Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

In the early morning of Red Tide City, the main castle had not fully awakened, but lights were already lit in the Lord’s study.

Bradley stood at the desk, waiting for his Lord who he hadn’t seen in a long time.

Louis entered the study and nodded slightly when he saw Bradley: “You’re up even earlier than I am.”

Bradley smiled and bowed: “It’s what I should do, My Lord.”

“Hmm.” Louis said after settling down, “How is Red Tide doing these days that I’ve been away?”

Bradley opened his record book and began to report:

“Overall, there has been no major upheaval, and all departments are operating as usual. The City Defense Department has completed the registration and deployment of troops in Red Tide’s Fourth Ring residential area, and the relocation of new residents has been smooth.

The main city’s sewage discharge system has been thoroughly overhauled, and a new diversion system has been activated and is running smoothly.

Regarding road construction, the main road leading to Wheat Wave Territory has been fully opened and can accommodate large grain carts.

The mountain road towards Star Forge is one-third complete, with slight delays due to complex terrain. The road to Dawn Harbor has completed its initial hardening, and the work crew is pushing forward.”

Louis listened while perusing the documents Bradley handed him.

The handwriting on the paper was neat, the content dense, interspersed with several reports and personnel deployment rosters.

He glanced at the key points, more often just nodding.

Occasionally, when he asked a question, Bradley could provide specific numbers without flipping through pages.

“The Cultural and Educational Affairs Department’s literacy program has advanced to thirty-seven districts. Evening classes on the streets have been well-received, especially in the workshop areas.

The first phase of the administrative assessment, overseen by the Internal Affairs Department, has been completed, with forty-two qualified officials recorded and assigned to various administrative nodes.”

“Regarding public order,” Bradley turned to the next page, “there have been no major cases in the past two months, and incidents of theft and street brawls are on the decline.”

The report was far from over.

From the training progress of the Red Tide Knights to the city’s potion reserves, from recent granary inventories, Bradley proceeded calmly, item by item, able to give an overview without flipping pages.

Louis continued to listen, his brows occasionally furrowing then relaxing again. Overall, Red Tide Territory was still improving.

“There is one more thing.” Bradley took out a brief report with a red stamp and handed it over.

“Hamilton’s side has finalized the loom design and entered small-batch mass production. It’s named Loom Model One, using a steam wheel as the main drive, increasing efficiency six to seven times compared to manual operation.”

“Eight units have been test-produced and are now assembled. The southwest area of the workshop has been cleared to serve as the site for the First Textile Factory. A recruitment roster has been drafted, preparing for the first round of skilled worker recruitment.”

Louis took the page and said with some affirmation, “It seems he didn’t disappoint me.”

Bradley smiled: “He also said that My Lord gave him enough time and trust, and this is his repayment.”

“Good.” Louis placed the paper on the table. “This matter won’t be announced yet. I’ll go back once the factory starts operating.”

“Understood.” Bradley paused, then continued, “Additionally, coordination between departments is becoming stable, and tax revenues from all city gates and workshop material inputs are clearly filed, with no signs of confusion.”

“Overall stability, with smooth implementation of new policies.” The Old Butler’s tone was steady, yet his expression showed pride.

Louis gently closed the document about the loom’s mass production, pushed it aside, and leaned back in his chair.

“Bradley, I have a question.” His tone suddenly softened a few degrees. “I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

The Old Butler immediately straightened up: “Please speak, My Lord.”

“You’ve heard about the Border Guard Village incident, right? Even if the new law operates smoothly, it only suppresses the surface in the end.

The cost of reforming adult barbarians is too high—so we start with the next generation.”

Louis’s words carried an idea that didn’t belong to this era:

“I want to bring those loyal barbarian youths to Red Tide, not just to train their hands, but to teach them to become civilized people.”

“If the barbarian children learn, they will, in turn, teach the next generation, and the generation after that, and they will no longer feel like barbarians.”

Bradley was silent for a few seconds, his brow slightly furrowed, his tone gentle but with hesitation:

“You mean to accustom them to obeying Red Tide? To eradicate their wildness from the root?”

Louis shook his head, neither denying nor agreeing: “Bradley, this is not about taming them.

I want to try if a system, a method of education, can completely reshape the future of an entire ethnic group.

