Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The Red Tide Law states clearly that under the Military Household System, if a rebel appears in a village, the entire village is responsible for supervision.

Louis turned around and looked at the elderly Village Chief standing in front of the crowd: “Do you not know? Or are you unwilling to say?”

The old man leaned on his cane, his face pale, his lips trembling slightly in the wind.

His gaze flickered past Louis, seemingly searching for an escape route.

“I... I am just an old man, they don't usually talk to me... I saw them leave, they said they were going hunting... How could I know they would... would do such a thing...”

The Barbarian Village Chief quickly defended himself, his words broken and his eyes evasive.

“I really didn't know, my Lord. If I had known they planned this, how could I not stop them? They... they were just talking, not serious, I thought it would be fine...”

The more the Barbarian Village Chief spoke, the lower he stood.

By the last few words, his throat seemed clogged, and he could not squeeze out any more sound.

The Village Chief knew very well that he was lying.

He understood everything, knew what they were doing, and had merely pretended not to see.

He also knew very well that this would not make Louis believe him.

Finally, he lowered his head, as if giving up.

“Understood.” Louis's tone was calm.

There was no reprimand, no unnecessary words, just a nod to the Executor beside him.

In just two minutes, the noose was pulled taut again.

When that aged body was hoisted into the air, everyone saw it clearly, but no one spoke, enveloped in a suffocating silence.

Louis did not leave to end it all; he merely raised a finger and gestured to a nearby Knight.

“Bring the others forward.”

Those brought up were several young Barbarian men: the Warehouse Steward, the porter responsible for transporting lamp oil, and a Sentry who was covering a shift this week.

They had not participated in the attack, but had coincidentally been absent from their posts, switched shifts, or allocated supplies during critical times.

Next, Louis did not speak personally; instead, a professional Interrogator conducted the questioning.

“When did you register the heating oil barrels as damaged?”

The one questioned was the Warehouse Manager, a Barbarian man in his early thirties. He stammered in response: “That... that barrel was indeed a bit broken... I thought no one would use it, so I marked it...”

“But you didn't report the loss, nor did you follow the recycling procedure.”

The man's voice was filled with panic as he tried to defend himself: “I... I didn't do it on purpose, I didn't know they would take it.”

“Then you knew they were planning to act?”

“I... I heard a little... but I didn't participate... I swear!”

The second person, the Porter, just shook his head repeatedly: “I was just moving things! I didn't know there was lamp oil inside!”

“Why did you do that without an order? Did you open it to check?”

“No...”

The third person was the Sentry who had switched shifts.

He stared angrily at the interrogating Knight, not saying a word, just clenching his teeth tightly.

“Nothing to say?” The Knight glanced at him coldly.

The Sentry suddenly turned his head to look at the High Platform and roared: “This is a massacre! We were just...”

Before he could finish, a Red Tide Knight stepped forward and smashed a Short-Handled Blunt Weapon against the back of his head.

With a muffled “thud,” he fell to the ground and was immediately dragged onto the Gallows, without even a chance to react.

The subsequent process was quick; the ropes were already hung, with no extra movements.

The men were successively fitted with Nooses, the entire process completed in silence.

Several of them tried to struggle, but the Red Tide Knights standing on both sides of the Gallows held their shoulders down like nails, making it impossible for them to move.

“Execute.” The Record Officer shouted the final command.

The sound of the wooden platform mechanism dropping was very soft, yet exceptionally clear in the surrounding silence.

Three shadows swayed, then fell silent.

The wind stopped on the Execution Ground, but the hanging ropes were still swaying gently.

No one cried out for justice for those men; instead, many quietly looked toward the figure standing in the wind beside the Execution Platform.

Sif was wearing a Red Tide cloak, her white hair lifted by the cold wind, like a taut string.

She watched them, one by one, being dragged up, the noose placed around their throats, and then the mechanism dropping beneath their feet.

Her face was expressionless; she didn't blink from beginning to end.

Even at the moment the bodies slowly stopped swaying, she merely uttered faintly: “This is still too lenient for traitors.”

The voice was not loud, but it made Visa, who stood beside her, involuntarily clench her fists.

But her heart was in turmoil; among those people were even faces she recognized.

The stunned Sentry had once shared dried meat with her around a bonfire in the snow; he was also a warrior of the Cold Moon Tribe.

