Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The snow melted a bit in the early morning, revealing several ruts on the slope of the western section of the post road.

Cohen stood on high ground, squatted down, and pulled out a map from his sleeve, confirming the route one last time.

"According to the pattern, the supply carts will pass through here. We'll burn the lead cart, kill them all, and seize the grain."

Sarik said nothing, standing with a dozen others, moving barrels of lamp oil and piling up firewood by the roadside to form a makeshift cover.

Among these people, only a few were the original followers of Sarik.

Back then, there were fewer than five in total, meeting secretly at night, not even daring to light a fire, relying only on whispered conversations in the dark.

Later, more people gradually joined; some were actively sought out by Sarik, while others, hearing the rumors, sought them out themselves and stayed.

Cohen looked at these diligent people before him, yet felt no sense of anticipation for completing the mission.

This was not an ambush with a high success rate. Even if successful, what they could truly destroy would only be a few grain carts.

Red Tide would not be thrown into disarray by such a small loss; they had far too many supply convoys.

But Cohen's goal wasn't to genuinely destroy anything; it was merely to make people believe that something had gone wrong in this area.

Not that Red Tide was bombed, nor that the barbarians won, but to let everyone know that “the barbarians who submitted have acted” and “Red Tide has started killing barbarians.”

Once the word spread, the already scarce trust would be completely severed.

As soon as the people in Border Guard Village started distrusting each other, the illusion of barbarian autonomy would shatter.

This was their true objective.

Cohen tucked the map back into his cloak and took two steps towards Sarik.

"Tomorrow, I'll lead the way. Your men will guard the corner; don't hesitate to light the fire."

Sarik looked up at him, offered no response, and gripped the longsword tucked at his waist.

Cohen knew he understood. He then turned to glance at the diligently preparing barbarians; these people truly believed in the lingering glory of the barbarians.

But this was merely a lie he had fabricated. In truth, the barbarians had long since perished at the moment of the war initiated by Tistu.

Cohen only knew that he had accepted this mission, and now he could only complete it, otherwise he couldn't return to the Emerald Federation or see his wife and children... The lamp oil was poured evenly, all the way down from the top of the turning slope.

"Ready," Sarik checked the fuse one last time.

Over a dozen barbarians nodded, hiding behind the snow, their breathing suppressed to the utmost.

Not far away, Red Tide’s supply convoy slowly drove onto the post road.

Three grain carts, two leather carts, and a dozen soldiers lined up on either side. Their armor gleamed dully, like a standard, accompanying backup squad.

But it made hearts pound with tension.

Sarik was still unsure if he truly intended to act, but in the instant of his hesitation, black smoke rose in the distance.

He had no time to think, only hearing himself shout the command: "Light it!"

Flames erupted instantly, engulfing the first cart in a pillar of fire, and the roar, carrying snow, rushed backward.

"Charge!" Sarik drew his sword and led the charge, the burning oil line echoing with their footsteps.

The squad pressed forward, clean and decisive, as if the plan had truly succeeded.

On the other side, standing on the outer slope of the post road, using a snow-covered pine as cover, Cohen still held the half-lowered signal fire.

The sound of the lamp oil exploding still echoed in his ears, and thick smoke billowed up from below the slope, blurring his vision into a haze.

Cohen watched as the first cart was completely engulfed, followed by a clamor of shouts.

The dozen or so barbarian military households charged quickly, their draw of blades fierce enough, their movements coordinated, unlike a hastily assembled group of irregulars.

"Indeed, these barbarians still have some backbone."

Cohen had thought these people had been tamed by Red Tide, but he didn't expect them to react more swiftly than imagined when it came to actual fighting, not fumbling at the critical moment.

The scene looked quite convincing. So-called Red Tide order was, after all, nothing more than this.

Just one barrel of lamp oil, a few swords, and a few people unable to control their emotions could create a breach in this line.

"This group is too overconfident; they didn't even set up many forward scouts. They forgot that what they're nurturing under their feet aren't obedient imperial subjects."

This commotion was big enough. When Red Tide received the news, would they think that Border Guard Village here had collectively rebelled?

Cohen breathed a slight sigh of relief, put away the signal fire, and prepared to turn and retreat.

The route was well-calculated; a three-mile detour along the snowy path, and half a night's walk would bring him back outside the treeline. As for these barbarians, let them die. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Fools deserve to die.

However, as Cohen turned, before he could take a second step, he heard a short, sharp command explode from behind the slope.

"Spread out."

Cohen immediately turned his head, and the first thing he saw was a dazzling burst of Battle Aura.

