Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

On the slipway on the southwest side of the harbor basin, the air was filled with a mixed scent of sawdust, tar, and steam.

Lord Louis stood on the temporary testing platform, his gaze fixed on the newly assembled experimental ship, Prototype One.

It was the first small vessel equipped with a steam paddlewheel structure, completed within three weeks by the Red Tide artisan group and a shipbuilding team from the Southeast Province.

The paddlewheels on both sides of the aft cabin were massive and heavy, connected to the steam engine by gears.

“Prepare to start,” Mike whispered.

The technician nodded, turned the valve, and the steam engine roared to life, the paddlewheels spinning violently.

Water exploded at the stern, but the next moment, the Dawn Harbor shook violently, its hull beginning to list to the left.

“Paddlewheel biased to the left!” a sailor shouted.

“Quick, reduce pressure! The stern is shaking too much!”

The paddlewheels churned the water furiously, but their speed was far less than expected.

Several sailors stared in disbelief, some even muttering, “It’s not even as good as my old fishing boat—at least that one doesn’t spin in circles.”

Lord Louis didn’t move, only watching the chaotic waves at the stern.

Not far away, the old shipbuilder Bernard stood on the shore, frowning, and softly said, “It roars loudly, but it doesn’t move fast...”

The deck began to emit faint creaking sounds of twisting planks.

“The bilge is shaking!” someone yelled.

Lord Louis finally spoke: “Shut it down.”

The steam valve slowly closed, the paddlewheels gradually decelerated, finally stopping with a creak at the midpoint, suspended in mid-air like a pair of heavy wooden wheels that failed to complete their dance.

Lord Louis’s gaze swept over the several cracks on the Dawn Harbor: “Suspend steam propulsion for now. The Dawn Harbor will be reconfigured as a pure sailing vessel.”

Mike quietly advised, “Lord, why not try to modify it—for example, add a pressure stabilizer?”

Lord Louis waved his hand: “I was too hasty. We’ll build traditional ships first, and reconsider once the technology matures.”

After the water test, Bernard led the shipbuilders in tidying up the site, while Mike and the Red Tide steam team were responsible for dismantling the damaged paddlewheel structure.

Lord Louis stood on the shore, his gaze showing little disappointment; he had anticipated this outcome.

“The steam engine isn’t good enough; it still needs more refinement,” he murmured. “Now is not the time, but that child will figure it out eventually.”

Lord Louis instructed Mike to compile all records from this experiment and send them to the Red Tide workshop for Hamilton’s reference.

Meanwhile, at the harbor basin’s slipway, although the steam propulsion plan was temporarily shelved, this did not deter Lord Louis from the shipbuilding workshop.

He simply adopted a more pragmatic approach, no longer fixated on achieving a so-called epoch-making ship in one go.

He started by making fundamental suggestions, attempting a series of small but precise improvements to traditional hull structures.

Of course, most of these suggestions came from his recollection of knowledge from his previous life.

Lord Louis never gave orders in a commanding tone; more often, he would squat by the blueprints, sketching in a corner with a pen, then ask, “If we do it this way, would it save a bit of effort?”

The first thing to change was the rigging system.

He suggested replacing the original three square sails with a hybrid structure of square and gaff sails, and introducing pulley blocks to reduce the resistance of hoisting sails. After trial installation, the efficiency of hoisting and lowering a single mainsail nearly doubled, and an operation that originally required four people could now be easily handled by two.

Mike nodded repeatedly, praising Lord Louis as a genius.

Old shipbuilder Bernard, standing nearby, frowned and muttered, “Will this even work?”

After all, this young Lord was not a shipwright, and the failure of the steamship further proved this point. As a proud shipwright, he somewhat disliked this kind of interference.

Bernard watched Lord Louis squatting by the ship’s side, drawing rope paths, then tilting his head to ask, “If we replace the foremast’s pulley with a dual-axis type, could it reduce one climb up the mast when furling the sail?”

He looked at the diagram for a while before understanding what Lord Louis meant, and replied, “Theoretically, yes, but it would increase the risk of slippage.”

“Then let’s try it first.”

Bernard nodded in agreement, a polite smile still on his face, but inwardly unconvinced.

He had seen nobles meddle in artisan work before, who, after hearing a few principles of shipbuilding, thought they could improve hull structures, only to end up with a perfectly good ship that couldn’t even catch the wind.

So he was experienced in dealing with such situations; he simply had someone trial-install one set according to the drawing, expecting that once it failed, this shipbuilding genius would naturally learn his lesson.

But the result was unexpected: the pulleys ran smoothly, the sails unfurled and furled fluidly, and even the ropes showed no snagging or slipping.

The efficiency was unbelievably high.

