Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The enfeoffment ceremony proceeded extremely quickly. Lord Louis’s simple phrase, “Keep it simple,” led to the cancellation of all complicated procedures.

There were no poems recited by the Dragon Ancestor’s High Priest, no long parades, and even the planned celebration banquet was directly canceled. This made Bradley frown deeply; in his opinion, this was a new milestone for Red Tide and should have been celebrated grandly.

But even with his dissatisfaction, he only quietly advised a few times, eventually sighing and accepting it.

Of course, apart from Bradley, there was no dissenting voice in Red Tide City; all civil officials, knights, and even the common people unconditionally supported Lord Louis’s decision.

As for the officials sent from the Imperial Capital?

Their eyes frequently fell on Camille. As long as Camille remained silent, they would never dare to raise objections, and the fact was that Camille currently had no courage to resist.

Whatever Lord Louis asked him to do, he did it, obediently following instructions.

Even without a celebratory banquet, Camille had no complaints and instead secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

The sooner it ended, the sooner he could leave this suffocating city.

Early the next morning after the ceremony, Camille bid farewell.

His reason was that he still needed to go to the Sixth Prince’s station to read out his rewards and his identity as the “Special Envoy for Northern Reconstruction.”

Lord Louis did not try to keep him, only smiled faintly and waved his hand, signaling permission to leave.

The carriage jolted forward on the snow-covered mountain road.

Camille leaned back on the cushion, his cold sweat not yet fully receded.

The scenes of this trip replayed in his mind again and again.

That head, that overwhelming roar of cheers—all turned into fear, making his breathing tight.

But he was, after all, a man who had climbed his way up the Imperial Capital’s officialdom, and his mind quickly started working.

Fortunately, Lord Louis did not openly break ties on the spot, which meant he still had value, and as long as he had value, he could survive.

Thinking of this, he slowly exhaled a turbid breath, his eyes gradually regaining their coldness: “So be it—since Louis needs me, I will pretend to be compliant.

Perhaps when I meet the Sixth Prince, there will be a way out. The empire’s situation is complex now, and there will always be someone who needs a pawn like me.”

After all, there had long been rumors in the Imperial Capital that the new twin stars of the North were Louis of Red Tide and the Sixth Prince, Asta.

Since Red Tide City could achieve such prosperity, then His Highness Asta, as a prince, would naturally not be far behind.

Camille’s heart was still trembling, but he forcibly used this calculation to wrap himself in a paper-thin armor.

The carriage continued its journey into the distance, with the wind and snow howling outside, and the world desolate.

Frost Dragon Territory—the Sixth Prince’s domain.

More than half a year had passed since the barbarian disaster, and wisps of cooking smoke were sparsely rising from the charred ruins.

Beside the broken city walls, new wooden houses sprung up, and in the barren land, people were replanting, even if the harvest was slim.

Conditions here remained harsh, but Asta did not give up because of it.

He personally oversaw and coordinated, thus gradually supporting the territory, and a new group of displaced people gathered around him.

And now the biggest challenge remained food and supplies.

Initially, Red Tide City had sent a batch of grain and cloth, helping him overcome the immediate famine.

But ever since he was appointed as the Special Envoy for Northern Reconstruction, Red Tide’s assistance had noticeably decreased.

His subordinates complained to him that Red Tide was deliberately suppressing His Highness the Prince.

But Asta did not get angry; instead, he showed some gratitude.

“The struggle between nobles is inherently a bloody one. To still receive material aid, Lord Louis has already been very generous.”

Moreover, the Imperial Capital had already promised that before winter arrived, a large shipment of supplies would reach his territory for him to distribute.

These supplies would be his opportunity to turn things around, alleviate the food shortage, and win the support of the nobles.

So when the transport team truly arrived at Frost Dragon Territory, Asta stood in front of the warehouse, watching cart after cart of goods slowly unloaded, with a certain anticipation in his heart.

But when he personally walked into the warehouse, his hope was instantly shattered.

The grain piled in the warehouse was only a small fraction of what he had originally estimated.

“What...what is this situation?” Asta muttered in a low voice, his eyes growing darker.

He had been mentally prepared that some of these supplies would certainly be embezzled by the Imperial Capital’s officials, as these nobles never missed any opportunity to exploit.