If successful, it won’t just be barbarians. I can use this method to teach elite young people in other parts of the North, young people across the entire Empire, and even young people from other countries.”

“I want Red Tide to become a lighthouse of civilization.”

After he spoke, the study fell into a brief silence.

Bradley’s expression changed slightly. He /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ naturally understood the weight behind these words, but for a moment, he couldn’t find a way to respond.

He lived in this era, after all, and understood the power struggles between nobles.

But ideas like “lighthouse of civilization,” “recreating an ethnic group,” and “an education system rewriting the world” were a bit too complex for him.

He finally asked softly, “My Lord, can such a thing truly be achieved? Can we bear the burden of all this?”

Louis did not refute, only smiled faintly: “Just because others cannot do it, doesn’t mean I cannot.”

Bradley bowed his head, asking no more questions.

He didn’t understand what kind of future this young Lord intended to build, but he would obey him one hundred percent.

Because these past few years had already proven that ninety percent of Louis’s decisions were correct.

So Bradley changed his tone and slowly suggested: “If that is the case, perhaps we could establish some ceremonial rewards, such as honorary titles like ‘Son of Red Tide Citizen’...

To make them believe themselves that it is the right path.”

Louis nodded: “The North has always been without hope because no one told them what the future was. This time—we will give them a path that leads upward.”

Bradley silently bowed.

The convoy slowly advanced through the morning mist.

The wheels of the carriage rumbled with a low ‘clunk’ as they rolled over the dirt road.

The wooden boards vibrated, and the cold wind seeped through the gaps in the tarpaulin, making the few youths inside the carriage shiver.

Kosa sat at the front of the carriage, his hands clasped around his knees, not saying a word.

His gaze subtly watched the scenery ahead until the gray-white outline slowly emerged from the mist.

Red Tide City.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with the city’s name.

From his father’s mouth, from Red Tide officials’ mouths, from those books—but he had never imagined that this city would be like this.

It was a winding, undulating stone wall, its gray-white base covered in frost, cold light shimmering in the morning mist, like a polished battle-axe.

Countless cold iron beams horizontally traversed the wall, deeply embedded in the stone cracks, as if the city wall itself was forged from cast iron.

Arrow towers were already completed, piercing the sky, with smoking braziers burning atop them.

The firelight flickered, reflecting the red banner, which flapped fiercely in the wind, its sun emblem seemingly staring coldly at him.

Looking further ahead, the tall, wooden city gate was heavy and solid, with countless cold iron spikes densely embedded in its planks.

Kosa’s eyes flickered, and he gripped his knees tightly.

In an instant, his mind conjured an image of his tribe’s crude tent, the still-smoking hearth, and the faded cloth banner on the wall.

Rough wooden posts and mud walls, crumbling stones frozen solid—compared to the neat and tidy city before him, whose walls alone could block the cold wind...

It was like two different worlds.

Kosa instinctively lowered his head, his mind a jumble.

He couldn’t describe the feeling.

Anger? Shame? Fear? Or—

Envy?

“We’ve arrived.” Someone whispered behind him. Kosa raised his head, looking again at the high wall.

Beyond it were the city’s rooftops, towers, and the rising white steam.

Before the Red Tide City gate, there was no clamor.

No hawking, no pushing and shoving, not even a cough seemed unrestrained.

The moment Kosa jumped off the carriage, his eyes immediately fell upon the patrol of Red Tide Knights.

Six in a row, clad in crimson cloaks, their gray steel plate armor sharp and neat, the city emblem uniformly adorned on their left shoulders, their steps synchronized. Every three paces, they would shout an order in unison, as if drilling on a parade ground.

He instinctively stopped.

He had never seen such a troop, emanating something he couldn’t describe from their very core, something akin to order.

Unlike tribal cavalry, who wore animal skins and roared, or Imperial border cavalry, who haphazardly carried flags, the Red Tide Knights even turned their heads with a certain regularity, making one involuntarily hold their breath.

What shocked Kosa even more was that as the knight squad passed directly in front of him, he instinctively held his breath and concentrated, trying to sense the flow of battle aura from one of them.

He couldn't sense it at all.

No, he did sense it—that steady, restrained, deeply suppressed power.

Like a completely blunted blade, coldly hidden in its sheath, waiting only for the moment it was drawn to reveal its sharpness.

Kosa’s pupils constricted slightly.