“It actually works?” Bernard couldn’t hold back his surprise for a moment.

He turned back to inspect the pulley grooves; they were even more regular and smooth than those he had designed himself.

That night, he secretly returned to the workshop, traced the blueprint again, and added a few lines of notes on the side.

The next day, Lord Louis came to inspect the workshop, glanced at the trial-installed structure, and without a hint of boasting, quietly said, “This part might still be optimized—but you are the one who truly understands ships. You decide how to modify it.”

Bernard was silent for a moment, then nodded; “Understood, Lord.”

This time, he truly understood.

As the tide receded southwest of the harbor basin, a dull “clunk” sounded from the slipway at the workshop.

Two thick oak tracks extended from the slipway into the bay, their surfaces still bearing traces of dried salt frost.

Bernard stood to one side, glanced at the end of the slipway, and whispered, “The tide level is just right, and the embankment hasn’t loosened. We can launch it.”

Russell didn’t respond, only turned his head to look at the center of the slipway, where the yet-to-be-named ship was already ready.

Lord Louis named this ship the Dawn Harbor.

It was the first ship officially put into service in Dawn Harbor, and also the first combat-and-transport hull born under the Red Tide’s construction system.

The hull was about seventeen meters long and five and a half meters wide, with a base made of local Northern oak.

The sail rigging, optimized personally by Lord Louis with its pulley structure, allowed even two skilled sailors to quickly raise the main sail.

The lower cabins were already configured, with heavy items uniformly placed at the bottom, living quarters at the rear, watertight doors at both ends of the passages, and drainage channels added.

A steam engine installation space was reserved at the stern, but it was not yet in use.

Protection was not overlooked either; both sides of the hull had sliding rail attachment points for temporary loading of throwers or melee weapons.

Two Magic Bomb launchers were pre-installed in the mid-section, corresponding to sixteen spare Magic Bombs stored in the cabin, fully sealed and shock-proof.

A detachable ram was installed at the bow, used to destroy merman skiffs or intercepting ships.

The crew used Red Tide standard short crossbows and spears, with dedicated racks on the cabin walls for easy access.

Bernard stood by, checking the seams between the bow and the keel, and then casting a wary eye on the cables between the mast and the pulleys.

“Slipway team, ready!”

Russell waved his hand backward, and several artisans immediately activated the steam winch on the carriage.

“Click! Click! Click!”

The heavy Dawn Harbor began to move slowly, sliding along the oak tracks towards the harbor basin.

A few short shouts of “Tighten up!” came from the deck.

Shipbuilders on both sides of the slipway stared intently at the bottom connection points, fearing an accidental spark from friction.

But the sliding process was smoother than imagined; the bow did not tilt, and the stern did not swing significantly when entering the water.

The waterline of the hull just covered the lower red paint mark, indicating that the center of gravity control met expectations.

Russell watched the hull float steadily, feeling a weight lifted from his heart: “It will work.”

The artisans and sailors watching from the shore erupted in cheers.

Lord Louis stood on the dock steps, his gaze calm.

Elliot, beside him, spoke softly: “Lord, everything went smoothly.”

“At least it didn’t sink,” Lord Louis replied softly. “Continue.”

The old shipbuilder Bernard on board had already taken command.

Beside him were four skilled crew members and two young technicians.

Today’s test was not just about sailing, but also to {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} confirm that it was a ship capable of combat.

Bernard issued commands: “Hoist the main sail one section, unfurl one-third of the foresail, slow turn to port, downwind test.”

The helmsmen quickly took their positions, the sail rigging team activated the pulleys, and the newly designed rails and counterweight system smoothly raised the two sails. The sails unfurled in the wind, and the entire hull began to slowly drift towards the outer side of the harbor basin.

The hull carved several gentle arcs back and forth in the inner bay; steering response was good, and course correction was stable.

Several crew members began performing position changes on the deck, checking the efficiency of maneuvers at various points.

Meanwhile, spears and short crossbows were alternately held. Within the limited deck space, the knights executed standard combat formation changes; though it was only a drill, their movements were clean and transitions orderly.

“Deck proportion is reasonable, no collisions during turns,” Bernard reported. “The cabin width wasn’t compressed too much either, allowing for smooth position changes.”

Next was the long-range attack test.

“Prepare Magic Bombs.”

The target was a raft floating fifty meters away, gently rising and falling with the water’s surface.

“Ready, fire.”

The first Magic Bomb traced a low arc, landing slightly off target but still exploding at its edge.

A cloud of white mist erupted on the sea, the wooden frame at the center of the explosion was shattered, and a water column several meters high was stirred up.

“A little off, adjust the angle again,” Bernard said calmly.

The second shot hit the center of the raft. The shockwave from the explosion traveled back through the water, but the Dawn Harbor’s hull showed no abnormal shaking.

