Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The wind and snow battered the dome of the Earthen Castle, the sound muffled.

Only the wall lamp was lit in the study, and the air carried the warmth of black tea.

Louis leaned back against the semicircular chair, flipping through the latest issue of the Red Tide Daily.

The coarse pulp paper still carried a faint scent of sawdust; the layout was neat, and the writing clear.

Although the paper quality was poor, it was clear the Editorial Department had put in a lot of effort.

Since Red Tide popularized literacy education and Night School, the number of people who could read had rapidly increased.

Louis then had the Department of Education try running a newspaper, filling it with local news and simple stories.

Though the paper was rough, it was enough for ordinary people to access the latest information from the Northern Territory, the Empire, and even the world.

Although the Emerald Federation and the upper echelons of the Empire already had newspapers circulating among the nobility, the literacy rate was extremely low, and commoners would never see one in their lifetime.

Red Tide was the first in this world to push literacy to the common populace.

Louis promoted mass literacy not for self-cultivation, but for future production.

He knew that illiterates might be able to work, but they could not understand procedures, recognize symbols in a Workshop, or complete steps according to blueprints.

In Red Tide, only those who could read and write could become artisans, record keepers, grassroots officials, or Legion Sergeants.

Literacy was the first threshold for entering the Red Tide system.

If Red Tide was to expand, build, and unify the Northern Territory in the future, it must first enable the common populace to read and write.

Only those who understood the rules would be willing to abide by them, and only those who understood the system would actively uphold it.

A knock sounded.

Bradley pushed the door open, clutching several documents: “My Lord, the main structure of the New Castle is stable and will be completed next spring.”

Louis didn't lift his head: “Did Emily and the others go again today?”

“They just went this afternoon.” Bradley smiled slightly. “They care more about that New Castle than you do.”

Louis put down the newspaper, looked up, and asked, “What has the envoy from the Imperial Capital, Sorel, been doing these past few days?”

This was the first time Louis had proactively asked about Sorel since his arrival over ten days ago.

Bradley reported truthfully: “During the day, he wandered around the city. He spent the most time at the Reception Center and the Administrative Hall. On the seventh night, he sent two High-ranking Knights to try and approach the East District.”

Louis raised an eyebrow: “Were they able to get close?”

“No.” Bradley replied calmly. “They were stopped by the patrol before they even touched the second layer of fencing. After that, he settled down a bit.”

Louis chuckled softly.

“However, since that day, he started bribing the maids and cooks at the Guest House with gold coins,” Bradley continued. “Not to spy on military intelligence, but to inquire about your preferences—what wine you like, what food you prefer, or... what kind of women.”

Louis rubbed his temple, sounding amused: “Quite diligent, isn't he?”

“I had the maids make up some random things,” Bradley said flatly.

Louis laughed: “No problem, it's good for them to earn some extra money. It looks like he plans to take the appeasement route.”

He stood up, picked up his black tea, and paused by the window.

Outside, the wind and snow were heavy, blurring the castle lights into a hazy glow.

“That's enough,” Louis paused. “Go tell him that I just returned through the storm. Although I am very tired, out of respect for the Second Prince, I am willing to see him immediately. Give him twenty minutes to prepare.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Bradley acknowledged the order and left.

Silence returned to the study, and Louis continued to look down at the newspaper on the desk.

In fact, he had never left the Red Tide Territory.

The reason for not meeting Sorel was simple: to let the other party stay in the city for a few ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) more days and see the reality of Red Tide with his own eyes.

And the gift he was waiting for was ready... The Lord's Manor, Grand Conference Room.

The furnishings here were simple, almost crude for a Lord of the Northern Territory, but the massive Complete Map of the Northern Territory on the wall was particularly striking.

Louis Calvin pushed open the heavy oak door and strode in.

He was not wearing the noble formal attire Sorel had expected, nor was he clad in armor symbolizing military might, but merely a plain, thick, dark gray trench coat.

A biting cold followed his steps into the warm hall, instantly dissipating the cloyingly sweet Southern Incense in the air.

“Baronet Sorel! I apologize for keeping you waiting!”

Louis's voice was cheerful and warm; he didn't head for the main seat but quickly walked up to Sorel and shook his hand.

“The snow outside was too heavy, and there was a slight mishap on the Glacier Route, so I couldn't get away. I hope Bradley hasn't neglected you?”

Louis's smile was as bright as that of an artless youth next door, and his eyes were full of sincere apology.

Sorel froze for a moment, taken aback by the sudden warmth.

Over the past ten days, he had witnessed the suffocating throughput of the Industrial Zone, the precision-instrument-like Refugee Conversion Line in the Reception Zone, and the extravagance of having Extraordinary Knights guarding the gates.

In his imagination, the master of Red Tide should have been a sinister, cold, tyrannical ruler exuding terrifying pressure.

