Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The captain's quarters of the scorpion were not spacious.

Compared to the nouveau riche luxury of the Prince of Black Reef, this place felt cramped, yet it was filled with a sort of barbaric abundance.

Curled silk carpets were laid haphazardly on the floor, several crudely made but heavy gold ornaments hung on the walls, and on the corner of the desk, gilded wine sets from the south were piled up like a heap of forgotten scrap metal.

Rosa sat at the table, her silver knife slicing through white bread; the blade sank into the soft crust with almost no resistance.

Butter was spread on thickly, shimmering with a greasy and enticing luster under the dim yellow candlelight.

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A low chewing sound drifted in from outside the window.

It was the sound of her sailors huddling in the wind on deck, gnawing on hard black biscuits.

Dry crumbs fell into the gaps of the deck and were quickly stepped into the depths of the wood grain by bare feet.

Of course, not everyone lived like that.

A small group of core crew members gathered around a brazier sheltered from the wind.

They were allotted soft bread mixed with fat, and occasionally, they could take turns drinking a sip of weak wine.

These people were responsible for the sails and the cannons; they were the true assets who could decide life and death during an engagement.

As for those at the very bottom—the newly recruited 'pigs,' the unlucky bastards burdened with ship debt, or the laborers who were simply unfortunate enough to be pressed into service—

They only deserved to crouch in the cold wind, using their saliva to soften black biscuits that were hard as stones.

Pirates were never a group of equal brothers; they were a ladder where everyone stepped on those below them.

Those standing in the center of the deck stepped on those at the stern; those at the stern stepped on those at the bottom of the hold; and she stepped on everyone.

In her eyes, it was already a blessing that this group of trash could stand alive on her deck.

Rosa took a bite of bread and picked up her wine glass for a sip.

The next moment, her expression darkened.

"Pah." She spat the wine back into the glass, her single remaining eye full of disgust. "Damned southern sour wine."

She shook the glass vigorously, as if checking if the damned profiteers had watered it down. "I really miss the spirits from the north..."

Although Louis had blockaded the northern routes for the past few years, she didn't lack food.

On the southern routes, there were always unlucky grain ships and porcelain caravans to prey upon.

Grain could fill bellies and porcelain could be traded for gold coins, but these goods moved slowly, and the actual profits that reached her hands were pitifully small.

It was never this junk that made one rich overnight.

What Rosa truly craved were the cargo holds on the northern routes bearing the Red Tide seals.

Refined steel, alchemy parts, crates of standard-issue weapons... those things were the real source of massive profits. But ever since the Red Tide Territory blockaded the routes, that vein of flowing gold had been completely cut off.

She hated Louis because this damned Lord of the North had turned her massive profits into meager ones.

Just then, the sound of flapping wings came from outside the porthole.

A giant albatross landed on the mast, smoothing its feathers ruffled by the sea breeze.

A small object tightly wrapped in oilcloth was tossed accurately through the half-open porthole, landing on the table with a dull thud.

Rosa narrowed her eyes, holding her breath to confirm there were no eavesdropping shadows outside the door before slowly unwrapping the oilcloth.

Inside the package lay a Black Reef Token; it was a letter from that old fellow Balke.

Beside the token was a thumb-sized deep-sea black pearl.

Under the candlelight, the pearl shimmered with a deep, profound luster, as if the entire night had been condensed into that small shell.

Rosa's breath visibly hitched for a moment.

This single pearl alone was worth three months of her raiding income in the south.

She reached out to grasp the black pearl in her palm, feeling its cold and smooth texture, then unfolded the letter.

The handwriting was rough, without any unnecessary pleasantries.

"Rosa, I know you can still make a small fortune in the south. But don't you miss the munitions and steel from the north?"

Rosa sneered, and the letter continued:

"I've found a way to deal with Louis's iron turtle. The Touch of Corrosion—a venom that can melt black iron armor instantly, like hot water poured on snow.

Come to the Shattered Isles, and the seven of us will split this cake. When the time comes, every Red Tide merchant ship will become a drifting vault."

Rosa toyed with the black pearl repeatedly, greed and calculation intertwining in her single eye, which grew brighter and brighter.

That old thing Balke actually had such good stuff hidden away?

Based on her knowledge of Balke, if it were a deal he could keep for himself, that old shark would never let even a hint of the scent leak out.

Calling all seven families could only mean one thing: he couldn't swallow it alone.

Either the thing was too dangerous, or it wasn't as powerful as he claimed.

Or perhaps the old man's courage wasn't what it used to be, and he'd rather drag a group of his kind down with him than face the gambling table alone.

This wasn't the first time Balke had done something like this.

For decades, whenever prey appeared on the sea that was tasteless to eat but a pity to discard, he was always the first to think of this approach.

