Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The Black Iron Great Hall was overcrowded, with five hundred hardwood chairs squeezed together so tightly that one had to check the expressions of those nearby just to turn their shoulders.

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The side door was pushed open at that moment.

Light cut in diagonally through the crack in the door as Louis walked onto the podium against the rising morning sun outside the window.

He wore a dark cloak, without gilding or extra ornamentation, with only a simple insignia pinned at the collar.

The morning light fell on his shoulder line, outlining his entire silhouette clearly.

The scattered sounds in the hall naturally quieted down.

Louis stood still, his gaze sweeping over the audience—five hundred faces squeezed almost touching each other, some young, some weary, some with sharp gazes, and some who had not yet fully adapted... He looked around, the corners of his mouth lifting into a gentle smile: "It's good for everyone to squeeze together. On the first blizzard nights in the North, we huddled together like this for warmth."

As he finished speaking, several people in the front row instinctively moved their shoulders, as if drawn back to those memories by his words.

"A few years ago, the North was a forbidden zone for life," Louis continued, his tone not intentionally raised. "The wind would knock people down, and the snow could bury corpses. But now, there are factories belching steam, piping hot floor heating, and schools where children study."

He paused here, letting that image naturally form in everyone's minds.

"Some say this is a miracle brought by Louis." He shook his head. "No, they are wrong. Uh, this is the miracle of the Red Tide."

The moment his voice fell, the hall became silent for an instant.

"This glory belongs to me, to this flag," Louis said, pointing to the insignia behind him. "But more so... it belongs to every one of you, to every drop of sweat you've shed."

Pete felt a surge of warmth in his chest and instinctively straightened his back.

Those around him did the same; originally leaning against their backrests, they now sat up straight, their eyes lighting up.

Even the most exhausted among them could hardly deny at this moment that their efforts over the years had not been in vain.

Louis did not let this emotion ferment for too long.

He changed the subject, his tone softening slightly: "However, I heard that the people of Grey Rock Province are pitying us."

Someone in the audience was stunned for a moment.

"They say, 'Poor Northerners, living in a world of ice and snow, surely they must be gnawing on tree bark every day.'"

As soon as he finished, a few suppressed chuckles broke out.

Louis didn't stop them, only smiling slightly: "Tell me, is the winter of the Red Tide cold?"

This sentence was like opening the floodgates completely.

Uniform and confident laughter erupted in the hall.

"Cold?" A representative from the Artisan Department half-rose and shouted, "My Lord, our heating is too hot; we have to open the windows at night!"

"Gnawing on tree bark?" another official chimed in, laughing and slapping his knee. "We're tired of eating meat!"

The laughter rose in waves, not forced, but remarkably unanimous.

Several old noble officials sitting against the wall glanced at each other, their expressions subtle.

That laughter felt like a slap to their faces, stinging hot.

The wild land in their memory was actually more prosperous than the province they took pride in?

The sense of superiority they had built up since childhood was crushed in reverse at this moment.

Pete listened, his tensed shoulders relaxing at some point.

He saw the expressions of many Red Tide officials around him also soften from their previous tension.

In that laughter was a nostalgia for those hard years and a pride that no longer needed proving.

As the laughter gradually subsided, the smile on Louis's face also vanished.

He stood on the podium, the morning light still streaming through the high windows behind him, but his tone noticeably deepened, carrying a bit of restrained compassion.

"But is this funny?" He paused, his gaze falling on the faces deep in the hall that had not yet fully relaxed. "No. This is actually very tragic."

The hall fell silent again.

"While we enjoy heating and hot food in the North, hundreds of thousands of people in Grey Rock Province are waiting to die in the mines."

Louis's voice wasn't loud, but it was heavy. "They aren't lazy, nor are they stupid; they've just been told since birth that the world is dark, that starving is God's plan, and that living is just luck."

He didn't raise his voice, but every word landed clearly: "This arrogance and ignorance is the true winter."

A brief silence spread through the hall.

Louis took a step forward and reached out toward the audience.

"We didn't come here to conquer a territory or seize some stones." His gaze swept across the rows of Red Tide officials. "We are here to bring the sun of the Red Tide to this dark land.

To tell the people of Grey Rock that although winter is cold, life can be warm; although fate is cruel, people can live with dignity."

He didn't elaborate further after saying this.

"This is the mission of the Red Tide!"

No one spoke in the hall.

The emotion that had just been burning was compressed into something heavier by these words, settling in everyone's hearts.

Louis quickly reined in his emotions, not letting the atmosphere sink further.

"Of course, saving people cannot rely on passion alone." He changed his tone, becoming calm again. "Everyone here has been tempered in the blizzards of the North."

He nodded, as if confirming a fact.

"You must adapt to local conditions, knowing how to turn this wasteland into grain and how to turn stones into fortresses."

