Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Firelight danced on the deck, cutting the room into light and shadow.

A saltwater-soaked deerskin pouch lay on the table, its corner still carrying the smell of the sea.

Kavir untied the coarse rope seal and read in a rough voice, "The Red Tide Territory's first batch of merchant ships will set sail in two days, ten ships in scattered formation, destined for the Southeast Province."

Kavir first grinned, then smiled, "Finally, they're here."

"Ten escort ships—" He muttered these words to himself.

There was no joy or fear in his eyes, only the coldness of having calculated every gain and loss.

Though the escorts were numerous, they were merely a drag.

What truly brought in silver were the cargo holds filled with precious minerals.

A deerskin map lay spread on the table, the candlelight flickering over it.

Kavir took a rusty iron nail and pressed it onto a shipping route, then used his finger to trace the three words on the map—"Rift Tide Belt," "A natural graveyard."

Kavir chuckled, his laughter low but even colder.

The Rift Tide Belt was a necessary route for the merchant fleet, and it was also the graveyard Kavir had chosen for them.

The small islands on both sides provided concealment, and the currents were complex. He had already dispatched ten Ironclaw Fire-Throwing Boats to station there.

Each boat had a two-person crew, carrying oil flasks and grappling hooks. When the tide turned, they would strike from the shadows, latch onto the enemy ships' keels, and capsize them in the undercurrents.

Kavir calculated the time; the tide would rise in the afternoon these few days, and the breathing of the tide perfectly overlapped with the Red Tide fleet's route.

That thirty-minute tidal turn was an excellent window.

With the tide rising a foot and the current direction reversing, his own fleet could swiftly advance from the north, avoiding patrol lights and quietly inserting itself behind the enemy.

Kavir used the tip of his knife to trace the route on the map, stopping the blade on a solitary reef at the end, muttering, "This is the position to cast the net."

He then marked several small dots on the edge of ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) the map, which were the pre-buried fuel barrel locations.

Once the escort ships approached, he would ignite the sea, letting the rolling thick smoke obscure the enemy's vision, covering the main force's penetration.

Kavir's hand rested on the map, his expression unperturbed as he looked at the symbols.

Everything was like a calculation.

Even betrayal, failure, and escape were precisely factored into the plan.

Kavir had measured the tides, calculated the time, and gauged the spread rate of flames. He knew the burning time of every oil flask, and the load capacity and withdrawal radius of every Fire-Throwing Boat.

Kavir's caution permeated every detail: spare winches, folding gangplanks, wax-sealed tokens, and even how many rations each subordinate should carry.

Every route had a retreat, and every point had an alternative plan.

Even the guards of the dawn Lighthouse had already taken money; as long as he lit a specific signal light, the alarm would be delayed by one minute.

That one minute would be enough for him to complete his harvest.

And if the operation failed, he would abandon his ship and set it on fire at the reef mouth, letting the enemy see the burnt wreckage, then take his confidants to the Crow's Nest small town he had long infiltrated, change his name, and live a different life.

In the cabin, the firelight reflected off his metallic jaw, making him look less like a pirate and more like an accountant writing a ledger of death on the sea.

For him, so-called brotherhood was merely a tool for making money.

Shouts and laughter from the pirates came from the deck. Under the firelight, they clapped barrel lids, clanged their blades, cursed loudly, and sang crude songs.

They jostled and played, strong liquor splashed on the wooden planks, the smell of alcohol mixing with blood.

It was a wild clamor, like beasts roaring at each other before a storm.

With the cabin door ajar, Kavir stood at the helm, his gaze passing through the window crack to watch the reveling crowd.

Moonlight cast a cold glow on his metallic jaw, his calm appearing more terrifying than the deck's uproar.

Kavir silently folded all his arrangements, like wrapping a sharp weapon, without an ounce of hesitation or pity in his heart.

The shouts and laughter outside became mere noise; only the wind and waves responded to his thoughts.

Kavir quietly took a breath, muttering, "Let them laugh their fill, they don't have much time."

Then he shed his calm expression, raised his hand, and pushed the cabin door open.

The sea breeze, mixed with the smell of alcohol, hit him. He paused briefly at the doorway, his lips slowly twitching, putting on that mad smile again.

The gloomy calculations of moments before were hidden within his laughter, as if he had become a different person.

Seeing him appear, the pirates shouted in unison, "Mad King! Mad King!"

Kavir raised his cup and yelled, "Brothers! Let everyone remember the Mad King's name! Kill them all, burn their ships!"

"Kill, kill, kill!" Cheers rolled, drummers beat barrel lids, and blades clanged against masts.

The firelight reddened half of his metallic face, his smile distorting in the dancing light, both fervent and cold-blooded.

"Weigh anchor!" Kavir commanded, and the horn sounded immediately.

Thirty-seven black sails slowly turned, anchors lifted from the water, and the sea churned with broken waves.

