Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Winter in Cold Sand Territory had only recently receded, and the wind outside the castle still carried a chill.

At daybreak, mist rose from the slopes, and residual snow slowly melted along the cracks in the castle walls.

Baron Holder, Lord of Cold Sand Territory, sat in the small hall of the castle. The rough wooden chair creaked slightly when he sat down, due to its age.

"Being a lord like this is too difficult..." Holder mumbled, his face wrinkled, as if afraid others in the castle might hear him.

In truth, no one would hear him. Apart from his attendants, almost no one was willing to stay in his castle.

Cold Sand Territory had been barren for years. For the past three years, the mines were flooded, and the granaries emptied year by year.

If not for the salt, grain, timber, and ironware sent by the Red Tide, this place would have collapsed long ago.

But Holder was unwilling in his heart. He was the Lord of Cold Sand Territory, and by rights, should be the supreme ruler of the domain.

But now? Officials sent by the Red Tide inspected the account books, warehouses were sealed with Red Tide seals, and even spring plowing and breeding had to follow the Red Tide's schedule.

When people in the territory encountered trouble, they sought out Red Tide officials, not him.

"Lord... The lord has become a mere decoration." He scratched his messy hair, his face more wrinkled.

But Holder also knew very well that without the Red Tide, he wouldn't have survived last winter.

The last few bags of grain in his family's warehouse were saved thanks to Red Tide relief.

Even the winter medicine his son took was delivered by the Red Tide medical team.

But as for rebellion, Holder only dared to think about it in his mind, not daring to take any action.

"Should I keep one or two more carts of ore?" Holder's thought cautiously emerged, then retreated. "Forget it, the warehouse has a seal, even one bag less will be discovered."

He thought again: "Or... should I write less in the account books?"

Immediately, the image of Supervisory Department personnel flashed in his mind, imagining himself hanging from the city gate. He had already heard about the consequences for other lords who concealed their account books.

Holder felt a chill throughout his body, extinguishing the thought completely.

"Then, should I drive away the Red Tide officials?... Don't be silly, I only have a dozen knights, and a small squad of theirs would be enough to deal with me."

The more Holder thought, the more disheartened he became, slumping back into his chair: "Being a lord is truly difficult. If only Duke Edmund were still here."

Just as he was rubbing his temples, an attendant hastily knocked on the door: "Lord, Peter, the Red Tide Aid Officer, requests an audience."

Holder's heart skipped a beat.

Peter? Red Tide Aid Officer? Coming at this time? What for?

"It's over, it's over, is he here to investigate me?" His throat tightened. "Was the letter I wrote to Collins intercepted?"

He remembered that letter full of complaints, and his face turned pale instantly, but he still tried to appear calm: "Let him in."

After the attendant withdrew, Holder quickly pulled down his sleeves, pretending to be sitting upright, but sweat was already beading in his palms.

He didn't wait long before Peter stepped into the small hall.

This middle-aged Red Tide official wore a deep red cloak and gave a simple bow, yet he exuded a sense of reliability and trustworthiness.

"Lord Holder." Peter's voice was not loud, yet it commanded respect.

Holder put on a feigned look of impatience: "What is it?"

Peter didn't rush to speak but raised his hand to signal the attendants.

Two attendants pushed in a wooden chest, half a man's height, so heavy that the stone slabs groaned.

Holder was stunned, his heart sinking, thinking they were interrogation tools. He instinctively shrank an inch back into his chair.

The wooden chest was placed beside the table, and Peter personally unlatched its clasp with a snap.

The moment the lid was lifted, Holder's breath hitched... Inside were not documents, not seals, but a whole chest of dazzling gold coins.

Sunlight slanted in from the window, shining on the gold, as if illuminating the entire small hall.

Holder froze completely, even forgetting to swallow.

Peter placed an account book on top of the gold, his tone as steady as if announcing a routine procedure: "Lord, this is Cold Sand Territory's dividend for this year."

Holder's lips trembled: "...Div-dividend?"

"Two thousand gold coins." Peter personally turned to the settlement page in the account book and pushed it towards him. "This is the Red Tide's settlement; there will be no errors."

Holder stared at the page.

The number "two thousand" was as clear as if it were branded into his eyes.

He reached out to touch it, but his hand trembled so violently he couldn't even grasp the corner of the account book's page.

In Baron Holder's entire life, the gold coins he had seen combined probably amounted to less than half of what was in this one chest.

Cold Sand Territory had been poor for years. The income of a small barony like his was more a matter of dignity recorded in the family tree than actual wealth held in hand.

And now, this chest of gold lay before him, heavy and real, its shine making it impossible to look away.

A ridiculous thought even flashed through his mind: "Is this heaven playing a joke on me?"