But this young man in front of him, besides being somewhat handsome, was too... ordinary.

Yet, it was this intense contrast that sent a bone-deep chill through Sorel.

If a tiger roared at you, at least you knew it wanted to eat you.

But if a tiger smiled at you like a person and affectionately draped its arm over your shoulder, you would never know what it intended to do.

“I wouldn't dare, I wouldn't dare.” Sorel quickly withdrew his hand and bowed deeply. “It is my honor to meet you, Your Excellency.”

“That's good.” Louis casually pulled out a chair and sat down, pointing to the one opposite. “Sit, don't be constrained. We Northern Territory People don't bother with such formalities.”

Sorel cautiously sat in the spot Louis indicated, only daring to perch on the edge of the seat, his back rigidly straight.

The strategy he had devised before coming, rehearsed no less than a hundred times, was finally about to be deployed.

“Your Excellency Louis.” He opened the Gold-inlaid Velvet Box he carried, presenting it with both hands. Inside was presumably the Second Prince's letter.

“The Second Highness has heard of your achievements in the Northern Territory. His Highness believes that the ordinary title of Earl can no longer match your status.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, picked up his teacup, and responded casually: “Oh? What does His Highness think I should be?”

Sorel stared into his eyes and slowly articulated the title that could shake the foundations of the Empire: “Grand Duke of the Northern Territory... the position formerly held by Duke Edmund.”

He watched Louis, waiting for him to show the look of ambition being ignited.

“Once His Highness ascends the throne, he will formally recognize your sovereignty over the Northern Territory. You will become the Empire's irreplaceable Northern Guardian, and that five-year-old Little Edmund will naturally no longer be able to affect your right of inheritance to this land.”

This was a carefully designed Trap of Excessive Praise.

If Louis agreed, he would immediately become the common enemy of the Empire's old nobility, dragged into the quagmire of Imperial Capital politics.

To maintain the dignity of a Grand Duke, he would have to continuously deplete Red Tide's strength.

Louis set down his teacup and glanced at the Parchment, his expression calm, as if evaluating ordinary goods: “It certainly sounds impressive. So... what must I pay for this honor? To fight wars for His Highness in the south and north?”

“No, you don't need to deploy troops.” Sorel immediately seized the opportunity, his tone growing more humble.

Sorel could tell Louis hadn't immediately refused, which was the signal he most desired.

So he began the next step of his rhetoric: “His Highness only hopes you will become a stable cornerstone of the Empire. To show sincerity, the Second Prince can persuade the Remont Family to open three Core Trade Routes in the Southern Region for Red Tide's use.”

This time, Sorel's tone was softer than before, as if patiently coaxing a young lord: “Red Tide's ore, glass, ironware, and tools can all enter the Southern Market tax-free.

And we are willing to provide Red Tide with High-Quality Southern Goods like spices, silk, and sugarcane at cost price.”

He spoke as if describing a risk-free, win-win collaboration: “Red Tide only needs to continuously transport goods from the Northern Territory down, and the Southern Trade Routes will naturally open up for you.”

However, the words concealed sharp hooks, designed to make Red Tide accustomed to Southern goods, and to make Red Tide's Workshops accustomed to exporting minerals and semi-finished products.

Once dependency formed, if the Remont Family tightened the trade routes even slightly in the future, Red Tide's entire industrial chain would be choked, just as the Calvin Merchant Guild was currently doing to Louis.

Sorel continued, emphasizing the point like a finishing blow: “Duke Calvin... your Biological Father, seems to have been trying to blockade Red Tide's flow of goods, hasn't he? We are willing to dismantle the barriers he has set up for you, allowing Red Tide to truly enter the Empire.”

This sentence was like a fine needle, lightly pricking a wound.

It both hinted at Duke Calvin's hostility and implied that Red Tide could not survive without external markets.

But as long as Red Tide took this path, it would slowly become a vassal of the Remont Family.

Louis still said nothing, merely tapping the armrest with his fingertips, as if waiting for Sorel to finish.

Sorel gritted his teeth and threw out the final trap.

“Your Excellency Grand Duke...” His tone became submissive, as if worrying on Louis's behalf, “If I may be frank, Red Tide has strength and an army, but it lacks the necessary heritage to match your status.”

He slowly elaborated: “Your officials are very capable, but they are too much like artisans. They don't know Heraldry, they don't understand Noble Etiquette, nor do they know how to host a Ball befitting your status. This will cause the rigid nobles in the Southern Region to look down on you.”

Then he gently pushed forward the prepared list: “His Highness the Second Prince is willing to dispatch a Hundred-Man Advisory Group free of charge, including Doctors of Law from the Royal Academy, Masters of Ceremonies, Gardeners, Musicians, Royal Chefs...”