But he hadn’t expected that the actual amount of grain transported to Frost Dragon Territory would be so little. A few hundred sacks of grain, only enough to feed a few hundred people for a few days, and the rest were just some worn-out cloth and a few boxes of what looked like moldy dried meat.

Most of the goods in the warehouse were almost worthless.

“What is going on with you?!” Asta turned his head, his face ashen, and coldly questioned the person in charge of transportation, “Is this the massive amount of supplies you promised?”

The person in charge lowered his head, not daring to meet his gaze: “Your Highness, it’s really...it’s really—there was a problem during transport. The roads in the North were blocked, and many supplies couldn’t reach us smoothly—”

Upon hearing this, Asta’s anger burned even more, and he almost couldn't resist rushing forward to grab the man’s collar.

His mentor, Seifer, stepped forward, speaking calmly: “Your Highness, please calm down.”

Asta turned sharply, his eyes full of disappointment and anger: “Calm down? How can I calm down? Can these broken things sustain me through a winter? This food isn’t even enough to feed half the people of Frost Dragon Territory!”

Seifer calmly analyzed: “There was indeed a problem with the transport. Firstly, the obstruction of the Northern passage exists.

But the main reason is still the corruption of the empire, which caused these supplies to be delayed.Moreover, those people in the Imperial Capital simply did not intend to fulfill their promise. It is likely that the Regent also did not attach importance to the future of the North.”

Asta’s face grew even uglier: “Then how are we to get through this winter?”

Seifer sighed: “In the worst case, after winter, half the people of Frost Dragon Territory will die. All we can do is ensure our own well-being. As for others, we cannot manage them.”

Asta remained silent for a long time.

These supplies could not support his people; they couldn't even meet half of their needs.

Of course, he didn't care whether ordinary people would starve to death in winter; they were merely tools, pawns to exchange for greater power for himself.

What truly concerned Asta was how to maximize these limited food resources to win over his allies.

“I must accumulate enough influence in a short time,” Asta muttered to himself, “These grains must not all be given to the common people. Only a small amount can be given to them; the rest must be used to make deals with those nobles.”

He thought of these allies; without sufficient supplies, those who supported him would immediately turn to Lord Louis.

“It's time to consider how to allocate them.” Asta lowered his head slightly, a hint of coldness flashing in his eyes, already calculating his next move.

“Distribute grain to those nobles, give them sufficient guarantees, in exchange for their support.”

He gave a self-deprecating smile: “As for ordinary people, if their fate is bad, who can blame them?”

Seifer looked at him, his eyes carrying a hint of deeper meaning.

Once upon a time, this child still had a touch of innocence, always wanting to make his people live better, thinking about the responsibilities of the royal family.

However, after coming to the North, Asta gradually broke free from the constraints of the Imperial Capital and began to control his own destiny. He grew from an idealistic prince into a calm lord.

He learned how to strategize and how to maximize the resources in his hands to convert them into his own power.

But Seifer’s heart held not much disappointment; instead, there was more of a recognition.

The game of power was never something that pure idealism could handle.

Asta’s decisiveness was precisely the quality he needed to possess.

Seifer slowly turned and left, silently approving Asta’s decision in his heart.

Above Red Tide City, the cold wind rustled the canvas.

Around Fierce Tide Square, warehouses were stacked high with heavy sacks of grain, neatly arranged wooden crates, thick animal skin bundles, and shiny iron barrels.

The supplies had not yet been distributed, but the scene was already orderly.

Pete carried a bundle of packages and heavily dropped them behind the distribution counter. As soon as he put them down, a tingling sensation ran through his palm.

He panted, took off his gloves to rest for a while, but his gaze involuntarily fell into the open wooden box at his feet.

“Tsk, tsk, if this were in Baron Preston’s territory, even a knight would have to wait until the harvest festival to get a taste, but there’s so much here.” Pete muttered to himself, incredulous.

Inside the box were neatly tied grain bags of golden wheat, each sealed with fine linen and wrapped with two loops of cowhide rope, with a red label affixed to the top.

“Shocked just by seeing a few good things?” a hearty voice came from nearby.

Pete looked up and saw the middle-aged man named Jack, unkempt but full of vigor, even wearing a pair of leather boots.

“Your shoes—” Pete said in surprise.