The fleet set sail in the night fog, heading towards the graveyard he had personally chosen—the Rift Tide Belt.

The night sea was like ink, the North Sea wind carrying the chill of broken ice.

Thirty-seven black sails had already reached the outer perimeter of the Rift Tide Belt, seventeen of them hidden in the shadows of two deserted islands.

This was the ambush point Kavir had personally chosen.

There were undercurrents on the seabed, and the angle of the islands could conceal the ships' silhouettes.

For this position, he had sent people to scout it three times, meticulously recording even the height of the reefs and the water depth at low tide.

Only dim lights were lit on the island, firelight covered by canvas, and the sailors kept their voices low, as if silently awaiting some ritual.

Someone sharpened a knife on the deck, someone hung a fishbone before the mast to pray to the sea god, yet there was no clamor.

They usually indulged in mischief, drinking till their eyes were blurry, and even fighting over a piece of bread, but at this moment, everyone knew what they had to do.

The gleam of blades flickered in the fire, and no one joked anymore.

It was their moment of preparation for life and death; all indulgence and crudeness were put away at this moment.

They unconditionally trusted this Mad King.

After all, in countless raids, his intelligence was always accurate, and every gamble with their lives brought a full hold of spoils.

Even though the sea was empty now, with no enemy in sight, no one doubted him.

Thirty-seven black sails were silent in the fog, with only the low roar of waves crashing against the reefs.

Kavir stood at the helm of the wave devourer, his metallic jaw reflecting a faint glow.

He could hear the suppressed whispers and short breaths coming from the lower deck, the panting of beasts before a hunt.

The map unfolded in Kavir's mind; tides, wind direction, and ship spacing were all within his calculations.

The plan, conceived over two months, would be harvested tonight.

Before dawn, the Red Tide's three escort ships finally appeared at the entrance of the Rift Tide Belt.

Their sails were faintly visible in the fog, and the Red Tide's emblem flag hung from their masts.

Further behind them, seven more escort ships cruised in a dispersed formation, forming a weak but constantly shifting defensive line.

Kavir narrowed his eyes, watching the rhythm of that route, a slight smile playing on his lips.

He wasn't afraid of those escort ships.

Thirty-seven ambushing black sails were enough to suppress the firepower of these ten enemy ships, not to mention countless successful attacks had previously convinced him that he had never miscalculated.

As soon as the order was given, the prey would be caught.

And at the rear of the escort fleet, a line of cargo ships slowly entered—those were the true targets, that batch carrying precious prey.

The horn sounded from the wave devourer, low and rhythmic.

Almost simultaneously, flag signals rose from the mastheads of each ship, and signal officers gestured in all directions, confirming the order's transmission.

This was the order to attack; the seventeen black sails lurking in the distance collectively awoke.

The entire fleet, like beasts pulled by strings, began to move slowly, and the sea surface rippled with dense light.

Three Fire-Throwing Boats were the first to cut out of the shadows, rushing towards the target like arrows.

According to Kavir's deployment, the three vanguard Fire-Throwing Boats were not meant for a frontal assault.

Instead, they would first flank from behind, and while the escort ships were distracted by the firelight, they would directly charge the cargo ships, disrupting their course, then set fire to block them and create chaos.

That was the Mad King's specialty hunt: disrupting formations, and using burning fear to devour the enemy's order.

The pirates' eyes flickered in the firelight; they couldn't suppress their excitement, muttering curses, licking their lips, as if sniffing the scent of money and blood.

"What's due is finally here," a sailor chuckled softly, tightening his grip on his dagger hilt.

Everyone knew that once the fire started, this venture would feed them for a whole year.

All their life-gambling hearts were ignited by the illusion of spoils.

Kavir stood at the rail, his lips slowly curving, like a hunter waiting for the trap to snap shut.

As the Fire-Throwing Boats rapidly approached, shark oil was poured into the sea.

The next moment, the sea surface lit up with orange-red flames.

Blazing inferno rose, fire tongues licked the fog wall, like a burning giant serpent.

The Red Tide escort ships were trapped within, the deafening roar of cannons tore through the night sky.

Three escort ships were hit in succession, their side armor bursting with cracks, and their hulls began to tilt.

Pirates threw Magic Bombs for follow-up attacks, explosions continuously creating sparks on the sea surface.

In just a few breaths, the three escort ships were shattered.

Of course, Kavir did not order continued bombardment; Magic Bombs were too precious, and he never wasted them without absolute certainty.

A wave of cheers surged into the sky: "Long live the Mad King!"

They howled as if victory was within reach.

Kavir's laughter swept through the wind and waves, cold and frenzied; on this burning night sea, he believed this time would be his rebirth.

However, the calm sea surface suddenly changed.

Buoys in the fog suddenly lit up with red light, one after another, tracing regular arcs on the sea.

