis as his guardian, to return to Frost Halberd City upon reaching adulthood.

The arrangements on paper were entirely unremarkable, with no grand enfeoffment ceremony or family council nominations.

But precisely because of this, the Duke's power seemed all the more formidable.

Thus, Isaac, not yet two years old, bore the title of "Duke of the Northern Territory" before he had even learned to ride a horse.

And the name of acting governor fell upon the young Red Tide Lord.

Acting governor and guardian were not succession, but all truly intelligent people understood that real power had fallen into Louis's hands, not those of the babbling child.

Of course, Louis had not been formally appointed "Governor of the Northern Territory" by the Imperial Capital, nor had any public swearing-in ceremony taken place.

He relied on the documents of real power transferred by the old Duke at his death, utilized three months of continuous grain and salt mine supplies from Red Tide Territory, and controlled the dominant voice in the Northern Territory Reconstruction Meeting.

Without wearing a crown, Louis had already garnered approximately seventy percent of the Northern Territory's political support.

And Louis's sharpest tool was, naturally, the data collected by the Daily Intelligence System, converging into an almost cold political map.

Those who could be won over were marked "usable," with strategies and needs attached.

Those with weak resolve or dirty secrets were marked "to be wary of."

Observers were left blank in the "plan to be determined after situation evolves" column.

Louis was not in a hurry to purge, nor was he in a hurry to curry favor.

Because he knew that with seventy percent support, the remaining thirty percent had only one choice: "silence."

Of course, the beginning of all this was not a path Louis had personally laid.

But he never denied that the person who truly enabled him to sit in this chair was the deceased old Duke.

It was he who, before his death, sent letters one by one, shaking those powerful family branches.

It was he who entrusted real power in advance, silently filling the power vacuum in the Northern Territory.

It was he who, with his name after death, shielded Louis from countless questioning gazes.

Louis understood that this was not a simple inheritance, but a debt of gratitude so heavy it could break his spine.

He was grateful.

On the third morning after the Duke's death, Frost Halberd City was still covered in unthawed snow.

Louis convened a very brief, closed-door meeting within Frost Halberd's inner city.

There were no observers, no civil officials, only three attendees—the three Knight Order commanders: Broken Blade, Cold Iron, and Silver Fang.

The meeting place was an old stone hall, with a long table spanning it and a dimly burning brazier.

Sitting closest to Louis was Commander Remore of Broken Blade.

He wore a faint smile, as if he had long awaited this moment, and nodded first: "We obey you. The old Duke said so before he died, and we are already familiar with your rhythm."

This legion had been personally handed over to Louis by Duke Edmund half a year ago.

After half a year of Louis's efforts to win them over, they had now become one of Red Tide's most stable military arms.

Louis did not need to repeat his thanks; he simply nodded slightly, as a promise.

Sitting in the middle was Commander Ferran of Cold Iron, clad in strict iron armor, his posture like a mountain.

His tone was steady: "The old Duke told us to protect the young lord, and we will protect him until he can ride a saddle independently."

This was the most "disciplined" of the legions, executing Edmund's orders with almost obsessive devotion, and this time was no different.

Louis pointed to the map on the table, his tone gentle: "Then I ask you to escort Lady Emily and Young Master Isaac south to Red Tide Territory.

Ferran had no objection, merely giving a slight chest-thumping salute: "As per the Duke's last will."

Sitting at the farthest end was Commander Osher of Silver Fang.

He remained silent for a long time, then finally spoke slowly: "We are willing to follow orders—but if possible, we still wish to guard Frost Halberd."

He wasn't lying, nor was he telling the whole truth.

But Louis had already grasped everything clearly through the Daily Intelligence System:

This Knight Order maintained its independent will and had its own political leanings, and the commander privately harbored many hesitations about Louis's policies.

More practically, their numbers and families were extensive, and Louis had no real intention of taking the entire legion to Red Tide Territory.

Housing, rations, and morale stability were all issues.

He smiled, his tone gentle, yet hitting the mark: "Then Silver Fang shall guard Frost Halberd."

Osher then rose and bowed, silently accepting.

He gained face and maintained the independence of his main unit.

And Louis cleverly kept this "potential variable" outside the strategic periphery.

The meeting ended without arguments or shouting.

Only a slow reconstruction of order and the consolidation of power by a temporary guardian.

