Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

After dusk in Red Tide City, snow whispered softly, and golden firelight illuminated the hall on the upper floor of the earthen castle.

The fireplace burned, its flames reflecting on the stone walls. Silver platters held stewed mushrooms and roasted cod, and the air was filled with a warm aroma.

A servant quietly set the table, the clinking of cups barely audible.

Louis sat at the head of the table, his cloak draped over the chair back, looking up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

He rarely hosted banquets; administrative duties, meetings, and documents almost filled his every day.

Tonight was an exception, for one person.

The door was pushed open, and a gust of cold air swept in.

"I heard there's fish tonight? Boss, you finally remembered your brother!" Yoen Harway's voice was louder than the wind.

His coat was covered in snowflakes, his hair disheveled by the cold wind, and his face was red from the chill, yet he laughed heartily.

Louis looked up and couldn't help but smile, "All you think about is food."

"I wouldn't eat just any fish. This is the Boss inviting me, so it must be extraordinary fish." Yoen strode in, pulling off his gloves.

Actually, Louis hadn't invited him to Red Tide City; he had already been in Red Tide City for some time.

His reason for being in Red Tide City was simple: the affairs of Silver Ridge Hill had long been integrated into the Red Tide Council Hall system, requiring only his signature for confirmation, and with mining suspended for the winter, he had too much free time.

Moreover, compared to the icy Silver Ridge Hill, Red Tide City was the true entertainment hub of the North. While he claimed to be there for work reports, he was mostly there to escape the cold and enjoy the winter.

Indeed, many nobles, like Yoen, entrusted their territory's affairs to Red Tide officials and came to the city to warm up for the winter.

Red Tide City had almost become the true center of the North.

Singing halls, taverns, academies, theaters, hot springs... everything made them willing to stay.

"Sit down quickly," Louis gestured, indicating for a servant to pour wine.

Yoen pulled up a chair and sat down, wiping the moisture from his hands, a brilliant smile on his face.

The firelight reflected in their wine glasses, and the aroma wafted through the air.

"Boss, this is truly paradise," Yoen raised his glass, drank it in one gulp, and sighed dramatically. "It's hard to even get a hot drink at the mine. In Red Tide City, even the air is sweeter than elsewhere."

Louis chuckled, "Then you should thank the Council Hall."

"Thanking the Boss is faster," Yoen grinned. "Even my servants say that Red Tide's hearth fire is hotter than the sun."

The two first discussed the recent situation in the North.

Louis mentioned, "Silver Ridge Hill's mineral output is good this year. You've done well."

Yoen immediately perked up, as if he had finally found an opportunity to show off.

He began to speak volubly about his governance experience, laughing as he said, "The miners' shifts were too chaotic, so I had the Council Hall staff schedule them; the workers' food was too poor, so I had the Red Tide chefs write menus..."

"I later realized, Boss," Yoen said, gesturing, "professional matters should be handled by professionals. I just need to hand over the decision-making power to the Red Tide officials, then wait for the bills, collect taxes, sign a few documents, and I'm done!"

Louis chuckled, "Is that your governance philosophy?"

"That's efficiency!" Yoen said seriously. "My approach is entirely learned from you, Boss. Now even the miners call themselves Red Tide people."

Louis smiled and raised his glass, "This is the North we want."

The flames flickered in their glasses, casting a warm glow on their faces.

A moment later, Louis's tone shifted slightly, and he casually asked, "How is Earl Harway's health?"

Yoen put down his glass and shrugged, "He's alright, just drinks a bit too much. If he didn't have wine, he'd probably be bedridden immediately."

Louis chuckled softly, "I heard your father recently expanded his warehouses at a port in the Southwest Province?"

"Yes," Yoen's tone suddenly became serious. "I was thinking of having him build a port for the North, but he's such an old stubborn man. He keeps saying the North is too cold and not suitable for business. I really want to tie him up and bring him to Red Tide for a hot spring bath."

Louis listened and laughed, then his tone grew serious, "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about this. Red Tide is planning to expand a trade route to the south. We need stable ports and transit points."

Yoen put down his glass, "Your Calvin Merchant Guild controls the largest port city. There's no need to ask my father, is there?"

Louis smiled, raised his glass, and said calmly, "Having an extra route is never a bad thing."

Yoen paused, then also laughed, "The Boss is right, more routes make for smoother travel."

Louis continued, "I plan to cooperate with the Harway family. The Red Tide Merchant Guild will ship goods, and the Harway family will provide port clearance and warehousing.

The North will export leather, Cold Iron, and valuable minerals, while the South will provide spices, silk, wine, and grain. We will establish a joint merchant guild and split the profits. And at the Dragon Throne Council, Red Tide will also support the Harway family's New Nobility Alliance proposal."