Jack grinned, lifting his foot: “Given to us old-timers of Red Tide yesterday, from the cobbler’s workshop, first-layer cowhide, won’t slip in the snow, and won’t let the wind through when stomping on barbarian heads.”

Pete paused, still surprised: “This is too good, isn’t it?”

“This is good?” Jack snorted, raising his hand to point towards the warehouse, “Go look at those few baskets of dried meat and smoked fish inside.

And the salted meat, pickled radishes, and dried mushroom packs that were just sealed this morning—our team is responsible for packing one for each household.”

Pete was silent for a moment, looking at the long row of fully loaded wooden carts not far away: “Are these also...for everyone in the city?”

“Everyone gets some.” Jack leaned closer, lowering his voice, “And that’s not all. Children and elderly people get an extra pack, a subsidy pack with a blue label.”

Pete was speechless for a moment.

He used to be a free man with land, even owning three cows. In earlier years, he could even give small gifts to the tax collector. Although life was still tight, and he had to go hungry in winter, the barbarian disaster destroyed everything. Six months ago, he fled into Red Tide City. Because he was literate and had management experience, he was exceptionally promoted to a grassroots supply officer.

Today was the first time in his life he truly experienced “public grain distribution.”

There were no shouting officials, no pilfering subordinates, and no layers of deductions.

Only cartloads of pre-packaged goods, neat lists, and a group of smiling people working.

Jack patted Pete’s shoulder, a hint of pride in his smile: “We didn’t have this kind of treatment a few years ago. Back then, I was still a slave.

The best meal in winter was just two bowls of dried vegetable soup. If you could fish out a few pieces of boiled-down bone fragments from the soup, that was considered a blessing from the Dragon Ancestor. To not freeze to death or starve to death was already a blessing.”

Pete paused, about to offer comfort, but found no trace of resentment in Jack’s eyes; instead, his gaze shone with pride.

“Lord Louis personally bought me from the slave market.” Jack said this, straightening his back, his chin slightly raised, “That day, I was as thin as firewood, lying on the ground, and he handed me the first piece of bread.”

He grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellowed teeth: “Look now, this warehouse, these supplies, and this entire Red Tide City—I’ve been with Lord Louis from day one, building this place little by little from a barren wasteland. I’m an old-timer.

You newcomers who arrived later truly might not understand the hardships we endured back then, and how good Lord Louis is.”

Pete laughed wryly.

This man was clearly showing off his seniority, and doing so with confidence and without concealment.

He had wanted to retort, to say that he was, after all, a former free man, with land and cows, so how could he be inferior to someone who had been a slave?

But Pete suddenly remembered the winters before he came to Red Tide Territory. Even when he still owned land and livestock, life was not necessarily good.

His cows were so thin their ribs were clearly visible, and his house was so empty he could hear rats scurrying around.

Everyone in the territory took turns eating thin gruel, and getting some dry food ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) was cause for celebration.

The coldest time, he even personally saw his neighbor’s brother freeze to death in his house.

At that time, he thought he was a person of status, a free man superior to a slave.

But now, looking at the mountains of wheat, dried meat, and charcoal, and those former slaves wearing new boots...

Pete finally realized that the identity of a free man might be worthless.

What truly determined whether you could live with dignity was whose territory you stood on.

An absurd and chilling thought quietly surfaced: If only he had known, he shouldn't have clung to those broken lands. If he had fled to Red Tide City earlier, he would be living so much more decently now.

“But seriously, this year truly is the best year.” Jack’s words pulled Pete’s thoughts back.

“Look over there.” Jack raised his hand and pointed to the side, “The warehouses are almost overflowing. Even Bradley remarked that it was fortunate they expanded them in advance, otherwise they’d be piled up in the square now.”

Pete followed his gaze and saw dozens of teenagers carrying firewood and animal skin bundles, running back and forth.

Those were students from Red Tide City, volunteering to help transport supplies these past few days.

Looking at the neatly stacked carts of timber, grain bags, medicine chests, and the fur coats and leather boots produced by the workshops...

Pete couldn't help but ask in a low voice: “But—will all these things really be distributed?”

Jack heard this, didn’t answer immediately, but looked at the busy crowd, his gaze suddenly becoming more serious.

“Lord Louis said,” he lowered his voice, as if imitating Lord Louis’s usual tone, “Only if the people are well-fed, warmly dressed, and willing to stay, will this city continue to exist.”