Thus, the temporary command of the three great Knight Orders—Broken Blade, Cold Iron, and Silver Fang—officially passed into Louis's hands.

Until Isaac Edmund came of age, which would be about a dozen more years, Louis could do many things through these knights.

Duke Simmons, patriarch of one of the Empire Eight Great Families, had been in high spirits recently, hardly looking like an aging old fox.

Dressed in a deep purple, gold-embroidered family robe, holding an ivory scepter, his smile was as if painted with honey, and even a few white hairs seemed to have turned youthful again.

It had been half a year.

Emperor Ernst August, his First Legion, the Dragon Blood Legion, and the Imperial Guard—all had been without news for half a year.

During this half-year, the Imperial Capital had been turbulent; the Dragon Throne Council appeared calm on the surface, but privately, the center of power had shifted several times.

He, who was originally the closest of the Empire Eight Great Families to the Imperial Capital and most suppressed by the Emperor, could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

"How have the arrangements for the Fourth Prince gone?" he asked casually.

"Three marquises have been secretly met, and their attitude is positive," Odd replied, bowing his head.

"Very good. Keep recruiting people, slowly let them adapt to an Empire 'without Ernst.'"

Just then, a young attendant knocked and entered, holding a sealed letter: "Your Grace, the latest intelligence from the Northern Territory—Duke Frost Halberd, Edmund, has died of illness."

The air seemed to freeze in that instant.

Simmons looked back at the letter, took it, opened it, and quickly scanned its contents, his eyebrows slightly raised.

"He's finally gone, that old stubborn one," he said softly. He had actually known about Edmund's severe illness for a long time.

His impression of Edmund was complex.

For over thirty years, he had almost single-handedly defended the entire Northern Territory frontier, resisting barbarians, insect plagues, rebels, and even court purges.

He admired his loyalty, but also thought he was too foolish.

"He fought and died for the Empire his whole life, and now the Edmund Family is left with only a few peripheral figures," Simmons shook his head, letting out a laugh.

"So, who is the new Duke of the Northern Territory?" he asked indifferently.

"It is His Grace Isaac, a one-and-a-half-year-old infant," Odd paused, his voice slightly lower as he delivered the intelligence.

"An infant? Heh." Simmons put down the letter, glancing at it as if watching a farce, "Who is truly in power, then?"

"According to intelligence from the Northern Territory, it is—Louis Calvin, who currently holds substantial military and political power."

"Calvin? Which Calvin branch?" Simmons's brows furrowed.

"He is Duke Calvin's eighth son, who was sent to the Northern Territory for development in the past. He married Duke Edmund's daughter," Odd replied cautiously.

Simmons suddenly sat back in his chair, his knuckles lightly tapping the backrest: "So the Calvin Family now controls both the Southeast and the Northern Territory simultaneously?"

"Theoretically, the Northern Territory nominally still belongs to Edmund, but all real power has been entrusted to Viscount Louis."

A subtle, unusual silence permeated the air.

The Calvin Family, one of the Empire Eight Great Families, was already powerful, and now, through marriage, they had grasped the vast Northern Territory in their hands.

If the Emperor were still alive and the Imperial Capital stable, such a thing would be impossible. Duke Calvin truly had excellent methods.

He recalled the Northern Territory expansion decree from a few years ago.

At that time, he had also sent a few family scions to the Northern Territory for training—two nephews and one biological third son.

Unfortunately, they all died mysteriously in that "insect tide" incident. It truly was a case of people being driven to anger by comparing themselves to others.

Simmons stood before the map for a long time, slowly moving his finger from "Southeast" to "Frost Halberd," lightly tapping, as if confirming a certain reality.

"The Calvin Family's eighth son—" He laughed, half mockery, half astonishment, "Who would have thought—that lecher who only thought about having children, actually managed to produce another talent."

A moment later, the smile slowly receded.

"However—Louis Calvin is not yet the Governor of the Northern Territory, is he?"

"Yes," Odd immediately nodded, "Currently, he is only outwardly 'Guardian Agent' for His Highness Isaac. Although many Northern Territory nobles support him, he does not have a formal enfeoffment from the Imperial Capital."

Simmons smiled: "Then it's going to be interesting.

No Imperial Capital appointment means everything is temporary, illegitimate, and I recall there's also an Imperial Prince in the Northern Territory?"