Immediately after, explosions rang out in a chain, shaking the wooden planks and making the sail ropes jump wildly.

The ambushed ships immediately lost balance: ten were directly blown over in the first impact, turning into overturned shells, black oil rapidly spreading on the water.

The shock of the explosions stirred up waves, accompanied by heart-wrenching screams.

Some were thrown off the deck, falling into the oil-burning sea, immediately letting out short, agonizing screams that were swallowed by the flames; others were caught by broken iron hooks, dragged whole into the burning water.

Painful thumping and cries for help came from the hold; someone continuously knocked on the planks, shouting, "Let me out!"

But only the waves and the echo of explosions answered them.

And the flames spread along the waves, illuminating their terrified faces.

On the dawn in the distance, Louis watched the chaotic sea through a telescope.

The light of the explosions reflected on his face, his expression as calm as ever, his finger tapping lightly on the scope, as if counting.

The sea breeze beside him ruffled the edges of his cloak, and the firelight reflected a clear outline in his eyes.

"Hit rate is ideal," he said lightly.

This was Silco's design, the "Thunder Shock Formation," an alchemical floating mine system deployed according to tidal currents.

Each node could resonate in a chain, forming an explosive chain once triggered.

The Mad King's fleet formation was too dense; he personally sent his ships into the minefield.

Of course, these deployments were not improvised.

Half a month ago, Louis had already foreseen from the Daily Intelligence System that Kavir would launch an attack in the Rift Tide Belt, so he ordered people to quietly lay this killing trap on the seabed.

Those floating mines, hidden markers, and fuses were all buried beneath the tide, quietly waiting for this night.

And the three escort ships were also specially built decoys, with no one even inside them.

Louis nodded, put away his telescope, his gaze still fixed on the distant sea of fire: "Not bad."

In less than ten minutes, those ten ships were completely destroyed.

Survivors threw ropes to nearby ships, some caught them, while others were swept away again by the fire waves before they could touch them.

More pirates stood on the ship's edge, not daring to approach, only watching helplessly as their brothers on the sea were swallowed.

The air was filled with the smell of tar, blood, and burning, even breathing carried a fishy (fishy/bloody) odor.

All this happened very quickly, as if an invisible hand had pressed the fast-forward button.

The wreckage and bodies floating on the sea tore the once confident atmosphere into silence.

"Damn it! It's a trap!" the first mate shrieked.

Kavir gripped the railing, his eyes instantly cold.

He knew it was a trap, but couldn't believe it. This plan was one he had personally orchestrated; no one knew the details except for him.

How could it have been ambushed in advance?!

Rage and unease churned in Kavir's chest, as if wanting to tear it open.

The dawn escort ship suddenly turned around, its hull armor opening to reveal cannon arrays.

The next second, cannonballs rolled back with the sea wind.

Hidden swivel cannons fired upwards from below, a rain of cannon fire, sinking another half-destroyed black sail.

Kavir gritted his teeth, suppressing his shock and anger, cursing under his breath: "Calm down—it's not over yet."

Panic was forcibly suppressed. He suddenly turned and roared, "Keep releasing shark oil! Release smoke screens! Adjust formation, pincer from both wings! Begin the second wave of assault!"

The vice-ship immediately poured oil, a curtain of fire rose, and orange-red smoke rolled and spread.

Even with eleven ships lost, Kavir still judged the situation based on his experience, preparing for a forced breakthrough.

The seawall collapsed in the roar, seawater poured into the harbor, and firelight reflected on his profile.

Kavir still believed that with his methods, this battle could still be won.

Immediately, all the black sail ships raised their sails and charged towards those old cargo ships.

These were not new recruits, but seasoned pirates. Although their side had lost nearly a third of its combat power, this scene was not enough to make their legs weak.

The pirates agilely hooked up winches, stabilized their ships, and used short ropes to hook the cargo ship's railings from the side. Some even had gangplanks ready in advance, preparing to rush onto the deck in waves.

Panic was forcibly suppressed. He suddenly turned and roared, "Keep releasing shark oil! Release smoke screens! Adjust formation, pincer from both wings! Begin the second wave of assault!"

The vice-ship immediately poured oil, a curtain of fire rose, and orange-red smoke rolled and spread.

Even with eleven ships lost, Kavir still judged the situation based on his experience, preparing for a forced breakthrough.

The seawall collapsed in the roar, seawater poured into the harbor, and firelight reflected on his profile.

Kavir still believed that with his methods, this battle could still be won.

Immediately, all the black sail ships raised their sails and charged towards those old cargo ships.

These were not new recruits, but seasoned pirates. Although their side had lost nearly a third of its combat power, this scene was not enough to make their legs weak.

The pirates agilely hooked up winches, stabilized their ships, and used short ropes to hook the cargo ship's railings from the side. Some even had gangplanks ready in advance, preparing to rush onto the deck in waves.