Even if these people were just on a regular patrol, they had the foundation of at least elite warriors.

“How is that possible,” he muttered to himself, “using warriors like this just to guard a city gate?”

He, who was once called the most talented youth in his tribe, was utterly insignificant before these people.

He looked around and saw all the barbarian youths, like himself, with their heads bowed, utterly silent.

Several Red Tide Knights were verifying entry records against a list, registering each person one by one.

No one shouted slogans, and no one used whips to hurry them.

Yet the line advanced spontaneously, and everyone, upon reaching the gate, obediently showed their identity tags, submitted to baggage checks, and then, with a numbered paper, proceeded to the diversion point.

Kosa stood before this orderly process, suddenly feeling an inexplicable awkwardness.

He looked down at his worn-out boots, then at a merchant who had just dismounted nearby.

The man’s shoes were polished so brightly they reflected his image.

And those Red Tide Knights on guard, their chins beneath their helmets sharply defined, like stone carvings.

They looked too clean, too neat. Kosa instinctively stepped back half a pace, pulling the cloak his mother had mended a little tighter.

But soon he snorted in his heart: “Hmph—just because they’re well-dressed, what’s so great about that?”

There weren't many people in line, and soon it was their turn.

The leading knight handed a scroll to the gate guard, confirming their identities.

Then a registrar walked over.

He looked to be in his thirties, his hair neatly combed, with a gentle demeanor that put people at ease.

He scanned the youths before him: “Don’t be nervous, everyone come closer, one by one. First, state your name and your parents’ names.”

The registrar smiled, as if reassuring children who had just entered the city: “From today on, you are Red Tide people, understand?”

A barbarian youth at the front of the line was not quite accustomed to this Red Tide-style process and was speechless for a moment.

But the registrar didn’t rush him, only gently said, “Take your time, it’s alright.”

Finally, it was Kosa’s turn.

“Name?”

“Kosa.”

“Full name?”

“Kosa Han—” He bit his tongue halfway through, then whispered, “Kosa.”

The registrar showed no sign of surprise, merely nodded, and wrote down the name.

“Age?”

“Fifteen.”

“Original Border Guard Village number: seventeen. Recommending person, Village Chief Tolan.”

Hearing this name, the registrar paused, looked up at him, and his eyes held a hint of a smile.

“You are Tolan’s son? I have dealt with your father a few times.”

The registrar’s tone was unhurried, like a casual chat between old acquaintances, then he added offhandedly:

“I am from the Old Bone tribe, and like you, I used to be a Snowfield person.”

As he said this, he neither deliberately lowered his voice nor avoided eye contact.

He spoke of his barbarian origin openly and honestly.

Kosa was stunned.

He had never imagined that an official in Red Tide would actively and unreservedly bring up his tribal background.

And no one frowned, no one avoided him, no one even seemed to think there was anything wrong with it.

This scene instantly ignited a flurry of confused thoughts in his mind.

He had originally thought he was being sent as a hostage.

He was the defeated party, a bargaining chip, a lamb chosen to be penned.

But now, what he saw was another barbarian, not only not being suppressed but openly becoming an official.

And even saying, “I have dealt with your father.”

This was completely different from everything he had heard in the village and imagined.

In that instant, he realized for the first time that perhaps this place wasn’t specifically for humiliating barbarians.

“Tolan is a smart man, and his son won’t be bad either.”

The registrar’s tone softened even more: “Your father wrote that you learn quickly and write well.

Don’t worry, Old Butler Bradley personally instructed that children like you will be given special training.”

He even patted Kosa’s shoulder, as naturally as if he were treating his own nephew, without the slightest doubt or distance.

Everything—the registrar’s background, his tone, even the nuance of every word—exuded a perfectly pitched friendliness.

This was specially arranged by Bradley, to ensure that these barbarian youths, stepping into Red Tide City for the first time, would not feel like outsiders from the very beginning.

Kosa suddenly didn’t know how to respond.

He had never imagined he would be accepted this way, even in a manner of kinship.

He knew perfectly well that this was likely a strategy, an appeasement, a gentle means of taming people.

But when the man handed him the temporary copper badge stamped with “Red Tide Apprentice Scholar”...

He still flinched.

The copper badge was heavy, not large, but it inexplicably pressed down on his heart.

Since when had he become unaccustomed to even being treated kindly?