Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Deep into the night, the study still held the lingering warmth after the family had dispersed.

But once the door was gently closed, that warmth receded like a tide, leaving only a single lamp casting Louis's shadow long and slender.

He sat alone at the desk, the softness in his eyes fading inch by inch, replaced by the characteristic composure of a lord.

That temperament was like a blade being sheathed again—its sharpness unseen, yet possessing a unique imposing presence.

A knock sounded at the door.

Bradley pushed the door open, holding a letter sealed with deep red wax.

The wax seal bore the Calvin Family's Wave Crest, marking it as the family's highest-level urgent confidential letter.

“My Lord, it is a letter personally addressed by the Duke.”

Louis raised his eyes, his expression so steady that no emotional fluctuation could be discerned; he didn't even show surprise.

Because half a month ago, the Daily Intelligence System had already refreshed the relevant information.

Duke Calvin had secretly met with the Papal Envoy Salomon, and a secret agreement was reached: through financial aid, Louis would be tasked with disrupting the Northern Territory to contain the Imperial Northern Army.

Now, this letter was merely a late prop in the script.

But Louis still took the letter, casually picked up the paper knife, and unfolded the correspondence.

The content, however, inexplicably gave rise to the weariness one feels when an old actor repeats an outdated scene.

The gist of the letter: The Empire is in turmoil, and this is the Calvin Family's chance to return to its peak.

Louis, you are the family’s sharpest sword, the hope of the Northern Territory.

For the sake of the Northern Territory and the family, you must sever the Imperial Northern Army's supply lines and instigate border skirmishes.

Upon success, the family will fully support you in becoming the true King of the Northern Territory.

Beautiful rhetoric, exaggerated visions, and ambiguous promises.

But the Duke never mentioned a single word about the huge military funds acquired from the Papacy.

Louis finished reading, and a cold smile slowly curved his lips.

In the eyes of others, this letter was a father's entrustment to his son, and the family's trust.

But in his eyes, it was simply a clumsy clown show.

“Stuffing the actual gold and silver into your own vault first, then making me use the blood of Red Tide Territory to fulfill your dream... Father, do you think I don't understand, or do you think I'll pretend not to?”

Louis's eyes held the indifference and boredom of someone who had seen through a scheme.

Louis handed the letter to Bradley: “Take a look. This is my father's grand vision.”

Bradley took the letter and read line by line, his brow furrowing tighter and tighter.

He didn't know the Duke had embezzled the military funds, but he was smart enough to see how dangerous this matter was for the Red Tide Territory.

Cutting off supplies and provoking ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ the Northern Army meant strapping the entire Red Tide Territory to a powder keg.

This wasn't supporting Louis; it was pushing him toward a cliff.

The Old Butler's hand trembled slightly as he held the letter; he understood the cunning of his former master.

“Young Master,” Bradley lowered his voice, “This matter... the risk is too great. Although the Empire is currently chaotic, the Northern Army is still an Iron Army. As soon as we interfere with supplies, they will label Red Tide as rebellious. No matter how good the family's promises are, we must first survive that initial blow.”

Louis chuckled softly and said lightly, “You saw it too? He wants to pull a stunt and get something for nothing.”

Louis casually crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it into the nearby waste bin.

“Since Father thinks I can stand on my own,” Louis stood up, his gaze falling upon the massive map of the Northern Territory on the wall, “then I will proceed in my own way.”

But it would no longer be the Calvin Family making decisions for him; he would be making decisions for the entire Northern Territory.

“Bradley, the reason Father is so eager to jump out at this critical juncture is that he, too, has smelled blood.”

The night was silent, with only the flickering firelight of the fireplace dancing in the study.

Louis stood by the window, his shadow stretched long. His tone was unhurried yet sent a chill down one's spine.

Bradley was stunned: “Does the Young Master mean...?”

Louis raised his eyes, looking toward the distant dark sky, as if seeing the chaos of the Imperial Capital through the darkness.

“My intelligence source tells me that the Regent is dying.”

“Wh—” Bradley gasped, nearly losing control of his voice.

In the current situation, the Regent was the Empire's last pillar of order.

Once he collapses, the Imperial Princes will tear each other apart without hesitation, the Legion Commanders will raise their respective banners and declare independence, and the Empire will split open from top to bottom, like a giant house stripped of its steel beams.

Louis continued: “When the Regent dies, the South will fall into chaos, and the Imperial Capital will be even worse. And in the Northern Territory... those Legion Commanders will smell opportunity; they will probe and form factions.”

Bradley lowered his head, cold sweat beading on his temples: “This... Imperial fragmentation, has it really...”

“It is inevitable.” Louis was terrifyingly calm. “Duke Calvin is merely one of those who smelled it earlier than others. He wants to speculate, and I intend to speculate as well.”

He slowly turned around, his steps steady and composed, walking toward the map of the Northern Territory.

The firelight illuminated the huge parchment map—mountains, river valleys, provinces, castles... the territories of the Northern Territory's Old Nobility were scattered across it like chess pieces.

Louis raised his hand and placed his fingertip in the center of the map.

“But who am I betting on?” he asked softly.