As these words fell, many people instinctively straightened their backs.

"This will be tiring and difficult. But I promise, the Red Tide will never fail anyone who strives.

The merits established here will directly determine your future.

Whether you want a title, wealth, or to leave a name in history, Grey Rock Province is your ladder."

This time no one laughed, but Pete felt something slowly closing in his chest.

It was no longer just about repaying a debt or personal loyalty to Louis, but a sense of responsibility given direction.

He suddenly realized he was both saving compatriots he had never met and climbing a path that belonged only to him.

No one gave an order.

Chief Administrator Green of Grey Rock Province was the first to stand and salute: "May the sun shine upon Grey Rock!"

Pete followed, and then more people.

Three hundred Red Tide officials stood up almost at the same time; their movements were not uniform, but they were exceptionally firm.

Everyone saluted: "May the sun shine upon Grey Rock!"

The roar erupted under the dome, making the crystal chandeliers vibrate slightly.

Louis stood in the morning light, nodding slightly to everyone.

At this moment, he looked like a statue draped in light, yet without any lofty distance.

After the meeting ended, the doors were pushed open again.

Cold wind poured into the hall as Pete strode out.

On the square outside, many Grey Rock commoners were gathered, their clothes ragged and their eyes numb.

They didn't know what had happened inside; they just instinctively watched this group of people in dark uniforms.

Pete paused for a moment, looking at them, a warm impulse never felt before rising in his heart.

Just wait, we've brought the sun... The heavy oak doors closed behind him, the hinges letting out a low thud, completely sealing off the clamor of the five hundred people outside.

The meeting room suddenly became quiet, with only the crackling /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ of wood burning in the fireplace.

Unlike the packed Great Hall, this was a small meeting room.

A long black walnut conference table lay quietly in the center.

Louis sat at the head, with Green to his immediate left.

This Chief Administrator of Grey Rock had once been only a knight and the steward of the Wheat Wave Territory, but now he sat here, representing the highest authority of the Red Tide's administrative system in Grey Rock Province.

His back was straight, but his hands were unconsciously folded together, though his face showed no signs of nervousness.

Over a dozen others sat on both sides of the conference table.

These people were all from the Red Tide headquarters, core officials and technical heads transferred from thousands of miles away, who had just been sitting in the first two rows of the Great Hall.

Every one of them was someone whose abilities had been repeatedly proven in the North.

Green took a deep breath and slowly pushed a black leather ledger, its cover worn and frayed, to the center of the table.

"Lord Louis," his voice was very low, "the situation is even worse than we expected."

He paused, seemingly searching for the right word.

"This isn't a mess," Green finally said, "it's a graveyard."

The ledger was opened; the edges of the pages were yellowed and curled, but the handwriting was dense.

"To prepare military funds for the attack on the Imperial Capital, Remont sold off all the province's registrable iron ore reserves." Green flipped through the pages, his tone gradually turning cold. "Not enough, he also moved out the province's treasury to buy the support of several other Legion Commanders.

To gather military rations, he forcibly seized several years' worth of taxes; he even ordered the melting down of farmers' plows and iron pots to gather equipment."

Someone at the conference table instinctively clenched their fist.

"Young men were conscripted on a large scale," Green continued. "Now what's left in the province are either the elderly, the weak, the sick, and the disabled, or consumables locked in the mines."

He closed the ledger, his voice trailing off.

"Simply put," Green looked up at Louis, "currently in Grey Rock Province, the warehouses can't even sustain a mouse, and not a single nail can be found in the blacksmith shops. To feed these hundreds of thousands of people and resume production is as difficult as climbing to heaven."

Louis didn't flip through the ledger. "A mess is called a mess because the old master was incompetent."

His gaze swept across both sides of the table. "So, that's why I called you specialists here. Tell me your thoughts."

Director of Mining Valentine was the first to speak.

He was an old artisan who had worked in mines his whole life, his hands as rough as two pieces of rock. He had clearly gone over the mines of Grey Rock in his mind many times.

"I've been down several main shafts," he said plainly, without any embellishment. "Conditions are far worse than in the North. There's almost no ventilation, and drainage depends entirely on manual labor."

He paused, seemingly remembering something, and his lips curled up slightly.

"Of course," he added, "there's nowhere else in this world that can truly be more advanced than the mines in the North."

A few low chuckles sounded in the meeting room.

Valentine quickly composed himself and became serious again.

"But the problem isn't the ore veins." He looked up at Louis. "I've looked closely; the ore veins in Grey Rock are well-oriented and the layers are neat. If we mine according to the North's system, the scale could be even larger than the North."

He extended two thick fingers and tapped on the table: "Only two things are missing: ventilation and drainage."