Now his body hung on the wooden frame, with only the dirtied Execution Platform beneath his feet.

Not far in front of them, dozens of representatives brought from other Border Guard Villages were also Barbarian surrenderers.

They all stood neatly and silently with their heads bowed.

They wore fur coats distributed by Red Tide, new winter boots on their feet, and name tags hanging on their chests, engraved with numbers and names, signifying they were no longer Barbarians, but Red Tide people.

Occasionally, someone would look up, glance at the swaying corpse, and immediately lower their head again, their expression pale.

They knew that those hanged today were not just a few offenders.

It was the line that could not be crossed, the line many of them had secretly approached but never dared to step over.

Now that line had finally been stained red, and no one would dare test it again.

The handling did not end there.

Red Tide's laws were always clear: even the silent must pay a price.

Those who did not directly participate, but knew and failed to report, were singled out and questioned one by one.

Some had merely walked too often near the Granary, some were responsible for night watch but turned a blind eye, and some had shared a drink with Sarik but said nothing.

Their fates varied according to their position and relevance: some were whipped and then expelled from Red Tide, forbidden to step foot in the border region again.

Some were allowed to stay, but the price of remaining was the wounds on their backs.

Others voluntarily knelt and confessed before sentencing, barely earning clemency.

Only one person had reported Sarik's abnormal contact with the Merchant Caravan to a Knight at the last moment. He was publicly commended by name, but he kept his head down, afraid to make eye contact with anyone.

As for the entire village... it was no longer permitted to remain.

The Red Tide command was simple: Border Guard Village Number Twelve was officially disbanded.

The remaining sixty-odd people were organized into teams and taken away in the cold wind, to be resettled and registered in other villages.

There was no crying, no resistance.

Those who left kept their heads bowed, dragging simple luggage, following the Transport Teams as they departed one by one.

The last corpse on the Execution Ground had not yet been dragged away, and the smell of tar and blood still lingered in the air.

Louis then stepped onto the High Platform, standing in the cold wind.

There was no lengthy opening, nor was there any need to stir emotion; he simply looked down and scanned the people below the platform.

The Village Chiefs and representatives from the six Border Guard Villages were gathered here, almost every person bowing their heads, afraid to look directly at Louis.

“This rebellion was secretly incited by remnants of the Silver Plate Guild. It was the disloyalty of a few individuals that led to this point.”

Louis's tone was calm, as if reading minutes from a meeting; he didn't even try to incite emotion or feign anger.

“They do not represent you, nor do they represent the Red Tide people. The majority of you who observed order and performed your duties are the reason we can stand here this winter.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the lowered faces: “I will not let the loyal and the foolish receive the same reward.”

He immediately waved his hand gently, and three Knights stepped forward, unrolled Parchment Scrolls, and loudly proclaimed the orders:

“Material supplies granted to the six villages are as follows: five blankets per village, seventy sets of winter clothes, and an increased ration of dried food to be issued immediately in January.

Thirty young people are permitted to participate in the construction of Dawn Harbor, prioritized for employment based on Red Tide household registration, and will receive room and board subsidies along with extra rewards.

Previously unapproved Intermarriage Applications will be reviewed and approved based on merit.”

Hearing this, some quietly raised their heads, disbelief appearing on their faces.

They had originally thought they were here to be reprimanded, or even prepared to receive punishment.

Yet they hadn't expected the Red Tide Lord to not only spare them but also send rewards.

But the more this happened, the tighter their hearts felt.

Louis saw this clearly but did not intend to explain anything, merely continuing: “From now on, Red Tide will no longer distinguish between Barbarians, Imperial People, or outsiders.

There are only two kinds of people: those who keep their promises, and those who are foolish enough to think they can rebel.”

There was no sound below, except for the faint “creak” as the wind swept over the still-damp nooses on the Execution Ground.

Louis then announced the new policy: “The Military Household System will not be abolished. However, some articles will be personally revised by me and officially promulgated shortly.

The preliminary changes are as follows: The number of Inspector Knights will be doubled; patrols will occur once a month and cannot be refused. Transfer of personnel and materials between Border Guard Villages without authorization is forbidden.