Peter began to explain: "The slide rails accelerated shipments sixfold, and the steam pumps ensured the mines had no downtime. Red Tide's acquisition also followed stable prices, so the territory's revenue naturally soared."

Holder listened, his /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ mind blank, even a little dizzy.

He repeated softly: "Two thousand gold coins... In my life... I've never even seen a thousand..."

Peter opened another ledger: "Furthermore, the territory also received winter frostbite subsidies, farm tool subsidies, road and bridge repair bonuses, and school construction grants."

Holder's mind was a bit slow to process, only feeling a blockage in his chest, which suddenly seemed to clear.

Finally, Peter pulled out a thinner, smaller catalog from his bag, like a grand finale, and placed it before Holder. "These are items available from the Red Tide Merchant Guild. Lords within the Red Tide system receive discounts..."

Holder's breath, which had just recovered a little, was completely disordered again. He stared at the catalog as if it were some forbidden magic.

Peter opened the catalog, allowing him to clearly see rows of items: Federation fine cloth, forged steel swords, gems, glass wine glasses... These were high-priced items that only great nobles could afford.

Holder was completely ignited: "These... I never even dared to dream of these before! Peter, can I buy this set of glass cups? Can I buy this sword? Even this alchemical gem?"

"You are the Lord of Cold Sand Territory, so of course you can buy them." Peter's tone remained calm. "The Red Tide Merchant Guild has them in stock. Your discount has also been reserved for you."

Holder felt as if he'd been struck by lightning a second time, and he stood up from his chair: "Lord Louis... Lord Louis is truly the one who changed the Northern Realm! I actually... oh, I was so foolish!"

He was already babbling incoherently, fantasizing: "I'm going to replace the entire set of tableware in the banquet hall, with glass! And order a Federation cloak for my wife... No, two! The children must have them too! Cold Sand Territory must become respectable!"

Seeing that he was completely immersed in the imagination of gold coins and a good future, Peter added: "Lord, the Red Tide hopes that Cold Sand Territory can host the Spring Festival locally this year, to celebrate with the people."

This was an important step in Red Tide's cultural penetration, to integrate Cold Sand Territory more quickly into the system.

But Peter didn't need to tell Holder such things.

And Holder had no mind to think about the deeper reasons. Upon hearing it was a celebration, he slammed the table, making the gold coins jump: "Host it! It must be hosted! Our Cold Sand Territory must also show its spirit!"

Peter nodded: "I will include your reply in today's report."

Holder nodded rapidly: "Write it, write it. Be sure to let Lord Louis see Cold Sand Territory's sincerity!"

...Today was the official day of the Red Tide's Spring Festival.

The morning mist of Cold Sand Territory still clung to the grey stone castle walls, but the perennial chill that had lingered in the cracks and alleys seemed to have been dispelled by a warmth rising from the hearts of the people.

As dawn broke, the main street was no longer the deathly silence of winter.

It was unclear which blacksmith's shop first hung a deep red banner emblazoned with a golden sun emblem.

Immediately after, as if a silent command had spread throughout the town, every household's wooden door was adorned with wooden plaques bearing the sun emblem, or tied with bright red linen strips.

Looking around, amidst the dusty stone walls and lingering snow, those vibrant splashes of Red Tide red were like flickering flames, completely igniting this frontier town.

White steam rose from large iron pots set up along the street; these were specially brewed oatmeal and meat stews for the festival.

Although the meat chunks were few, mixed with a hint of lard and herb aromas, the scent wafted through the wind into every household's window.

"Hot! Freshly baked rye round bread! With spices! Thanks to the generosity of Lord Louis!"

The hawker's cries broke the morning's tranquility, carrying the joyous atmosphere unique to a festival.

The old baker, usually hunched and with a bitter expression, now stood tall and straight.

He wore an apron tied around his waist, and a crude iron Red Tide sun emblem pinned to his chest—it had been distributed by Red Tide aid officials a few days ago, and he had polished it gleaming with grease.

His stall was laden with genuinely filling items:

Fist-sized rye breads were baked with crispy crusts, each topped with a red dot of fruit jam symbolizing "the sun's radiance."

Several smoked, dried strips of salted meat hung from a wooden rack, emitting an enticing smoky aroma, and there were also barrels of pickled cabbage.

"We never dared to imagine celebrating a festival like this before." The old baker wrapped bread in oil paper for a customer, while making a sun gesture on his chest. "If Officer Peter hadn't brought those carts of flour with the aid team, my oven fire would have extinguished in the winter night long ago."

Under the nearby wooden shed, piles of onions and root crops transported by the Red Tide merchant caravan were stacked.

In previous years in Cold Sand Territory, this abundance was only enjoyed by the noble lords in the castle.

