Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The snow gradually receded, but the border remained oppressive.

At the entrance of seventy-three Border Guard Villages, the same kind of procession appeared almost simultaneously.

Members of the Red Tide Knights, wearing long cloaks with the Red Tide emblem, were followed by administrative officials carrying document cases.

"Everyone must attend."

The voice was not loud, but no one dared to resist... In front of the abandoned totem stone at the Border Guard Village entrance, the communicator unrolled a parchment and read aloud:

"Red Tide Territory Government Document No. 347: 'Provisional Articles for Barbarian Autonomy - First Revision,' effective immediately."

He read out each article: "Firstly, confirmation of military household status. Submissive barbarians will be uniformly numbered and archived, and will sign military household oaths. The hereditary system is abolished and replaced by a functional system, with annual assessments, triennial evaluations for excellence, and promotions or demotions based on performance.

Secondly, the promotion system is open. Anyone with military achievements, academic qualifications, or technical skills can participate in the Red Tide official selection examination, regardless of origin or tribe.

Thirdly, autonomous deliberation will be piloted. Each village will establish an autonomous deliberation team, which can send representatives to observe Red Tide border military and political routine meetings and raise inquiries and appeals.

Fourthly, mixed training camps will be established in Red Tide, with Red Tide Knights and veteran barbarian soldiers jointly teaching. Youngsters will be selected to undergo trial training at the Red Tide Military Academy. Those who excel can be assigned to guard, engineering, or command directions..."

The official read very quickly, as if not allowing the villagers time to slowly react.

But after finishing, he paused and, changing his tone, slowly added a passage: "Lord Louis said that Red Tide does not differentiate by origin, only by loyalty.

It punishes traitors and rewards law-abiding citizens.

You are no longer exiled barbarians; you are Red Tide's shield, the people who protect this snowy land."

After the reading, the Knights left a wooden plaque with seven regulations, which was erected at the village entrance: "Each village's literate individuals shall explain the details of the articles. All villagers must understand them within three days."

The literate barbarian middle-aged man was the village chief, formerly a tribal noble.

He took the copy, sweat beading on his forehead. Three Knights still stood behind him, and he knew how he should explain.

"What's written here... is good news." He scanned the villagers' faces. "As long as we work honestly, our lives will become more stable."

"Remember, we don't have to be military households forever. If we do well, we can even get promoted. If any child from our village is chosen for the military academy in the future, it will be a glorious achievement for our ancestors."

"Clap! Clap!" Everyone applauded.

Most people didn't really understand much, only grasping a few keywords.

"The murderers were hanged."

"We weren't implicated."

"The Lord even gave us winter clothes."

By the bonfire, a burly man mumbled softly, "As long as the whole village isn't dragged to its death again... then it's fine."

Another patted his shoulder, "Let's be more peaceful from now on. The Empire people... aren't entirely unreasonable."

They didn't like these articles, and even found them to be nonsense.

But compared to the previous panic of the entire village facing execution, now they felt it was acceptable.

The women gathered around the bonfire, wearing the sheepskin coats distributed by Red Tide. Their fingers still showed cracks from washing clothes.

They reacted more quickly than the men, realizing that perhaps it wasn't a bad thing.

"Can we really get grain?" the oldest grandmother asked, squinting.

"The village chief said so, dry rations, winter clothes, and something about signing up..." The person next to her nodded.

"Do you think if my boy goes to the military camp, he won't have to come back to a village like this anymore?"

No one answered, but someone whispered, "Who would want to be a barbarian if they didn't have to?"

"With food to eat, clothes to wear, and being able to work for salt and flour, isn't this better than before?"

They had no tribal honor, nor did they ponder whether those who were hanged deserved it.

For them, as long as they weren't hungry, and as long as their children had a place to go, it was better than anything.

"The village chief said that obedient children could become officials later, similar to the old tribal elders."

"Really?" Someone's eyes lit up.

"Well, I don't care about anything else. If my child can go, I'll be the first to send him."

There weren't many literate barbarians, but every village had a few.

They copied the content, went back to their houses, animal pens, or small clearings behind the kitchen, reading it little by little, whispering to companions from the old tribe.

That conversation did not belong to the villagers, but to the old barbarian nobles.

The literate barbarians were basically nobles of certain tribes, who had spoken at alliances, sworn blood oaths and shared meat at feasts, and were among the first to enter Empire estates after sieges.

Now their descendants had to sign up for service, their wives had to queue for grain, and they themselves had to live under the Red Tide people's watchful eyes.

Their status had fallen, and their voices had quieted.

Their attitudes towards these "Provisional Articles for Barbarian Autonomy" varied.

