Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

“Gurgle, gurgle!” Ear-piercing laughter mixed with the clatter of bone spears clashing. Several young males competed in a puddle, tearing and thrusting at each other, scales flying.

A murloc with algae-spikes on its back violently plunged a bone spear into a companion’s shoulder socket, splashing foul green blood, which only incited howls and cheers from the onlookers.

Upon a throne built of decaying rock, the murloc leader’s bone crown glowed faintly. He watched the slaughter below, mumbling with a low chuckle.

This was his second favorite form of entertainment; the first, naturally, was the brutal killing of those upright-walking apes.

Suddenly, a faint “click” sounded. Though extremely subtle, it was still caught by the murloc’s ear-fins.

The leader frowned, about to turn his head, when he saw that in a certain rock crevice, the previously flowing tide suddenly became stagnant.

Boom!!!

A mass of muddy, grayish-brown matter exploded from deep within the crevice, accompanied by a dull thud and a squeezing sound, stickily filling the entire passage.

Countless water currents were instantly blocked, and the backflow became chaotic.

At the same time, a second round of high-heat explosive light erupted abruptly from several positions in the side walls!

Directional Magic Bombs ignited.

The rock wall exploded like a volcanic eruption, and mud, phosphorescent stones, bone fragments, and murloc flesh were simultaneously swept into the collapsing torrent!

“Gak-bop!!!”

The leader roared in anger and shock, desperately rushing towards the main passage. In his sight were continuously falling rocks and the drowned corpses of his kinsmen. He was one of the few individuals in the entire group with bloodline memory, possessing intelligence superior to ordinary humans. He believed that as long as he escaped, he would have a chance to rise again.

So, the murloc leader, clutching a strange horn, sprinted towards the cave entrance, wanting to escape this hellish scene. But waiting on the shore at the cave entrance were five Red Tide Knights who had long been prepared.

Amidst the roar, Magic Bombs and crossbow bolts fired simultaneously, and flamethrowers swept across the water, incinerating all the escaped murlocs.

The murloc leader had barely taken a step when three streaks of battle aura descended, crisscrossing in the air.

“Pfft!”

A spray of blood foamed from his throat, his bone crown shattered, and as he fell, the horn in his hand rolled into the tide, kicked away by a Knight on the shore.

Elliot stepped forward slowly, his longsword swirling, and completely severed his head.

“It’s over.”

This was a massacre; the remaining combat after the explosion lasted less than ten minutes.

Outside the cave entrance, a hundred Knights had already completed the blockade and the mopping up of remaining enemies.

Murloc corpses floated out like waves, and blood spread around the cave entrance, forming a strange purplish-black.

The armored Knights returned by boat, bearing un-dried bloodstains and the taste of salt.

They dragged back murloc bodies wrapped in burlap, broken bone armor, and a few surviving cursed artifacts.

Particularly noteworthy was an unusually strange bone horn. It curved like a section of a sea beast’s spine, with several circles of unknown script at its end, still faintly warm and trembling.

Inside the main tent at Dawn Harbor, Lord Louis was reviewing the latest progress report. Elliot strode in, his right fist lightly tapping his chest: “Mission accomplished. The murloc cave has been sealed. The leader has been slain, over a hundred enemies eliminated, with no casualties on our side.”

“The supplies have also been brought back,” he paused, then waved for the two Knights behind him to present the spoils of war.

Lord Louis nodded, saying faintly, “Well done, clean and efficient.”

Everyone’s faces showed joy.

However, Lord Louis showed no triumphant excitement: “But this is only the beginning. It was merely the closest small murloc tribe.”

He paused: “But victory is victory, and it deserves rewards.”

“All participants, thirty gold coins each, to be distributed according to the roster, without deduction.”

The Knights were invigorated, their faces showing uncontrollable joy.

Thirty gold coins was a considerable sum, and it was not just money, but also Lord Louis’s affirmation of them.

Silco, who was standing in the corner, chuckled and sidled over: “I also contributed a lot. If it weren’t for the Magic Bombs I prepared, how could it have been so simple? Lord Louis, I want more money, how about fifty gold coins?”

Lord Louis glanced at him, sighed, and had a Knight give him fifty gold coins.

“Oh my, thank you, Lord Louis!” Silco immediately beamed, tucking the bag into his embrace.

Elliot, standing nearby, couldn’t help but mumble softly, “Isn’t his monthly salary much more than that?”

Lambert quietly replied, “More than double, not even counting various bonuses.”

After the bonuses were distributed, the Knights had retreated to their barracks. The excitement died down, leaving only Lord Louis and a few guards in the command tent.

Lord Louis sat at the temporary long table made of rough wood, turning something over in his palm.