Lord Louis on shore squinted slightly for a moment, then said, “The shockwave didn’t reach the bottom of the cabin, so the shock-absorbing layer is quite solid.”

Elliot nodded: “It can be used in actual combat as a long-range attack method.”

The Dawn Harbor circled the harbor basin three times.

Bernard stood by the rudder, his expression much more relaxed than at the beginning.

He had the sails adjusted slightly and then sailed a short distance along the northern embankment.

The wind wasn’t strong, but it was stable enough, and the ship’s responsiveness surprised him.

“It can go one more round,” he shouted towards the shore, moving his foot slightly, and the hull cut into the next arc.

This was an additional test he proposed himself.

It wasn’t in the plan, but no one objected, because everyone on the harbor shore at that moment wanted to see it run one more round.

After completing the fourth round, the sails slowly retracted.

The Dawn Harbor began its return voyage, approaching the main pier along the original slipway channel, without any deviation.

“It’s done,” Bernard whispered.

The next second, a loud cheer erupted from the pier.

“Long live Dawn Harbor!!”,

“Long live Lord!!”

Mike put down his logbook pen and softly said, “Steady.”

Bernard stepped down the gangway, walked to the shore, and gave Lord Louis a standard salute: “Reporting, Lord, the Dawn Harbor has successfully returned.” “Very good,” Lord Louis raised his hand, briefly giving the order: “The Dawn Harbor is officially designated as the prototype for Dawn Harbor’s first mass-produced ship model.

Establish standard procedure archives, including sail rigging configuration, material ratios, and assembly processes.

Based on today’s sea trial records, all details will be handed over to the artisan group for further optimization.”

Lord Louis paused, then commanded in a deep voice: “Within two months, I want to see six identical ships launched.”

Mike and Bernard exchanged glances, then nodded simultaneously: “Understood.”

Lord Louis’s gaze swept across the entire Dawn Harbor, finally resting on the polished Dawn Harbor emblem.

Dawn Harbor’s first ship had successfully completed the entire process of design, construction, launching, and sea trials for the first time.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a success.

He turned to Elliot: “The entire port will cease work tonight for a day of rest. Eat meat, drink wine, celebrate.”

The dock was briefly silent, then a roar of cheers erupted like a tide, “Long live Lord!!”

“There’s a feast tonight!!”

An artisan held his hammer high, a sailor directly jumped into the harbor basin, drenching himself completely, shouting and laughing like a child.

Mike stood beside Lord Louis, smiling as he whispered, “We’ll have to tell the kitchen to prepare in advance, otherwise even the pots will be snatched clean tonight.”

That evening, several rows of stove racks were set up early on the open ground west of the port, and simple windbreak shelters were erected by the sea.

Freshly caught sea fish were cleaned and skewered on iron rods with smoked meat, emitting wafts of aroma.

Skilled cooks brought from Red Tide City directed a dozen young people in flipping spatulas.

Not far away, someone had temporarily set up a wine barrel stand, pouring wine into large wooden cups to be passed around.

Lord Louis did not stand at the forefront, nor did he deliberately make a speech.

He simply sat quietly on a high-backed chair nearby, accepting the wooden cup handed to him by Elliot, listening to the boisterous clinking of cups, laughter, and shouts of those around him.

This was a genuine celebration, belonging to the laborers.

When Lord Louis woke up, dawn had not yet fully broken.

He moved his arm, first feeling a warm body temperature, then the soft closeness and faint breathing.

He slowly opened his eyes, and what met his gaze was a strand of white hair clinging to his neck.

Sif’s hair had grown longer, and as she slept, it framed her face, highlighting the distinct contours of her barbarian heritage.

She was still asleep, her brows relaxed, her hand resting on Lord Louis’s abdomen, naturally pressed against him.

Lord Louis didn’t make a sound, only softly uttered, “Tsk, it’s been nearly half a month, why is there still no movement.”

His tone was neither disappointment nor teasing.

The opportunity of Orpheus’s birth was supposed to naturally advance the procreation plan, but unfortunately, there were no results.

Emily remained in Red Tide City to oversee things and care for Orpheus.

Sif, on the other hand, had accompanied him to the port this time, responsible for port affairs, naval defense, and negotiations for the resettlement of some fishermen.

Lord Louis carefully extricated himself from bed, without disturbing the person in his arms, put on his robe, and walked to the window.

Outside the window, dawn was just breaking, and in the distance, he could faintly hear the footsteps of workers and the sounds of wood being moved from the direction of the port.

“Let’s see what luck today brings.”

He extended his right hand, waved it in the air, and a translucent interface appeared, with text rapidly scrolling before his eyes.

【Daily Intelligence Update Complete】