Bradley's Adam's apple bobbed: “You... are betting on?”

Louis smiled faintly, his gaze sharp as a drawn blade, “I am betting on myself.”

That was not arrogance, but a confidence naturally distilled after countless victories and countless calculations.

“If the Empire is going to collapse, let it collapse. The important thing is that the Northern Territory must become a unified whole in this chaotic era.”

His tone wasn't loud, but every word hammered into Bradley's heart like a nail.

“At a time like this, we absolutely cannot be someone else's chess piece. We must integrate all the nobility, all the armed forces, and all the productive capacity of the Northern Territory.”

Bradley stared at him blankly.

Louis continued: “Not just to survive the coming storm, but to... take the next step.”

Bradley suddenly looked up, and in a trance, he seemed to see the outline of a New Empire slowly forming in Louis's eyes.

That was not ambition, but the inevitability granted to him by the era.

“By the way,” Louis suddenly asked, “How are the preparations for the Northern Territory Reconstruction Conference?”

Bradley immediately snapped back: “Everything is according to your instructions. The location is set for Frost Halberd City, and the time is early autumn.”

Frost Halberd City, the former Capital City of the Northern Territory, its political center and spiritual symbol.

That city, which had been reduced to scorched earth in the wars against the Mother Nest and the Barbarians, was being quietly rebuilt by Louis.

A cold glint flashed in Louis's eyes: “The conference's official name is still 'Reconstruction,' but the true purpose is the Unification of Military Authority.

I want to reorganize all armed forces in the Northern Territory and incorporate them into a unified command system.”

He raised his hand, tracing Remont's sphere of influence on the map, then the Imperial Northern Army Garrison, before finally placing his fingertip on Red Tide City.

“Father wants me to contain the Northern Army?” Louis sneered: “No, he underestimates me too much.”

“A true chess player... never plays on someone else's board.”

...Greyrock Fortress.

The cold wind battered the Iron Walls, the sound like a beast gnawing at the gate outside.

Greyrock Fortress stood between the North and South, like a sluice gate forged of black iron, tearing the entire Northern Territory in two.

Torches were placed every five meters along the corridor; the flames danced in the cold wind, illuminating the dried Demonic Beast heads on the walls, making them look exceptionally hideous, like trophies and warnings rolled into one.

Inside the conference room, the fireplace firelight flickered.

Ackerman Grell sat in the main seat, his burly figure resembling an upright brown bear.

He sat casually, yet the entire room felt as if the air pressure had dropped—the unique oppressive aura of a veteran Legion Commander.

Vice Commander Fernand of the 14th Legion and Commander Soros of the 7th Legion sat on either side of him. Both were trusted confidantes of their respective Legion Commanders, tasked with representing their superiors at such high-level border meetings.

As the two men sat beside Ackerman, their collars were soaked with sweat, yet neither dared to unbutton them.

Fernand's voice was strained when he spoke: “Lord Grell, didn't we agree? According to the arrangement with the Second Imperial Prince's Envoy, Sorel, we only need to maintain blurred vision and noble silence regarding the Northern Territory.”

Why suddenly summon us to discuss Joint Defense? This action... could be seen as overstepping.”

Ackerman did not answer immediately.

He poured himself a glass of strong liquor, smuggled from the Emerald Border, ridiculously expensive.

He took a sip before letting out a low, hoarse laugh.

“What the Second Imperial Prince promised me was just a winery in the Valencia Valley and a Viscount title.” Ackerman snorted, “He wants me to be a sleeping guard lion that's fed well. He offered you similar things, right?”

Fernand's brow furrowed deeper; he wanted to speak but hesitated: “But...”

“Do you know? Right now,” Ackerman slammed the cup onto the table, splashing liquor, “the Regent is dying.”

The two officers gasped sharply.

Ackerman continued: “Once the Imperial Capital is in chaos, the Imperial Princes will tear at each other like hungry wolves. If the Second Imperial Prince loses, we Border Legions will be the first pawns to be discarded.”

He lowered his voice, a light of ambition flashing in his eyes: “But what if I stand on the other side of the storm? If I can become the Governor of the Northern Territory, holding the Empire's toughest steel and most coal... no matter who becomes the new Emperor, they will have to grant me a Hereditary Duke title. Of course, your benefits won't be small then, either.”

Soros licked his dry lips: “My Lord... do you really intend to swallow the Northern Territory?”

Ackerman stood up, walked to the map, and slammed his finger down on Frost Halberd City: “Open your eyes and look! Since the Battle of the Mother Nest and the Battle of the Burial Grounds, the Edmund Family is extinct! Nine out of ten of the Northern Territory's renowned Honor Knight Orders are gone!”

He showed a disdainful smile: “As for that Louis? Just a kid. Don't be fooled by his flashy gimmicks. The true powerhouses of the Northern Territory all died at the hands of the Mother Nest and the Barbarians.”

Ackerman slapped open the parchment scroll on the table, revealing a document titled “Northern Territory Joint Defense Draft.”

Inside, however, was a terrifyingly detailed plan for division.

The 17th Legion would control all passes and taxation in the Northern Territory, effectively seizing the throat of the entire North.