It was one of the spoils of war just brought back, the murloc horn.

It vibrated slightly in Lord Louis’s palm, as if some untamed wildness still lingered within it.

“It’s still moving,” Lambert reminded him softly, his hand unconsciously resting on his sword hilt.

“I know,” Lord Louis said calmly, but continued to play with it in his hand.

Lord Louis was not afraid of it being a cursed item, because he had learned of its existence days ago through the Daily Intelligence System.

It was an ancient, broken murloc artifact used in war summoning rituals.

Its function was to strongly attract nearby murlocs in a coastal environment, stimulating their collective consciousness and aggressiveness.

Although the murloc tribe was destroyed in one fell swoop today, there were still dozens of such tribes in this sea area.

And the true threats were the murloc royalty in the distant seas, roaming pirate fleets, and other forces both inside and outside the empire.

But this horn was a good item.

“If it can attract murlocs to gather, it can lure them ashore. If they truly come—then they’ll be annihilated in the traps we’ve set.”

Lord Louis placed the horn into a sealed box and slowly closed it.

In the short term, he would still focus on establishing a defense system centered around the port.

Taking the initiative to attack? That would have to wait until the long-distance fleet was launched.

He stood up, his gaze fixed on the dark coastline: “That day won’t be too far off.”

On the third day after the murloc nest was eradicated, a delegation of artisans from Red Tide Territory arrived at Dawn Harbor.

The conference table was set up in the newly repaired makeshift office. The wooden walls were unpainted, and the wind, carrying a salty scent, whistled through the gaps.

Yet, the room was already filled with people.

Lord Louis sat at the head, with several neatly organized blueprints beside him.

He wasted no words and spoke directly: “The murloc problem has been dealt with. Our port construction should now enter the next phase.”

A dozen or so artisans from Red Tide Main City, led by Mac, stood to one side.

Lord Louis said, “Dawn Harbor is not just a pure port. It must become a node for sea routes and the first coastal city of Red Tide Territory. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

So, from now on, we must not only dig the harbor basin and build shipyards, but also construct warehouses, residential areas, workshops, and markets.”

He pointed to several circled lines on the map on his desk: “First, the warehouse and workshop areas must take shape within two weeks.

The residential area for citizens must follow suit. Start by building Red Tide-style domed houses. The first batch of artisans must move in within half a month.”

Mac immediately responded: “Building materials have already been transported from Red Tide Main City. The hoisting cranes were assembled yesterday, and the rail cars were test-run this morning—if the rain isn’t too heavy, we can do it.”

“What about manpower?” Lord Louis asked.

“Two hundred and twenty skilled construction artisans, plus thirty mechanics and seven blacksmiths.” Mac paused, “They know what to do, but they still need a clear construction schedule.”

Lord Louis nodded and said, “You have clear divisions of labor. The timetable will be posted at the entrance of each work area tomorrow morning. Inspections will be conducted every two days, and rewards and penalties will be distributed on time.”

He paused, then looked at everyone, emphasizing: “This is the first city facing the ocean. Don’t build it like a port camp.”

Everyone quickly nodded, promising to complete the task.

After the meeting, everyone left, but Lord Louis remained, looking at the draft of the port area on the wall, as if gazing at a city yet to be completed.

The morning mist over the port had not fully dispersed, but a team of figures had already gathered on the high ground near the breakwater.

Mac, carrying his tool bag, held a folded blueprint in his left hand and several marker flags in his right. His steps were not large, but he walked quickly.

Behind him were several artisan leaders from Red Tide Main City who had come with him. Each carried a measuring rope and a stake hammer, discussing in low voices as they walked.

“This place has good terrain, sheltered from the wind.”

“The soil layer is compact, saving effort for foundations.”

“A ship unloading point can be set up nearby, shortening the transfer route.”

Reaching the center of the high ground, Mac stopped, raised his hand, and waved: “Using this natural rock as a point, the western section will be for warehousing, and the eastern section will be reserved for the market.”

Several artisans immediately split up. Some sprinkled stone powder to draw lines, others took out flag stakes to measure distances point by point.

Feet treading on the damp earth, lines of broken chalk gradually outlined the area’s contours.

Mac looked up towards the harbor basin. The wind blew from that direction, carrying a hint of salt.

He casually added, “Keep the warehouses as close to the harbor basin as possible for easy unloading. Move the market over there; it’s open, sunny, and will be good for business in the future.”

A young artisan nearby smiled: “You’ve even thought about where they’ll sell stalls?”

“Lord Louis said this isn’t a temporary dock, but a city that needs to stand firm in the future,” Mac said without turning his head. “If you don’t have a brain, go back quickly.”