Some said, "This is domestication."

Others gritted their teeth and said, "At least it's better than freezing to death in the snow."

More remained silent, their fingers caressing the edge of the copied paper, their gaze lingering on a certain spot for a long time.

It wasn't that they didn't understand; it was that they understood too well.

These articles were not harsh; they even hinted at an opportunity.

Service could earn military merits, military merits could change status, and children could even be sent to the Red Tide Military Academy. This could be considered a way out.

But they clearly knew that the barbarian system based on bloodlines was truly about to be thoroughly buried under the snow by these few Red Tide characters written on a wooden plaque.

They were not fools, but the transition from tribal rulers to Red Tide villagers was something some accepted quickly, while others were still stuck halfway.

Thus, their reactions differed. Some regarded this paper as a humiliation, feeling it was an iron plaque inscribed with their domestication, nailed to their foreheads.

Others saw it as a life raft, believing that even if this piece of wood was full of nails, it was better than sinking back into the sea.

Still others, after a long silence, stood up and walked out, heading towards the village chief's house.

They wanted to ask if their son's name could be put on the list to Red Tide Main City... Tolan Coldtooth stood before the newly erected wooden plaque of the "Supplementary Notice on Barbarian Autonomy Regulations," wearing an old sheepskin robe, with his hands behind his back.

He was thirty-seven years old this year, the son of Tolmon, a former elder of the Coldtooth tribe. He had learned to read and write and understood both barbarian and Empire languages from a young age.

When Border Guard Village was established, he led the surviving tribal people to voluntarily submit to Red Tide, and now he was also the village chief of this Border Guard Village.

He no longer wore the long tribal braid as in the past, but had adopted the Red Tide style short hair.

His beard was neatly trimmed, and although his leather robe had a few patches, it was clean.

Tolan stared at a line of text on the wooden plaque.

"Eligible youths recommended by the village chief can go to Red Tide for training."

He read very slowly, scanning word by word, and then repeated it after finishing... The firelight hadn't completely died out, and occasionally a muffled sound burst from the hearth.

Tolan sat by the fire, holding an iron tongs to add fuel, but his gaze drifted to the wall.

On the wall hung that faded piece of cloth.

That was the flag Tolan had brought from the tribe.

When Titus began sweeping south through the tribes, Tolan's father, who was one of the tribal elders at the time, only told him two things: "Go south with the people. Keep the tribe alive."

That night, fire burned throughout the valley.

Tolan carried this flag on his back, leading less than fifty tribesmen to cross the mountains overnight, retreating south along the frozen river.

Along the way, a few froze to death, a few fell behind, but the flag remained tied to his back, never loosened.

Later, when they were almost at their wit's end, Red Tide Knights discovered them during a border patrol. After clarifying their identity, they registered them as submissive barbarians and settled them in the newly established Border Guard Village to the north.

He did not hand that flag over to Red Tide, nor did he mention it in front of outsiders; it was merely a simple keepsake.

Now he guarded the village, farmed, hunted, and sustained his life with the dry rations and tools distributed monthly by Red Tide.

Life was not glamorous, nor was it free, but the house no longer leaked wind, and there was always something cooking in the pot. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

Compared to his old compatriots who died in the valley, their bones buried under the snow, this was already good enough.

Tolan knew very well who provided all of this.

Red Tide did not give him tribal honor, but it gave his family ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) everything they needed to survive.

Only occasionally, late at night when all was quiet, he would still take out that old flag from the corner and hang it on the wall for a short while.

The stove fire crackled a few times.

Tolan's gaze shifted from the flag, and he turned to call out to the corner of the room, "Kosa, come here."

The young man in the corner looked up.

Thirteen years old, tall and thin, his frame not yet fully grown, but already showing some lines.

His fighting spirit had awakened long ago, and he was already at the level of a formal warrior.

Kosa was practicing writing, Empire characters, reading from the book "Our Great Lord Louis," a book now found in every Border Guard Village household.

He put down his pen and walked towards his father.

Tolan glanced at him, then took out three more things: a set of winter clothes, a bag of dry rations, and a parchment, a completed military academy registration form.

The three items were neatly laid out on the table.

"This is your chance," Tolan said calmly.

Kosa didn't take them, just looked down at the paper, his lips tight, his voice very soft: "How long will I be gone?"

"It's best not to come back." Tolan paused, his tone unchanged: "Live by their rules."

Kosa's fingers twitched, but he still didn't reach out.

He stared at the registration form, and after a moment, quietly asked, "Then... can I still say I'm from Coldtooth?"

Tolan looked at him, his gaze unwavering, only his brows furrowed slightly: "That thing is not worth a penny now."

