Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Greyrock Fortress, Ackerman's Command Study.

The night was like iron, and the wind howled through the gaps in the stone walls.

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The flickering light of the fireplace cast the heads of the demonic beasts on the wall into ghastly silhouettes. Originally, these decorations were meant to display Ackerman's martial prowess and deterrent power.

But now, these shriveled wolf heads and snow bear teeth seemed to be grinning wildly, mocking the two barely surviving people in the room.

The floor was a mess, expensive wine bottles rolled everywhere, and the strong smell of alcohol mixed with a burnt odor, acrid like vomit.

Balt was curled up next to the fireplace, like an old dog stripped of all its courage.

He clutched a bottle of Ackerman's prized liquor, his hand shaking like a withered branch in the wind, choking with every sip.

"That... that wasn't..." His teeth chattered, and his voice cracked.

"Did you see it? How did they go mad? They were hacking at their own people... That was sorcery... We, we are finished..."

He muttered nervously, like an overly frightened child: "We didn't participate in the battle... We were just out for training, right?

Louis can't kill us, we are Imperial Legion Commanders... We are regular army... regular army..."

Saul fiercely kicked away a wine bottle. Although his face was barely better than a dead man's, he tried hard to maintain the last shred of dignity of the Iron Wall Legion Commander.

"Shut up! Be a man!" he roared, but his voice trembled slightly with fear. "Ackerman, that idiot, courted death himself, it has nothing to do with us! We were watching from the flank, we didn't even fire a single shot!"

He took a deep breath, feigning calmness: "As long as we insist that we were deceived by Ackerman, or even coerced into coming, Louis wouldn't dare touch two Legion Commanders. Imperial law will protect us."

Balt suddenly looked up, his lips white: "Saul... why don't we surrender? Kneel and beg him? Offer up all the Legion's equipment! Doesn't Louis like money?"

Saul scoffed: "Surrender? Have you forgotten how Ackerman's head came off? And do you think Louis would spare us?"

He walked up to the huge Northern Territory map on the wall, pointed to the Greyrock Fortress marker, and regained some confidence.

"Listen, this is Greyrock Fortress, the strongest natural defense in the Northern Territory." Saul lowered his voice, as if talking to himself, "Louis's iron boxes are powerful, but they are too heavy! That mountain path along the cliff face makes it impossible for them to climb up!"

Balt immediately nodded, clutching the wine bottle as he scrambled up: "Yes, yes, yes! They can't use the mountain paths! They'll get stuck! They'll collapse the ground! They'll fall off the cliff! Haha... we're safe, we're safe..."

Saul violently stabbed his dagger into the map: "As long as we close the Dragon-Slaying Stone Gate, even if he has a hundred war chariots, he can only stare blankly below the city! We will hold out here and wait for reinforcements from the Imperial Capital!"

The two looked at each other, both seeing hope in the other's eyes; they looked less like dead men now.

Balt even raised his wine glass with a trembling hand: "To... to the impregnable Greyrock Fortress..."

Saul also raised his glass.

Just as the rims of the glasses were about to touch.

"Buzz—!"

The liquid in the glasses vibrated violently, splashing over the rim.

Saul's face went white: "An earthquake...?"

"Boom!!!!"

It was as ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) if the world had exploded next to their ears; the entire command hall felt like it was being lifted by a giant beast.

The chandelier fell from the ceiling, smashing into shattered iron on the floor, and dust cascaded down like a waterfall.

The personal guard outside the door stumbled in, his face covered in blood, shouting and crying: "Sirs! The gate! The gate is gone!!!"

Saul roared: "Nonsense! That's Dragon-Slaying Stone! What kind of battering ram could smash through it?!"

The personal guard fell to his knees, his voice trembling until it cracked: "It wasn't smashed open... it was... it was blown up!!!"

...When the first ray of morning sunlight crossed the battlements of Frost Halberd City, it illuminated three heads swaying slightly in the morning wind.

They were hung in a pyramid formation on the gate tower.

The one in the center was Ackerman, his face still holding the ferocity and rage he felt before death, as if he would curse out loud the next second.

The cold light reflected in his eyes, which were wide open in death, like lighting a candle of mockery for his lost ambition.

To the left was Balt; that mad-dog face was now horribly contorted, like the skull of a beast that had been broken, the terror of death tearing apart his features.