"The trouble is still the power source." Valentine frowned. "Large steam engines, like rock crushers and pumps—there's simply no suitable fuel to be found here. If we use Qi-vein stones, they have to be transported from the North, and the cost is terrifyingly high. It simply wouldn't sustain long-term operation."

Before Louis could speak, Mike, the Head of the Artisan Department, had already stood up.

He moved quickly, as if afraid the idea would be snatched away, stepping up to the map in a few strides. His rough finger pointed heavily at the glacial river flowing through the city.

"Lord Louis doesn't need to worry about this."

His tone carried a confidence unique to artisans, even a hint of excitement.

"There really is no fuel for steam engines here," Mike said, "but this river is practically a violent beast."

He pulled a charcoal pencil from his robe and quickly sketched on the blueprints.

"I've calculated the flow rate; it's more than enough to drive a set of triple-linkage water wheels. This is something new the Artisan Department developed two years ago."

As the pencil moved, the structure quickly took shape.

"The first stage drives giant leather bellows to pump air into the mines, solving the ventilation problem.

The second stage drives a chain winch to pull up both accumulated water and ore, solving both drainage and extraction at once."

He paused and drew a heavy stroke at the bottom of the drawing: "The third stage can power a hydraulic forging hammer."

The meeting room fell silent for a brief moment.

Louis looked at the rapidly forming sketch and looked up to ask, "Will this work?"

"It's been tested in the North," Mike nodded without hesitation. "It's just that the water flow there isn't strong enough; it often lacks that final bit of power."

He looked up at the glacial river on the map, his eyes shining.

"Grey Rock is different. If this river is tamed, it'll be more useful than ten steam engines."

Louis remained silent for a moment, not pressing for details.

These specific structures, torques, and transmission ratios were outside his field of knowledge.

But he knew one thing clearly: the Red Tide now gathered the most creative and hands-on artisans in the world.

To allow these people to try new things without hesitation, he had invested massive amounts of money, resources, and institutional costs... So Louis simply nodded, his tone calm and certain: "Then let's give it a try."

When it was Mick the Agricultural Chief's turn, he directly poured a bag of freshly sampled black soil into a tray on the table.

The black soil granules scattered, carrying a damp and pungent acidic smell.

"This land cannot be farmed."

Mick's voice was low but firm: "The soil layer is thin, the acidity is high, and the sunlight is short. I've compared the data; if we force the crops from the North to grow here, the yield per mu won't even cover the cost of the seeds."

He paused and added a more realistic assessment: "Relying on grain shipments from the North won't work either. Once the heavy snow blocks the roads, it's over."

Louis didn't look at the tray of soil.

He walked to the giant map on the wall, his gaze sweeping over the entire province before stopping at an area in the south.

His tone wasn't heavy, but it cut off all further pessimism: "Go check the Black Valley Basin."

Mick was stunned for a moment and instinctively looked up.

"The soil there is acidic, but it's rich in humus and sheltered from the wind," Louis continued, as if stating a long-confirmed fact. "High acidity isn't a defect; it's a condition that can be utilized."

He tapped the map. "I'll have Silco send you a batch of a new type of Kela powder. Neutralize it first, then improve it. Don't rush to conclusions; try several plots of land."

Louis quickly moved the topic to practical levels: "As for sunlight and temperature, there's no geothermal heat here..."

He picked up a charcoal pencil and quickly drew a familiar structure on the blueprints.

"Replicate the North' Type-3 glass greenhouses, using steam for heating. The structure can be simplified; prioritize stability first."

Louis paused, offering no false promises: "This plan won't feed everyone."

"But combined with the mushrooms that can be grown in the mines, it will at least ensure everyone has a bowl of hot potato and mushroom stew every day."

"We'll fill the remaining gap with supplies from the North, and then gradually find ways to restore the soil or develop new cultivation methods."

Mick didn't ask further. He looked down at the bag of black soil, then neatly tied the opening shut and tucked it back into his robe.

"Since the Lord says it's possible," he looked up without a hint of hesitation, "then things will definitely grow in that land."

Next, Mike from the Artisan Department scratched his chin and rapped his knuckles on the table, producing a dull thud.

"The food problem can be solved, but the housing problem remains," he said bluntly. "Building greenhouses, factories, and roads—all require construction materials.

Grey Rock Province has plenty of stone, but quarrying, polishing, and transporting it are all deathly slow. At the current rate, finishing the first batch of worker dormitories will drag on until next year."

Louis walked to the map, his gaze passing over the towns and mining areas to land on an area marked as wasteland to the west: "Red Clay Slope."

When those three words were uttered, Mike instinctively looked up.

Louis looked up at him, his tone as calm as if he were assigning a most ordinary task.

"There's a type of dark red clay underneath. Dig it up, grind it into powder along with the limestone found everywhere, and fire it in a kiln."