The streets grew more crowded with miners who had just finished their night shifts.

They no longer looked like last winter, their faces covered in coal dust, their eyes numb like walking corpses.

Today, almost everyone had a red cloth strip pinned to their woolen hat or coarse cloth collar, or a crude sun pattern sewn on.

"Cut me two fingers' width of salted meat, and weigh a small bag of coarse sugar for the children. It's Spring Festival today, the house needs some sweetness." A burly miner pulled out a few worn copper coins and carefully placed them on the wooden counter.

His companion beside him chuckled: "Old Tom, buying festival food so early?"

"That's right." Old Tom grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, and pointed to the giant red tide banner flying on the administrative hall tower in the distance.

"It's so cold this year. If Lord Louis hadn't sent Officer Pete, we'd probably be buried in icy graves by now. This money, it's well spent, it's to celebrate our escape from the Grim Reaper!"

Just as the miners were sighing, a neat sound of footsteps came from the street corner.

Pete was walking down this street with the other aid officers.

He wore the dark red Red Tide uniform. Although his cloak was a bit old, it was clean, and the brass buttons on his shoulders gleamed in the morning light.

"Officer Pete! May the sun shine upon you!"

"Officer, this is freshly baked bread. Please try it, no need to pay!"

As soon as the townspeople along the way saw him, the noisy market did not quiet down; instead, a more enthusiastic wave surged forth.

The men doffed their hats, their gestures displaying an unprecedented sincerity.

The women smiled and held up their baskets, wanting to stuff the best food into his hands.

Children followed him like little tails, the bolder ones even daring to reach out and touch the hem of his cloak.

Pete smiled and nodded to each of them, politely refusing the gifts but accepting the heavy respect.

He took a deep breath of the air, mixed with the scent of wheat and fireworks, and something in his chest felt faintly warm.

One year.

Pete subconsciously rubbed the inconspicuous wear on his cuff, his thoughts drifting back to a year ago when he first set foot on this land.

At that time, Cold Sand Territory was not like this. It was like a mute town, lifeless, with even the wind blowing through it carrying a whimper.

He remembered it was a gloomy afternoon, and the Red Tide convoy had just driven into the town entrance.

There was no welcome, no abuse.

Only pairs of eyes hidden behind door cracks, window boards, and broken fences.

Those eyes were cloudy, numb, and deeper within, they held a vigilance like watching a wolf.

At that time, his distance from these liegemen was so close, yet so far.

Close enough that he could smell the musty odor from their worn clothes, yet so far that no matter what he said, they would only look at him with terrified eyes and then tightly close their doors.

In their eyes, Pete, wearing a red uniform, was just another lord coming to exploit them.

They feared him, as they feared winter and death.

Pete did not back down.

He remembered what the instructor at the Red Tide Academy had said: "Don't expect them to understand you at first; you must use actions to engrave your rules into their hearts."

So he began to use the skills he learned in Red Tide to solve the despair on this land, one thing at a time.

The first thing was to bring the dead mine back to life.

The mine shaft was flooded with bone-chilling groundwater. The old lord's overseers would only wield whips to force people into the water, resulting in nothing but a few more floating corpses.

After Pete arrived, he didn't wield a whip; instead, he wrote an urgent letter to Lord Louis.

Half a month later, several steel monsters spewing white smoke were transported to the wellhead—steam pumps.

When the machines roared deafeningly, like giant beasts, tirelessly pumping black water from the deep well day and night, the previously numb miners all knelt on the ground, thinking it was some kind of miracle.

"Don't kneel," Pete shouted, standing in the mud. "This is Red Tide technology! The water is dry; we start work tomorrow, and there will be wages!"

The second thing was to make people stand tall.

In the past, miners had to carry heavy ore baskets, climbing out of the deep pit step by step. Many people's backs were ruined before they reached thirty.

Pete brought in people from the Artisan Department and laid rows of wooden and sheet-metal covered rails along the mine shaft.

When the first ore cart, full of ore, easily slid out of the Cave entrance along the tracks, the miners touched the rails, their hands trembling. They realized for the first time that they didn't have to risk their lives to work.

The third thing was to let everyone know where their money went.

This was the most difficult step. Pete erected a huge wooden board at the entrance of the administrative hall, on which was posted a public ledger in the Red Tide's unified format.

Every tax collected, the destination of every bag of relief grain, and the use of every copper coin were clearly written.

"The previous lords' tax collection was robbery; Red Tide's tax collection is a rule," Pete said to the onlookers, pointing at the ledger. "Every grain of wheat you pay is on this. Whoever dares to mess with it, the Supervisory Department's blade will strike them down."