To the right was Saul, his expression almost blank, as if he was still pondering how Greyrock Fortress had been breached just before he died.

The cold wind blew, and the three heads swayed gently in unison.

It looked as if they were bowing to the people walking below.

And also like an acknowledgment that the old era had ended.

Louis wore a black greatcloak, his steps unhurried, as if walking on a red carpet meant only for him.

Auxiliary soldiers clearing the battlefield stood on both sides, and columns of prisoners being escorted marched through the city.

The air was mixed with the smell of blood, engine oil, and the cold breath of morning.

Half a step behind him, Lambert wore newly polished armor, his strides crisp and decisive.

A stack of heavy parchment scrolls was tucked tightly under his arm, and he quickly reported the latest intelligence as he walked.

"The 17th Legion has been counted. Pre-war strength was three thousand; approximately one thousand are confirmed dead or fatally wounded.

The remaining two thousand have all been detained. However... the Soul-Devouring Bombs caused extreme mental shock. Most people curl up and scream at any loud noise, and some are completely catatonic."

Louis didn't look back: "Let labor heal their mental wounds. Classify them by obedience. For those who still dare to glare or think of resisting, abolish their Battle Qi, put them in shackles, and send them to the Deep Iron Mine. The mining area needs fearless laborers."

The rest will have their structure dissolved and be sent to the Reserve Service Labor Camp. They will repair roads for three months first, and those who perform well... can touch a sword again."

Lambert nodded, then turned to another report, taking a cold breath, as if deliberately organizing his thoughts, unwilling to let excitement cloud his judgment.

"As for Greyrock Fortress... the situation was different from our estimate." His voice was very low. "After the Magic Bomb Unit arrived, they only test-fired four siege magic cannons according to the most basic procedure."

Lambert glanced at Louis, then quickly looked away, realizing that what truly deserved awe at the moment was the foresight of the young lord beside him, who had ordered Silco to create this terrifying weapon.

Although he had known the power of the Magic Bomb through testing before, its actual application in war yielded a different result, a different level of shock.

"When the first shot landed, cracks appeared in the city wall. When the second shot hit the upper edge of the Dragon-Slaying Stone Gate, dust was falling off the entire fortress wall."

"The third and fourth shots..." Lambert paused for a moment, "...directly shattered the Dragon-Slaying Stone."

Before the smoke and dust had even cleared, people from the 14th and 7th Legions came out waving white flags... they even scrambled to present the heads of Saul and Balt, claiming they had actively purged the rebels and wished to defect to the Red Tide.

The remaining Deputy Legion Commanders and adjutants were all willing to accept reorganization, saying that compared to Ackerman's methods... Lord Louis's system was the way to survive."

Louis chuckled softly, neither surprised nor pleased.

Lambert continued: "My Lord, we have thus received nearly six thousand well-trained Regular Knights in total. This number..."

Louis finally stopped walking, turning his head to glance at the column of prisoners being escorted.

That group of once arrogant Imperial Knights was now huddled together, like wolves with their teeth pulled out, showing no sign of vitality.

"Six thousand people." Louis said lightly. "Other nobles dare not swallow them, but I dare. Send them to the Red Tide for re-education."

Lambert immediately replied: "Yes, My Lord."

"Tell the instructors, I don't want Imperial Knights. I want Red Tide soldiers. I want them to wear the red cloaks three months from now and feel alienated when they see the flag of the Old Empire."

Louis spoke calmly; he was very confident in this.

The Red Tide System he had established over the years was not just simple discipline or training, but a complete new process capable of rebuilding faith and giving people a new path.

Within that process, the pride, anger, confusion, and loyalty of an Old Knight would be completely reorganized.

Making them understand what they fight for and who they fight for, and allowing them to rediscover the dignity of being a guardian, giving them rebirth from the ruins of the old era.

Lambert turned to the final page: "As for our casualties..."

He took a deep breath, his voice extremely steady, yet still conveying shock.

"Five war chariots were damaged, all repairable. Thirty-two personnel were killed, eighty-five suffered minor or major injuries... mostly sustained during the pursuit."

"Trading five war chariots and a few dozen lives for military control over the Northern Territory and the structure of three Elite Legions..." Louis murmured, then nodded.

The men stepped forward and continued walking; they had now arrived at the steps in front of the Lord's Manor.

Inside the door were all the nobles of the Northern Territory waiting for the meeting.