A trace of anger flashed in the young man's eyes: "But I am of the bloodline of the snowy land, a child of the north wind, I am..."

Tolan interrupted him: "Can that bloodline keep you alive?"

For a moment, only the sound of the stove remained in the room.

Kosa lowered his head, picking at the corner of his clothes, ultimately unable to utter a word of rebuttal.

He wasn't foolish; he knew his father was right.

But that something pressing on his chest, like frozen snow, couldn't be melted away.

Tolan folded the registration paper, tucked it inside his son's lapel, and then patted his shoulder.

"Remember not to show off, don't argue with people. If you live well, keep living well. If you don't do well..." He paused, "...then eat more."

The woman at the door remained silent.

She was one of the orphans of the Coldtooth tribe, Tolan's wife, Kosa's mother.

She tucked a piece of dried meat into her child's cloth bag, tightened his scarf, and smoothed his stray hair from his forehead, but said nothing.

Kosa hugged his father, then his mother.

He didn't cry, but his eyes were a little red.

Early the next morning, the snow had not yet melted, and the sky was not fully bright.

A Red Tide military flag stood at the entrance of Border Guard Village, flapping in the wind.

Beside the flag stood three Red Tide Knights, cloaked, with standard longswords at their waists. One of them was checking a list in his hand.

Tolan walked ahead, wearing an old cloak. He led six youths, who one by one stood beneath the stone pillar at the village entrance.

The youngest of these youths was eleven, the oldest no more than sixteen or seventeen. Some were still yawning, some clenched their fists, some looked bewildered, secretly glancing in their parents' direction.

They knew they were leaving today, but no one knew what their lives would be like next.

Tolan said little, simply standing to the side of the group, his hands tucked under his cloak, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the youths.

His son, Kosa, stood second, his back ramrod straight, his hands clasped in front of him.

The Knight began to read the regulations:

"Seven individuals from this village are admitted to the Red Tide Main City military academy for the first stage of training. During this period, they are not permitted to leave the team without authorization.

Those who perform exceptionally well may be recommended for advanced camps or positions. Violators will be dealt with according to military law."

As soon as he finished speaking, Tolan stepped forward, distributing simple bags, dry rations, insulated cloaks, and identity bronze plaques to each youth.

The bronze plaques bore Red Tide's sun emblem, with no tribal name or surname.

A Knight walked to the front of the line, scanned the group, and said, "If anyone still wishes to withdraw, you may speak now."

No one moved.

All the youths lowered their heads, some with trembling hands, some gritting their teeth. No one wanted to withdraw in front of everyone.

Tolan stood still, watching silently.

It wasn't until they each shouldered their bags and stepped out of the village entrance that he let out a soft sigh... The Red Tide Border Guard Village flag was already far behind, but Louis had not turned back towards Dawn Harbor.

He had temporarily changed his itinerary, leading his entourage south back to Red Tide Main City.

This was his third time entering this Red Tide Main City in nearly five months.

The previous two times were brief stops to handle urgent matters and see his wife and child. This time was the same; time was short, but he had to return.

It was deep into the night when he arrived back in Red Tide Main City.

The bedroom door was gently pushed open. When Louis entered, covered in dust from his journey, his footsteps were light.

He carried the fatigue of long travel, his boot soles not wiped dry, leaving a damp trail on the wooden floor.

Emily leaned against the bed, holding a sleeping infant in her arms.

The child was over six months old, with chubby cheeks, soft hair, and a slowly emerging nose bridge. When sleeping, he occasionally smacked his lips, as if dreaming.

Emily wasn't asleep, just resting with her eyes closed.

Louis stood for a moment, then she opened her eyes and smiled: "You're back."

Louis nodded, then walked forward somewhat hesitantly, knelt down, and gently stroked the child's hair.

"I should come back more often," he said, "but I'm always... unable to get away."

Emily didn't answer, just reached out and helped him unfasten his cloak from his shoulder, hanging it nearby.

As soon as Louis sat beside her, she gently moved the child to the small bed, then pulled a blanket over his legs.

"I know you don't do it on purpose," she said calmly, "It's just... sometimes, don't forget you're a father too."

Louis lowered his head, holding her hand: "I know, I'm just so tired. Sometimes I'm not even sure if I'm doing the right thing."

Emily didn't try to persuade him or ask further, simply gripping his cold hand a little tighter: "The baby is very good, he's been waiting for you."

He chuckled softly, leaned his head on her shoulder, and closed his eyes: "Then tonight, I'll tell him a story, the story of the Great Lord Louis, who thwarted a traitor's conspiracy."