That blue Battle Aura sliced through the flames like a sword light.

The seemingly burned canvas covers of the grain carts were suddenly flung open, and what leaped out of the carts were not panicked drivers, but a row of neat Red Tide Knights.

They wore leather armor, but beneath it was a uniform blue aura, and as their feet landed, the snow surface directly collapsed into shallow pits.

"Begin to round them up, try to capture them alive," the leader commanded in a low voice.

The knights fanned out, moving simultaneously. The front row swept out arcs with their short spears, directly knocking several charging barbarian military households onto the snow.

The back row bent down and lifted, slamming an iron-net-like restraining rope onto another person, rolling him over completely, leaving him no chance to struggle.

Sarik stood frozen, his hand, gripping the old longsword, trembling.

In that instant, he had believed he could truly hijack these provisions, but now he realized the carts were filled with straw; the real cargo was someone else—these knights.

"Retreat!" Sarik had just shouted the command when a wave of Battle Aura swept his leg, sending him kneeling in the snow.

A chill crept up from the wound; he felt no pain, but his entire leg was numb.

He looked up to see the knights standing in a semicircle, encircling him and his companions, blocking every escape route.

The words “It’s over” surfaced in Sarik’s mind. He watched his companions one by one being pressed into the snow, like prey.

The last flicker of hope in his heart extinguished with the blue Battle Aura, leaving him utterly disheartened.

They never had a chance.

Not far away, Cohen was also cornered by two knights against a snowdrift.

One knight's sword tip flicked away the short blade in his hand, while the other directly rammed his chest with a shoulder, pinning him to the snowy ground, then, with a twist of his arm, broke his supporting limb.

Cohen suddenly realized they had been watched from beginning to end, walking step by step into a trap.

"You... already..." [N O V E L I G H T] His voice trembled, unable to finish his sentence.

The knight didn't answer, merely handcuffing his hands behind his back, without any superfluous movement, as if it were just a hunt.

The cold iron clasp bit into his wrist bone, and an intense chill traveled up the chain. Cohen barely noticed he was trembling.

He tried to struggle but found his strength seemingly stripped away.

His mind began to rewind.

From the very first day he entered the vicinity of Border Guard Village, those Red Tide patrol teams had been far too regular.

Those seemingly casual conversations by merchants were, in fact, every word a probing question.

He had initially thought they had avoided knight surveillance, but now, he realized they were likely led here deliberately.

A knight tore a strip of cloth from his cloak and gagged his mouth, as if too lazy to listen to any more nonsense.

Louis stood on the slope, looking down at the mess on the post road.

The fire had long since died out, leaving only a faint smell of tar, drifting in the night wind.

He looked at the several burnt wooden carts and the dozen or so barbarian defectors subdued in the snow, their faces covered in soot. Some still wore the cloaks he had given them, their heads tilted and resting on their shoulders.

Further away, the three so-called merchants were also dragged out. The secret codes, documents, and the Magic Bomb hidden in their collars were all confiscated, not a single item missed.

"I thought it would be some big fish... turns out it’s just a few small fry."

Then he turned to look at the barbarian rebels; their eyes held anger, fear, and utter despair.

Before the system of barbarian autonomous villages was implemented, Louis had not anticipated this day.

Confining an ethnic group to a village, providing food, distributing clothes, supplying firewood and medicine, arranging knights to maintain order, establishing patrols and classes.

It indeed saved their lives.

During that winter, had Red Tide not allocated grain from its granaries and gathered these scattered barbarians into Border Guard Village, they would have long since frozen to death in the snowfields or starved in the ruins.

But now, it seemed, merely keeping them alive was not enough.

Systems can control most people, but there will always be some who attempt to break free from their shackles, even if the struggle itself is futile and offers no benefit.

Louis once asked himself whether those barbarian defectors had truly accepted the order of Red Tide Territory, or merely resigned themselves to their fate.

Now, he had his answer.

On the way to Border Guard Village, he had discussed this with Sif.

Sif said, "What barbarians want is blood and fire, not mercy."

When she said this, her eyes were anything but gentle, as if reminding him not to be too naive.

And Louis’s response was a relatively soft remark: "They obey us, not out of fear, but because they still want to live."

But at this moment, he suddenly felt that perhaps he had been in Red Tide for too long, overestimating his own charisma and the conscience of these barbarians.

Over this past year, he had indeed, through the system, transformed the barbarians into seemingly controllable military resources.

They trained, stood guard, patrolled in Border Guard Village, and even learned the language, customs, and service system of the Empire and Red Tide.