Louis unhurriedly straightened his collar.

Weil reached out and pushed open the great door. The heavy oak panels let out a low creak, and dazzling light burst forth from the gap, illuminating Louis as if he were walking out of the morning light.

In that instant, the entire conference hall seemed to have its nerves seized by an invisible force.

"Swish—"

Hundreds of nobles stood up simultaneously.

The grating sound of chairs scraping the floor was perfectly synchronized, making it seem less like a noble meeting and more like knights expressing their resolve before battle.

No one dared to remain seated to greet this young lord who had just annihilated three legions.

Their eyes were extremely complex... there was the absolute, submissive awe of someone like Earl Abet, the relief of survival felt by smaller nobles, and in the eyes of a few others... a mix of hesitation and fear flickered.

Louis walked towards the end of the long table, to the main seat that once belonged to Duke Edmund.

He pulled out the chair, sat down calmly, crossed his fingers, and placed his hands gently on the table.

It wasn't until the third second after he sat down that the nobles slowly took their seats, their movements so light as if afraid of disturbing a sleeping demonic beast.

The air was so suppressed that one could almost hear everyone's heart beating.

Louis surveyed the room, the characteristic smile playing on his lips.

"I apologize for the wait." His tone was understated, as if discussing a trivial matter. "There was some trash outside the city that needed cleaning up, which caused a slight delay."

No noble dared to speak up in rebuttal, or even change their expression.

Louis continued: "The good news is that the structures of the 17th, 14th, and 7th Legions have been canceled. Ackerman and the other three commanders have all been executed. Their troops have been reorganized by the Red Tide. Thus, the security threats in the Northern Territory have been completely eradicated."

The understated tone was like the final nail hammered into the coffin of the old era.

Although they already knew the result, when Louis personally declared that it was "taken care of," many nobles couldn't help but feel a chill in their hearts.

Those were three Elite Legions, and he summarized it with "taken care of"?

Just as a small thought of "finally, we can breathe a sigh of relief" arose in everyone's minds... Louis suddenly dropped his smile, his eyes deep like a frozen lake.

"But before we begin the meeting, I must regretfully inform everyone..." He paused. "There is one more piece of bad news."

The air instantly solidified.

Seven thousand knights pressing the border was bad news, eliminating three legions was a minor chore, so now... what else could there be?

Louis leaned forward slightly, his voice lowered, but every word was like thunder:

"The Imperial Regent, His Highness Arrens, was confirmed dead late last night."

A silent tremor ran through the conference hall.

Someone asked skeptically: "My Lord... is the source of this news reliable?"

Louis's gaze swept over them, cold as frost: "In a few days, your own channels will receive word."

The entire hall was momentarily stunned.

No one cried, nor did anyone show expressions of grief for a national mourning.

For these landowners in the Northern Territory, the Imperial Capital was too far away, and which Emperor sat on the throne held little real significance for them.

The Regent's death was more like the fall of a deity in a myth—surprising, but not directly affecting them.

Someone couldn't help but whisper: "Then... who is the New Emperor?"

But the faces of the clever old nobles had already changed.

Louis caught this, and smiled coldly: "I know what you're thinking—the Imperial Capital is too far away, what does it matter to us, right?"

He stood up and walked to the huge Northern Territory map.

His finger heavily tapped the only connection line between the Imperial Capital and the Northern Territory.

"Currently, there is no universally accepted heir. The death of the Regent means the balance has been broken. Those Imperial Princes will immediately turn on each other."

He raised his head, his voice clear and heavy: "Gentlemen, do you really think this is just the Imperial Capital's business? Think about it: once civil war breaks out... will the military funds allocated by the Imperial Capital to the Northern Territory still exist? Will the grain and cloth shipped from the South still flow smoothly? Will the Imperial Ministry of Commerce's orders to purchase your ore still be valid?"

Every sentence was like ice water thrown in their faces.

The Northern Territory, this desolate and cold land, has always relied on transfusions from the South.

If the Empire falls into civil war, the Northern Territory will become a forgotten island.

The nobles finally panicked:

"If no grain is transported in, how will we get through this winter?"

"Who will I sell my ore to?"

"Without Imperial orders, I can't afford to maintain my knights!"

"It's over... What if those Imperial Princes forcefully levy taxes on the Northern Territory to raise military funds?"