Yoen was stunned for a few seconds, then smiled as brightly as the sun.

"Boss, you should have told me sooner!" He patted his chest. "I'll handle this! I'll write back tomorrow. If my old man doesn't agree... he can't possibly not agree.

Actually, he always praises you in his letters, and he told me to get closer to you, saying that the future of the North rests on that young Louis. I was quite surprised to hear that."

Then Yoen scratched his head, muttering, "But... my old man also has a strange question. He always asks me how big your port is. I really can't answer that."

Louis smiled, then took out a letter and handed it to Yoen, "Please deliver this letter to Earl Harway for me. It contains everything he wants to know."

Yoen accepted the letter, then patted his chest, "Don't worry, I'll take care of this. Besides, we're brothers, and my father is your father too."

Louis was a little speechless; this sentence sounded strange no matter how he heard it, but he still raised his glass, "Then let's drink to family first."

"To the Boss!" Yoen loudly agreed, his voice drowning out the crackling of the fire.

The two raised their glasses, firelight flickering within them.

Laughter, firelight, and the aroma of wine mingled, and the temperature in the hall gradually rose.

Yoen patted his chest, laughing heartily, like a perpetually tireless young man.

And Louis looked at him, feeling that even this cold North had gained some vitality... Winter was approaching, and Red Tide's streets were covered with a thin layer of frost from the first snow.

The streets were bustling with people.

Vendors hawked hot wine, leather boots, and cured meat, while children dragged wooden boxes, running in the snow, their lanterns swaying.

"Northern sheepskin, soft as a spring breeze, one copper coin a sheet!" "Hot cod soup! Fresh out of the pot!" The cries echoed through the streets and alleys.

Workers in fur coats emerged from workshops, plump money pouches hanging from their waists, their laughter rough and genuine.

And Knights moved through the crowd, bargaining with artisans, completely ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) without airs.

Leighton noticed that these people showed no fear or poverty on their faces. They carried themselves with confidence, like masters of their own destiny.

He secretly sighed, this city was busier than the Emerald Federation's ports.

A borderland exiled by the Empire had achieved such scale in just a few years.

As the secret liaison for the Azure Tide Guild of the Emerald Federation stationed in Red Tide, he operated under the guise of a steward for the Southern merchant caravan, the Cold Salt Merchant Guild.

By rights, Leighton's mission was merely to observe and record the resource potential of the North, establish covert trade route nodes, and report back to the Federation Council.

Sometimes he also needed to gather intelligence on the North's politics and military preparations for the Guild.

But now, Red Tide had made it impossible for him to view it purely as a mission; he had even somewhat integrated into this society.

"This is more than just a miracle of the North," he thought. "A city within the Federation could become wealthy out of nowhere like this."

Leighton walked into the Cold Salt Inn, his base of operations. It appeared to be an ordinary shop but was actually an intelligence node for the Guild.

The room was brightly lit, the fireplace burning, and the air carried a faint scent of salt and fish oil.

Leighton took off his gloves and instructed a servant to close the door. Just as he was about to organize today's ledgers, he heard a few soft footsteps outside the door.

Several men in ordinary merchant robes entered one after another, exchanging greetings with local accents.

Leighton initially paid no attention, continuing to flip through the ledgers.

The next moment, the curtains were quickly drawn, and the men, acting in unison, subdued him.

Two fully armed Red Tide Knights appeared at the doorway. One said softly, "Leighton Fromm, the Red Tide Lord wants to see you."

Leighton froze instantly, realizing his disguise was exposed.

His first reaction was not fear, but confusion. How did they know my name?

He was quickly forced to the ground, a thick cloth pulled over his head. Urgent footsteps and terse commands sounded in his ears.

"Take him away."

The world plunged into darkness. Leighton couldn't hear the wind and snow outside, only feeling his body being dragged, the stone bricks underfoot bumping.

Someone pushed him forward, then he was shoved into a carriage.

The carriage was narrow, swaying slightly with the rolling wheels. He couldn't discern the direction, only knew the carriage was going uphill, turning, and moving further and further away from the bustling city.

In the blind darkness, Leighton's mind raced: Was there a problem with the manifest? Did someone in the Federation Guild leak information? Or were the Cold Salt Inn's ledgers investigated?

A cold gust of wind swept past, and he was pushed onto a chair.

Someone tore off the black cloth from his head.

The light stung his eyes.

Leighton squinted and looked up, seeing not a dark cellar, but a spacious and bright study.

A map of the North hung on the wall, a fireplace burned in the corner, and a metal gear clock emitted a faint ticking sound.