The 14th Legion would occupy the Western Black Iron Mine Area, securing a stable source of arms and equipment.

The 7th Legion would control the Eastern Plains and trade routes, directly dominating the Northern Territory's most fertile and prosperous trade lifelines.

Soros's breathing became rapid: “Is this... dividing the Northern Territory into pieces?”

Ackerman smiled like a blade: “We'll leave Louis one Main City and let him continue being his rich man. Ignore him; as long as he obediently makes money, we won't touch him.”

He paused, then made a throat-slitting gesture with his hand: “If he's not obedient... we'll replace him with someone who is.”

Fernand's expression changed slightly: “I do not have the authority to sign a Military Alliance. These matters must be decided by the Legion Commanders themselves.”

Colonel Fernand and Commander Soros exchanged glances, both knowing exactly why they were at this secret meeting on a snowy night.

They were the Legion Commanders' most trusted eyes and ears, and they had to relay every word spoken tonight back exactly as heard, allowing their superiors to judge the direction of the situation.

Ackerman had anticipated this and handed over a new parchment scroll: “No treaty is needed, just a Meeting Memorandum.”

“Take this back, and let them choose for themselves whether or not they want a share of the feast.”

“In any case,” Ackerman whispered, “I am not in a hurry to make a move.”

The firelight reflected on his face, casting a shadow over his burning ambition.

The storm battered the windows, as if the entire Northern Territory were plunging into an abyss.

Ackerman sat in the main seat, outwardly calm, but his heart felt scorched by fire.

He vaguely felt that this might be the only chance in his life to leap into the true noble circle.

The glory of the 17th Legion was just a line on a Military Merit List.

True noble status requires land, heredity, and resources that make the Imperial Family wary.

And now that the Empire was on the verge of collapse, the Northern Territory, a seemingly barren land, held the most crucial ore veins, grain routes, and the nascent Red Tide Industry.

If he could secure this area, he could engrave the name Ackerman into the Empire's new history.

Ackerman's fist quietly tightened beneath the table: “I absolutely cannot let that Calvin Family outcast monopolize the Northern Territory. This is the only ladder for my Ackerman Clan to step into the Empire's upper echelons.”

After the two men left, Ackerman leaned back in his chair, as if he had just finished setting up the chessboard in his mind.

“Next step, no need to rush to turn hostile.” He raised his chin, signaling for his Trusted Officer to step forward.

He slowly traced his finger across the map, bypassing the Red Tide Territory, Frost Halberd City... finally stopping at an inconspicuous small territory—Morcan Territory.

That place was so insignificant that the Northern Territory map didn't bother to draw it clearly; it was just marked as a gray area.

It hadn't joined the Red Tide System, but due to its terrain and mineral resources, it had its own Trading Caravans, possessed considerable financial strength, and was close to Greyrock Fortress.

Ackerman tapped that gray area with his finger: “We'll start with him.”

The trusted officer frowned: “...Baron Morcan?”

“Exactly.” Ackerman showed that look of contemptuous laughter.

“Wait for his next batch of caravans to arrive.” He waved his hand at the Adjutant: “Send two battalions of Cavalry over. Directly cite the supplementary clause of the 'Imperial Wartime Emergency Requisition Act,' saying this batch of goods needs to be temporarily requisitioned to guard against the Barbarians.”

The trusted officer frowned: “What if the Baron resists?”

Ackerman's voice was as flat as if he were discussing the weather: “Break the Leader's arms and legs and throw them in the snow.”

The room fell silent.

So Ackerman truly intended to swallow the Northern Territory.

The trusted officer couldn't help but lower his voice: “But... what if the Red Tide Territory interferes...”

“Red Tide?” Ackerman sneered as if he had heard a joke.

“I'm giving him face; I won't touch his caravans or his group of fanatic Supporters.”

He gestured in the air, “But Morcan is different. He is not Louis's Vassal, and he is not in the Red Tide System. If Louis dares to interfere...”

Ackerman lowered his hand and lightly flicked the corner of the table: “Then I can immediately slap him with the serious charge of interfering with military affairs and Hoarding Troops for Self-Importance.”

The trusted officer took a sharp breath, feeling a chill down his spine.

Ackerman had prepared an excuse for every step; no matter how Louis reacted, he would find a reason to continue expanding.

Ackerman leaned forward, knocking his fist on the Morcan Territory: “If he remains silent, it proves that Red Tide is just a Paper Tiger.

The nobles in the Northern Territory who are waiting to see will immediately side with me, and this land will be like a buffet—I can eat whatever piece I want.”

“If he steps up, I will use the momentum to push him to oppose the Empire, burdening him with the crime of Rebellion.”

The firelight danced on his face, outlining a dangerous curve.

“No matter what, this strike will fall.”

Ackerman pulled out his Personal Knife and firmly plunged the tip into the location of the Morcan Territory, causing the wood to give a faint crack.

He stared at the knife, his lips slowly and dangerously curving upward: “Let this sheep bleat for two days.

I want to see if that little Young Master sitting in his heated room truly has the ambition to be the Guardian of the Northern Territory... or if he only has the skill to hide in his castle and count his money.”