Louis believed that by doing so, he could slowly integrate them into the order within ten years.

He didn't expect trouble to arise within a year.

He overlooked one problem: systems can suppress actions, but they cannot mold hearts, at least not in a short time.

And human hearts will always sprout and deform in the most unexpected crevices, eventually tearing open the weakest layer.

Louis sighed, his gaze sweeping over the faces kneeling on the ground, and murmured to himself, "I was too naive."

Visa stood beside Sif, watching the captured barbarian defectors on the post road, silent.

Her eyes reflected the kneeling figures and the extinguished embers at their feet, her heart somewhat wavering.

Visa lowered her voice and asked, "Lord Sif... our former enemy was indeed the Empire. But Red Tide is different now; they are fed, clothed, and can survive. Why do they still light the fire?"

Sif didn't look at her, merely scoffing, "Too full for their own good."

She said it lightly, yet it seemed to define the entire matter.

Visa didn't respond. She understood the statement, but didn't entirely agree with it.

For a moment, she almost understood the impulse in those people's hearts.

It wasn't dissatisfaction with life, but a deeply ingrained obsession: the glory of the barbarians.

She knew she had once experienced such moments.

But she no longer wavered now.

Visa's hand caressed the barbarian war blade tucked at her waist.

But the wind blew from the side, lifting a corner of her cloak, revealing the Red Tide emblem pinned to her chest.

She was no longer a barbarian warrior.

She was Visa, the embers of the Cold Moon Tribe, and the Shadow Guard of the Red Tide Lady.

If she had to say which side she belonged to, it was standing by Sif's side.

The girl who once stood with her in the wind and snow, now the Red Tide Lady.

That was her reason for staying.

It had nothing to do with race, nothing to do with revenge; it was simply because she found belonging by Sif's side.

And under Lord Louis, Visa had obtained a life she had never imagined.

She had her own house, a Red Tide-style knight's dwelling truly built with stone bricks, a roof that wouldn't leak snow, and even underfloor heating.

She had three meals, no longer forced to gnaw on dried meat rations, but could sit down and eat hot soup and bread.

She was even called Ms. Visa.

Visa thanked Lord Louis.

A young man from an imperial noble family, yet willing to grant someone like her trust, status, and even the duty of guarding Sif.

Barbarian glory?

That thing had shattered into pieces in that prison cell long ago. She no longer dwelled on those past symbols and totems... On the hastily erected wooden platform, Sarik's feet were secured by iron rings, and a thick hemp rope was already around his neck.

Standing beside him was the village chief, an elderly barbarian elder, whose paper of proclamation trembled slightly in the wind.

The village chief's voice was hoarse and slow; each word he read felt like flaying a layer of his own skin.

"Red Tide Military Household System, Article Three. Any submitted military household who rebels shall be punished with extreme penalty."

He read the mere dozen characters for nearly half a minute.

No one defended Sarik and the others, nor did anyone dare.

Everyone knew the real trial had already concluded.

Below the wooden platform, the other dozen barbarian prisoners and three Silver Plate Guild spies were lined up.

Their wrists were bound behind their backs with thick rope, their shoulders forced forward, and the nooses around their necks hung from the beam, constricting their skin until it turned pale.

They dared not move, as if the slightest tremor would tighten the rope.

Some had trembling legs, others had already collapsed and were dragged up by knights.

Cohen, the leader of the Silver Plate spies, was still muttering something, tears streaming down his face, but no one paid him any mind.

Their eyes were no longer defiant, but hollow and numb, as if they had finally realized that only death awaited them.

Four Red Tide Knights raised their long poles and gently pushed forward, and the mechanism fell with a thud.

In an instant, the rough wooden board gave way, and bodies hung in the air.

There were no screams, no struggles.

Only the creaking sound of the hemp ropes tightening, echoing across the entire village square.

Sarik's shadow swayed on the ground, then became completely still within a few seconds.

In the surrounding crowd, other representatives from Border Guard Village, patrolling knights, and even some unaffected military households stood motionless in the snow.

There was no anger in the eyes of these barbarians, only an unspeakable sorrow and fear.

Then, Sarik and the others' bodies were cut down from the ropes, wrapped in burlap, and transported one by one to the burning pit outside the village.

But everyone remaining in the square dared not move, because they knew it wasn't over; the collective punishment had not yet been announced.

Red Tide’s laws were clearly written: under the military household system, if anyone in the village participated in a rebellion, the entire village bore supervisory responsibility; those who tacitly allowed it were equally guilty, and those who knew and did not report were even more so.