Behind the desk sat a young Lord, with black hair and a calm expression, yet not appearing stern.

The firelight reflected on his face, making him look more like a patient scholar than a Lord who ruled the North.

Louis Calvin.

He was younger than Leighton had imagined, and more approachable, even with a relaxing sense of composure.

Leighton's fear was somewhat diminished by this composure, replaced by a flicker of hope.

Perhaps if he acted like an ordinary merchant, he could still bluff his way through.

He quickly forced a smile, his voice trembling, "S-sir, you... you must have the wrong person? I'm just a small merchant, a salt seller, here in the North for a small business."

Louis did not answer immediately. He simply raised a hand, indicating for him to sit down, and watched him with a calm expression, as if waiting for him to finish his lies.

That silence held no hostility, yet it made one feel there was no escape.

"Leighton Fromm of the Azure Tide Guild," Louis finally spoke, his voice so calm it was almost gentle, "Welcome to Red Tide."

Leighton's heart pounded, almost bursting from his chest. His breathing tightened, and his throat was as dry as if choked with dust.

His mind was a mess.

It's over, exposed. Where did I go wrong?

Louis's gaze was calm, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, yet more terrifying than any threat.

A chill ran down Leighton's spine, his breathing grew more rapid, and the fear in his heart was completely amplified. It was the gaze of a hunter watching his prey.

At this moment, Leighton suddenly realized that this young Lord was not as gentle as he appeared.

Beneath that calm smile lay a chilling sense of control, as if his every move was within the other's grasp.

But now he could only force himself to look up, a stiff smile on his lips, his voice trembling, "You... you really have the wrong person... I'm really just a nobody."

His voice was weak, his eyes darting nervously, like a cornered beast.

He wanted to find an excuse, but even he could hear the tell-tale panic in his voice.

Louis did not reply, only smiled at him.

That smile was calm and gentle, yet it was impossible to tell if it was genuine or a test.

Candlelight illuminated his profile, his black hair falling softly to his shoulder, his expression serene.

Leighton, however, grew more frantic the more he looked. That smile was not comforting, but a condescending composure, as if everything was already within his expectations.

"Don't worry," Louis finally spoke, "I'm not interested in spies."

His tone shifted, and he added lightly, "But I am interested in merchant guilds."

Leighton seemed to grasp at a lifeline, quickly stammering, "Y-yes, sir, I understand."

Louis slowly rose and turned to look at the falling snow outside the window, "Tell your Guild that we have Cold Iron, magma essence, and other minerals you need. We don't plunder, we only trade, and we hope you do too."

Louis turned back, his eyes reflecting the firelight, as if he could see through the forces behind Leighton.

"Of course, I also know you can't make the decision," he continued, his tone calm, "So give this letter to your superior, and let him consider it carefully."

Louis took a letter from the desk, the Red Tide seal stamped on the envelope, and gently pushed it to the edge of the table, "I believe you will bring back the right message."

Leighton opened his mouth, his throat dry, and could only nod, "I... understand, sir."

Louis waved his hand gently. Several Red Tide Knights stepped forward and used a cloth to re-blindfold Leighton.

"Take him back," Louis said calmly.

Leighton felt himself being helped up again, pushed out of the study, footsteps echoing in the long corridor.

He heard the heavy door open, cold wind rushing in, and then he was shoved into a carriage.

The carriage drove down the main castle's stone path, the sound of the wheels crunching over accumulated snow clearly audible.

Not until the night swallowed the distant firelight did the carriage stop in his familiar neighborhood.

Someone untied the ropes and roughly ordered, "Get out."

The cloth was pulled off, and the biting cold wind hit his face.

He stood at the entrance of his Cold Salt Inn.

The shopkeepers stood stunned at the doorway, their expressions surprised.

Leighton's face was pale, gasping for breath, and he whispered urgently, "Pack your things... immediately! We need to leave this city."

No one dared to ask why. The servants frantically packed ledgers, manifests, and valuable goods.

That night, Leighton and his entourage hastily left the city, heading south.

Whatever was written in the letter, he had been exposed.

As the carriage passed through the streets of Red Tide, he couldn't help but look back.

Under the night sky, the main castle's tower was faintly visible in the snowy mist, and the firelight from within the windows had not yet extinguished, as if someone stood there.

In a trance, he saw the young Lord, standing at the window, with that calm smile.

Leighton's breath caught, his heart almost leaping from his chest.

He abruptly turned back, not daring to look again, only urging the coachman, "Faster! Faster!"

The carriage wheels splashed up snow, running faster and faster, as if trying to escape the gaze of that smile.