“They will help Red Tide establish a genuine Court System. They will ensure Red Tide is no longer just a barracks, but a Royal Court acknowledged by the Empire.”

After speaking, Sorel held his breath.

This was the set of tactics he was most adept at in the Imperial Capital: giving you status to bind you with ambition, giving you trade routes to trap you with profit, and giving you etiquette to erode you with culture.

As long as Louis accepted this Advisory Group, Red Tide's administrative efficiency would be slowed down by etiquette and red tape, and the knights would be corrupted by extravagance.

In five years, no more than five years, this roaring Steel Behemoth would have its teeth dulled and turn into a dancing cat.

Sorel waited for Louis to show even a momentary flicker of hesitation.

He knew clearly that Louis would most likely not agree.

But as long as there was a slight concession, he could steer the negotiation in a direction favorable to himself.

However, Louis's reply was completely unexpected.

Louis looked up, his expression calm: “Baronet Sorel, let me ask you something.”

Sorel immediately sat up straight: “Please speak, Your Excellency.”

“Your visit this time, is it on behalf of the Second Prince?”

“Of course.” Sorel immediately replied, “I am naturally representing His Highness.”

Louis shook his head gently: “What I mean is...”

He paused, his tone still gentle, yet slicing through the air like a blade: “Are you here representing the Second Prince? Or... representing Duke Remont?”

Sorel's breath hitched, his heart felt squeezed by an invisible hand.

Because this matter should be known to no one.

Apart from himself and Duke Remont, this true allegiance had never appeared in any document, any secret letter, or any meeting.

The knowledgeable nobles in the Imperial Capital all believed he belonged to the Second Prince, and the Second Prince had never doubted it.

This was an identity buried deep in the shadows, unknown even to the knights accompanying him.

Logically, a young lord far away in the Northern Territory should not have been able to expose it by name.

Yet, with a single, casual sentence, Louis had seen through him completely, as if prying him apart at the seams.

It must be a guess? He comforted himself this way.

But fear instantly crept up his spine, like being suddenly seen in the darkness.

Louis did not stop. He continued down a path he seemed to have mastered long ago, his tone even carrying a hint of concern for the other person:

“You are running yourself ragged for the Duke because of your child convalescing in the Monastery, aren't you?

That little girl named Ellie... Gray Scale Disease has already entered the second stage, correct? The Duke promised you a rare Alchemical Potion as compensation.”

Sorel's breath was instantly cut off.

He froze in his chair, as if someone had drained the strength from within him.

Why?

How could he know?

Sorel didn't even know which part his current fear stemmed from.

Was it because his secret had been exposed?

Or was it because Louis's tone was too calm, as if he had investigated everything thoroughly long ago, yet deliberately showed no hostility?

Sorel looked at Louis's young face, as if seeing a Giant Eye lurking in the darkness.

This man was not a remote lord; he was the Devil.

He not only knew Duke Remont's private accounts but also held Sorel's most secret, most untouchable weakness in his grasp.

Ellie was his only child, and everything his Deceased Wife had left him.

He would protect her with his life, unwilling to let anyone near, much less let outsiders know.

Yet, before this young noble, he was completely transparent.

Moreover, Louis's tone wasn't threatening him. Louis was showing concern for him.

Louis did not press his advantage; he simply pulled open a drawer and took out a slender glass vial.

The vial was pale green, sealed at the mouth with Silver Sealing Wax, and the liquid inside glowed faintly under the light.

Louis placed the vial on the table and slid it towards Sorel.

“The potion the Duke gave you can only suppress the illness,” his tone remained steady. “It won't cure her. You know well that that so-called treasure is useless against the second stage of Gray Scale Disease. This is a potion developed by Red Tide, capable of treating this Gray Scale Disease within ten years.”

Sorel stared at the potion, his pupils slightly constricted, as if in disbelief.

In fact, this Formula was not derived by Red Tide out of thin air.

Louis had learned of Sorel's daughter's illness and the exact location where she was placed in the remote Monastery from the Daily Intelligence reports the moment Sorel stepped into the Northern Territory a month ago.

This set of potions was originally spearheaded by Master Merian of the Emerald Federation, and as long as the materials were complete, its full restoration was only a matter of time.

Moreover, this pale green vial was prepared precisely for this moment today.

Louis gently pushed the potion closer: “This is not a transaction; it's a Meeting Gift. You can take it first and try it. If it works... we can discuss the subsequent terms. I have more here, enough to cure your daughter.”

Sorel's Adam's apple bobbed; his chest felt heavy, as if pressed by a great weight.

All his leverage—Noble Title, trade routes, etiquette system, Political Bait—were utterly insignificant before this small vial of potion.

His lips trembled, and he finally reached out, only to stop before touching the vial.

At this moment, his defenses completely collapsed.