Having said that, he had already stepped into the next section, muttering as he compared the slope: “The drainage here is natural, no need to dig too deep. Go back and tell the carpentry team to prepare materials according to the Red Tide warehouse plans.”

The artisans chattered back and forth, no longer as reserved as when they first arrived. Even during measurements, there was more lighthearted laughter.

In the western section of the port, the clatter of steam winches rose and fell.

A massive stone foundation slowly ascended on the rail crane, steadily moving towards the newly designated warehouse foundation.

A bald artisan sat on the back seat of a geared transport cart, clutching a wooden beam with both hands, sliding along the track bit by bit, an unconscious smile on his face.

This was the first time Dawn Harbor had used rail cranes and geared transport carts, new technologies brought by the Red Tide artisan delegation.

This set of equipment was improved by the Red Tide artisan delegation in Red Tide Main City, with the prototype originating from Lord Louis’s hand-drawn sketches.

The rail crane laid iron tracks along the ground, with a winch and pulley at the end of its boom. Driven by a steam rope wheel, it could smoothly transport heavy objects dozens of steps away.

The geared transport cart was even more ingenious. Manual rotation of the front axle drove an internal gear ratio, supplemented by light steam assistance, allowing entire rocks to be steadily transported without dozens of people pulling together.

“Much lighter than carrying on our shoulders—” a laborer panted, watching the crane steadily lower an entire keel-grade beam into the marked spot. “This thing is truly a monster.”

“It’s not a monster, it’s Red Tide technology,” another person smiled, securing the assembly hook. “You haven’t seen the monster in the steam workshop. It only burns firewood, but it can turn the hammers in three entire hammer rooms.”

Around noon, Lord Louis rode his horse to inspect the site.

Mac was about to order men to lay a warehouse wall, but Lord Louis stopped him on the spot.

“This side is too low, too close to the harbor basin,” Lord Louis glanced at the blueprint, speaking slowly. “It must be raised by at least two feet. In winter, when the tide flows backward, plus the salt mist, it will lightly corrode the wood, or heavily flood the bottom layer.”

He opened his notebook and pointed out three issues: “The base Skids must have a double-layer moisture barrier, the walls should use insulated panels, and the outer layer should be painted with resin. If conditions aren’t met, get supplies from Red Tide Main City.”

Mac responded solemnly: “Understood.”

He turned and called for the materials just laid to be removed, instructing: “Inspect all laid foundations and rework them tonight.”

In the evening, the workers, in the twilight, replaced the old materials with a new batch of raised foundation stones, stacking the old ones back in the yard for reorganization.

No one complained. This was not a waste of materials, but planning for the future.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the eastern section, the reserved area for future residential quarters, the atmosphere was lighter than other construction sites.

“This will be a tavern in the future,” Lord Louis said to Mac, standing on a slope. “Next to it will be bathhouses and a stage.

Have the carpentry team draw the blueprints, but the locations are set first.

To make people stay, there must be places for them to eat, drink, bathe, and watch performances.”

Mac nodded and immediately instructed the carpenters to set up marker stakes.

Not far away, a young artisan, hearing about the bathhouses, grinned: “Really building bathhouses? I thought I’d only be able to take hot baths in Red Tide Main City my whole life.”

Someone carved a sun on a warehouse doorpost, with two wavy patterns drawn below it.

That was the emblem of Dawn Harbor, representing the sun and the tide. On the construction fence further away, several small signs carved from scrap wood were hung, on which were scrawled:

“Port Complete, Peace Resides,” “Open Soon,” “May Family Members Safely Settle Here”—

These were not things Lord Louis had arranged.

It was a semi-literate laborer who had asked someone to write them for him and then hung them up. Others saw them and also made a few.

As time passed, the outline of the residential area began to appear. Several prototype wooden houses were erected in sequence, their roofs covered with double-layered moisture-proof wooden tiles, their walls painted with resin paste. The doorframes were Red Tide-style arched structures, and the doors were carved with Dawn Harbor motifs.

Mac personally led the artisans to inspect the structures, wiping sweat and saying, “First, follow this standard, then build row after row.”

Nearby, several young artisans carrying wooden planks couldn’t help but pause as they passed by.

They looked at the houses, their eyes gleaming with an unprecedented expression.

“It’s starting to look like Red Tide Main City—” someone whispered, their voice a little shaky, somewhat disbelieving.

“I lived in a house like that last year; it was warm as spring in winter,” another smiled.

The construction pace clearly accelerated afterward. Some voluntarily stayed to work overtime, others swept the wood shavings meticulously clean.

By evening, bonfires were lit by the port. An old artisan looked up at the prototype domed houses on the high ground and silently placed a new wooden sign under the fence.

The sign read, “May the Lord of Red Tide bless us.”