When the liegemen saw that those numbers truly transformed into repaired roads, built Red Tide standard granaries, and rations distributed to them in winter, the layer of ice called vigilance finally completely melted.

Not to mention the newly completed town school.

Previously, miners' children could only roll in coal slag like weeds. Now, they sat in bright rooms, following the teachers sent by Red Tide, chanting: "Lord Louis saves the Northern Territory..."

When the old miner, his face covered in coal dust, heard his son read words from a book for the first time, this man, who had never shed a tear in his life, hugged Pete's boots and cried so hard he couldn't stand up.

It was like this, step by step, one thing after another.

Pete used the power and wisdom bestowed upon him by Red Tide to forcibly intervene in their lives, transforming this muddy swamp into solid ground.

That vigilance, like watching a wolf, dissipated, replaced by an almost blind trust and reverence.

They began to realize that this strict Officer Pete was different from the previous lords who only wielded whips. He was truly the one who would put bread in their hands, the one who would check if roofs had collapsed even on a blizzard night.

This reverence was not just for Pete personally.

Pete could feel that whenever he mentioned the name "Lord Louis," the light in these liegemen's eyes would become even more devout.

Because Pete had told them: "I am just an executor. The one who gave you steam engines, gave you rails, gave you food and schools, is Red Tide, is the great Count Louis Calvin."

So this gratitude flowed through Pete to that distant name, like the sun.

Now Pete walked down the street, enjoying the feeling of being surrounded by people, of being followed by gazes.

This feeling was wonderful.

He was no longer a humble adjutant; he had become the backbone of these thousands of people, their guardian deity in their eyes.

This sense of accomplishment made him feel that all the cold he had endured and all the nights he had stayed up were worth it.

And the more he enjoyed this honor, the deeper his gratitude to that person became.

Pete subconsciously looked at the red flag fluttering in the distance, and took a deep breath in his heart.

"Without Lord Louis, I am nothing."

It was Lord Louis who gave him this uniform, gave him these supplies, and more importantly, gave him this set of Red Tide methods that could change the world.

He merely followed the blueprint drawn by Lord Louis and built such a miraculous town.

All the prestige he possessed was a reflection of Red Tide's glory.

"May the sun always shine upon you, my Lord."

Pete prayed silently in his heart, straightened his back, and walked with a more steady pace towards the end of the street.

There, the medical officer stationed by Red Tide was posting the winter health report.

Number of deaths: six.

Pete stopped, his gaze lingering on that number for a long time.

Those unfamiliar with the situation might only see this as a cold record, but for those who had lived in the Northern Territory for over a decade, this number was nothing short of a miracle.

It should be known that in previous harsh winters, this number was usually at least two hundred, or even more.

Whenever blizzards blocked the roads, Cold Sand Territory became an isolated island. Old people would quietly pass away on cold earthen beds, miners would cough themselves to death from hemoptysis in the middle of the night, and children would die young from fever because they couldn't afford medicine. At that time, the end of winter was often accompanied by booming coffin shop business, and funeral processions would stretch from one end of the street to the other.

But this year, there were only six.

And Pete knew the names of these six people very well: three were elderly, and the remaining were terminally ill with pre-existing conditions.

Not one died from cold, not one from hunger, and not one was abandoned in the snow because they couldn't afford medical treatment.

All of this was thanks to the medical station at the street corner, which displayed both a red cross and a sun flag.

The doctors sent by Red Tide charged no consultation fees, and the bitter-tasting anti-cold herbal soup was forcefully given to every weak liegeman daily.

"Lord Louis said that in Red Tide territory, human lives are more precious than gold."

Red Tide had achieved this.

"Mom, look! I have the sun!" A clear child's voice broke through the people's memories.

A group of children, wearing ill-fitting thick cotton clothes, held small wooden pinwheels in their hands, with sun patterns painted on the blades.

They weaved through the crowd, singing short songs composed by the aid team's bards: "Red flag rises, ice and snow melt, the Lord's grace, like spring wind passing through..."

Their faces were rosy, no longer the purplish-blue of frostbite.

The adults looked at these children, their eyes becoming exceptionally gentle.

On both sides of the street, pine-resin-soaked torches and colorful ribbons printed with the Red Tide emblem swayed in the wind.

This was not just a festive decoration, but a complete act of allegiance.

Everyone here, from the shopkeeper selling bread with a badge pinned to him, to the grateful miners, and Pete's upright back, became the most solid cornerstone of Red Tide's order in this market filled with red elements.

The wind was still cold, and life was not yet prosperous, but as long as they saw the ubiquitous Red Tide Sun emblem, people's hearts felt warm.

Because they knew that as long as that red flag continued to fly, the harsh winter of Cold Sand Territory had ended.