Village civilian statuses will be re-verified, and Military Household Lineage Records will be recompiled and printed. Those who are out of contact, traveling, or employed must declare their identity; those who do not return after the deadline will be considered having abandoned their registration and defected.”

The representatives below the platform looked solemn, and some couldn't help but swallow.

Louis scanned the group, finally dropping a sentence: “You are not livestock; I will not drive you with a whip.

But you are not children either; I will no longer tolerate mistakes. Red Tide has given you a way to live; do not waste it.”

Watching Louis turn and descend the platform, some people sighed in relief, while others became even more nervous.

That Lord did not express anger; he decided on a calmer, more comprehensive rectification.

And starting today, all villages would be managed more strictly.

Some representatives wanted to step forward to tentatively express their loyalty, but found no one willing to be the first.

Louis did not wait for them to recover their senses, walking instead toward the Knight Queue waiting in the distance.

The Execution Ground had already been cleared, and blood had frozen into mottled dark traces on the Permafrost.

Louis put away the notebook in his hand, which contained the key points of the judgment, and handed it to the Attendant beside him.

He glanced at the Barbarian representatives still standing silently not far away, then looked at Sif beside him.

“Let's go,” he said. “Time to withdraw.”

“Mm.” She nodded... Night had fallen.

The residual warmth of the fireplace had not yet dissipated, and the candlelight flickered faintly.

Reflecting the wrinkled bedding inside the room and the figures of two people close together.

Sif had her back to Louis, her hair loose over her shoulders, half her face hidden in shadow.

Louis leaned by the bed and finally spoke: “You... haven't talked much today.”

Sif did not reply immediately. After a moment, she turned around, her eyes lacking the almost ruthless hardness they held on the execution ground during the day: “I didn't feel as satisfied as I imagined.”

“I thought watching them all being hanged, one by one, would be gratifying.” Sif curled the corner of her mouth, seeming to smile, yet it looked more like a muscle twitch.

“I clearly stopped caring, so why... do I still feel heartache?

They shouted about Barbarian dignity quite loudly... I can't say I don't understand. I shouted it too when I was little.”

Sif lowered her head: “You gave them houses, provided clothes, and released grain; they wouldn't freeze to death or starve.”

She paused, her tone as light as falling snow: “You gave them more than enough, yet they still chose to betray you.

You know, if it weren't for you, they would have all perished in the snow last year.

How dare they...”

But Sif also understood that no matter how harsh her words were, she ultimately still held some space for those people in her heart.

It wasn't that she didn't hate those people, but she also didn't want to see them all hanged on the wooden platform.

She wanted to fight for something for them, but didn't know what else she could say to Louis; he had already done his best, his name being too benevolent.

She was no longer the Princess of the Han Yue Tribe; she was only Louis's wife.

Louis sat beside her, never interrupting, /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ just gently holding her hand.

“You feel heartache because you are more clear-headed than they are.”

Louis's tone was flat when he said this, without any boasting or moralizing, merely stating a fact.

“The Border Guard Village system does indeed have problems.” He lowered his head, his tone pausing slightly. “I originally thought that if I fenced people in and supported them for a few years, I could cultivate a generation of obedient citizens... perhaps I was too hasty.”

He turned to Sif, looking into her eyes: “Next, I will make some adjustments.

I will let them see a path upward. Loyal people will have channels for promotion, and talented young people can be sent to Red Tide City for training.

Families willing to comply will not just be guarded, but can also participate in governance. It's not for favors; it's to let them know that disobedience will be crushed, but obedience... at least offers a way out.”

Sif turned her head to look at him, her eyes much calmer.

“In the future, these Border Guard Villages,” he said slowly, “will be managed by you. Not as the daughter of the Barbarians, but as the Mistress of Red Tide.

This Snowfield will eventually become our land.”

The room was silent for a few seconds.

Sif nodded and whispered, “I will try my best to help you.”

Louis smiled, not saying anything profound, just gently placing a kiss on her forehead: “Then, thank you in advance.”

The tips of Sif's ears were still slightly red. She had intended to turn over and face away from him, but was pulled back after just moving a little.

“You...” She bit her lower lip, not looking up.

“Want to try again?” he whispered. “I remember you said that for Red Tide... you could try a little harder.”

Sif gritted her teeth, reached out and pushed him, but without force.

Then the firelight grew warmer, and the bed became a little more disheveled.