Some at the conference table frowned, while others instinctively flipped through maps.

"This isn't brick or pottery," Louis continued. "It's a special Hydraulic mortar. After adding water, it hardens on its own, and even if submerged in water, it's stronger than stone."

Mike froze in place, his eyes widening bit by bit.

He had been an artisan his whole life, seen steel and alchemical alloys, but he had never heard of this special soil being fired to become harder than stone.

But looking at Louis's expression, that familiar certainty appeared once more.

Within the Red Tide, this was no longer a secret.

Lord Louis sometimes seemed to know the answer in advance, pointing directly to the result.

No one knew why, and no one would ask; they only knew that these judgments would eventually be verified by facts, one by one.

Mike didn't respond immediately. He stared at the marked Red Clay Slope, then looked down at the charcoal lines on the sketch that weren't yet dry, as if recalculating every possible point of failure in his mind.

Then he looked up at Louis. "One month. Give me one month. I'll take an Alchemy furnace team and figure out the proportions."

"If this thing really is as hard as you say," he grinned, his tone carrying uncontrollable excitement, "I'll personally pour the roads of Grey Rock Province for you."

Mike sat down, and Cyriel from the Health Department finally looked up.

She closed her notebook and pressed her fingertip against the cover as if confirming something: "Once fed, they still need to stay alive."

Her tone was calm to the point of being harsh, devoid of emotional ups and downs, yet it instinctively commanded attention.

"The hygiene situation here is catastrophic," Cyriel continued. "Dead rats, open cesspits, coal ash all over the city. If not addressed, as soon as Mike's factories start operating, half the workers will be down with diarrhea within three days.

"I don't need any high technology; I want to implement the Mandatory Hygiene Act from before the Red Tide.

Build public bathhouses and use the waste heat from the steel furnaces to heat the water. All workers must bathe after their shift; those who don't will have their Work points docked.

Form a Rat-catching squad: one rat for one egg."

No one at the conference table laughed.

"Approved." Louis nodded without any hesitation. "Cyriel, your authority here is equal to that of the Supervisory Department. Arrest anyone who dares to dump trash in the river or set up a private cesspit."

Green then took over the conversation: "Then I'll be responsible for organizing the people.

Pull these hundreds of thousands of people out of the old nobles' estates and mining areas and integrate them into factories and farms. Issue everyone a Red Tide ID card—use it to collect grain, use it to bathe, and use it to clock in for work."

The problems didn't end there.

Someone mentioned the transport of mineral products—a single blizzard would be enough to bring the entire province to a standstill.

Someone mentioned public security—scattered knights and mine deserters were mixing together, and grain looting had already begun... Problems were raised one by one, without complaints or passing the buck, simply laid out calmly on the table.

Louis didn't interrupt, letting everyone finish speaking before addressing each point one by one.

Transport lines were split: heavy goods by water, light goods by land. Prioritize grain first, then minerals.

Public security was to be jointly managed by the knights and the Department of Mining. Deserters were to be incorporated on the spot, and those who refused were to be cleared out of the mining areas... These decisions weren't sophisticated, but they were practical enough.

When the last problem was addressed, no one spoke at the table anymore.

Louis stood up and looked at the elites around the table who had each found their place. "If there are no further questions, then go forth and do your work. Plant the flag of the Red Tide in every territory."

There was no further idle talk.

Everyone began packing up their drawings and notes. The solemnity on their faces had been replaced by an eager focus—the kind of expression experts show when facing a challenging project.

The meeting ended; the heavy oak doors opened and then closed behind them.

The strategy room quickly grew quiet, with only the dust slowly settling in the air.

Except for Green, who did not leave immediately.

He organized the drawings on the table one by one and carefully placed the heavy black-leather ledger into his briefcase. His movements were weary but exceptionally meticulous.

Louis walked over to Green and, just as he had in the Wheat Wave Territory years ago, personally poured a glass of water and handed it over. "From a knight to a Provincial Governor in charge of the lives and deaths of hundreds of thousands. Is it a big leap? Are you afraid?"

Green took the water and gave a bitter smile. "I'm afraid. My hands were shaking while I was going through the ledgers last night. Even when facing a cavalry charge, I've never been this scared."

He looked up, but his eyes were exceptionally clear.

"But I remember a phrase you said on the snowy plains of the North: 'A path is made by walking.' As long as you point the way, I will pave the road, even if I have to do it on my knees."

Louis reached out and patted his slightly hunched shoulder. "Govern freely. In this province, you don't need to bow to anyone except the Code of the Red Tide."

Green took a deep breath, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes slowly smoothed out.

The trepidation vanished, replaced by the steadiness of a high-ranking regional official.

He took a step back and bowed deeply, performing a standard knight's salute. "I will not fail you, Lord Louis."