Spread the word, gather his kind, promise a share of the spoils, and drag everyone into the same pot to boil.

A dozen years ago, when the Emerald Federation routes were at their most fertile, there would be a so-called joint hunt every year or two.

Sometimes three families, sometimes five, and at most, nine black sails were gathered.

In the most famous instance, they hunted the Federation's ocean-going escort fleet like a pack of crazed hyenas.

On the surface, it was an alliance to split the profits, but in reality, everyone was plotting against each other, using their allies to block cannonballs.

In that final battle, seventeen Federation ships sank, and half of the pirates died.

And Balke, as usual, withdrew early when the fire was burning brightest, preserving his strength perfectly.

By repeatedly choosing to step over the corpses of his allies to reach the shore, he had made it to where he was today.

Thinking of this, the smile at the corner of Rosa's mouth grew even colder.

If that so-called Touch of Corrosion really had the effect described in the letter... She stuck out her tongue and greedily licked her dry lips.

Go to the Shattered Isles? Of course she would go.

But not to shake hands and form an alliance.

What she intended to do was devour that'sincerity' whole, skin and bones.

If she could get the formula into her own hands... then the next Pirate Emperor to rule the seas would need a new name... The fleet slowly decelerated outside the Shattered Isles.

Mist rose from the sea; it wasn't the common white water vapor, but a gray with a turbid texture.

The mist rolled across the pitch-black water like a layer of unwashed, greasy, dirty gauze.

When the scorpion cut into it, even the noise on deck seemed mostly swallowed by this thick humidity.

There was a fishy smell in the air.

But it wasn't just the stench of rotting fish; it was mixed with a cloying sweetness, like some expensive spice slowly evaporating in a damp, dark cellar.

Rosa stood at the bow and took a deep breath.

Her single eye narrowed slightly, and an almost blissful expression appeared on her coarse face.

This smell reminded her of a southern spice ship she had raided in her youth.

The moment the crowbar snapped the seals on the cargo hold, this same smell had surged out—pungent and intense, yet enough to make one's heart race.

"It's the smell of gold coins," she muttered under her breath, her lips curling into a greedy arc. "It seems that old thing Balke has truly amassed quite a fortune."

Rosa muttered to herself, her gaze piercing through the mist, staring intently at the black fortress looming on the rocks in the distance.

As the distance closed, the mist thinned slightly.

Rosa's pupils suddenly constricted.

In the anchorage below the Skull Fortress, several warships of varying designs were quietly moored.

Although the black canvases were furled, the tattered yet blood-scented flags on the masts were particularly eye-catching in the gray mist.

"Bone Crusher Kahn, Viper... even that old religious fanatic has arrived."

Rosa's fingers subconsciously rubbed the dagger at her waist; her original greed cooled instantly, replaced by extreme calm.

It seemed Balke wasn't lying.

This was a feast, but with so many hungry sharks locked in one pool, wasn't he afraid of being torn apart first?

Unless he had a trump card that could absolutely dominate the room.

"It seems this isn't about picking up scraps; it's about risking one's life."

The ship continued forward. At a distance of five nautical miles from the Skull Fortress, Rosa raised her hand to signal a stop: "Drop anchor."

The distance was calculated precisely; she was in a downwind position and at the edge of the shore batteries' range, ready to turn the rudder and escape at any moment.

She turned back to the captain's quarters, hung up her heavy captain's coat, and began checking her gear piece by piece.

The first mate, Miller, stood aside, watching her tuck two poisoned daggers into her sleeves, and finally couldn't help but speak: "Boss, at ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) least four factions have ships out there. In this situation... are you really going in personally?"

Rosa didn't look up, briskly checking her ammunition. "Since I'm already here, who would be satisfied without seeing that thing?"

"Listen up." She finally turned her head, her gaze sharp as a knife. "Turn the ship broadside, aim all the side cannons at the fortress, but do not move a single step closer."

Miller was stunned and subconsciously asked, "If you haven't come out after two hours, or if I see a red signal flare... should I lead the men in to rescue you?"

Rosa sneered, looking at him as if he were an idiot. "Fool."

"If even I get stuck in there, you leading men in would just be suicide."

She took a step closer, her voice carrying an unquestionable coldness: "If something goes wrong, or if you hear anything suspicious inside, give the order immediately to fire indiscriminately at the fortress. Muddy the waters; the messier, the better."

Miller opened his mouth. "And then?"

"And then you sail away. I'll take the chance to escape underwater amidst the chaos."

Rosa reached out and slapped the wooden wall of the cabin heavily, her eyes terrifyingly sharp. "Remember, this ship is my retirement fund and my foundation on the sea. I will not allow you to lose it in there, even if it's to save me."

As long as the ship remained, Rosa could always make a comeback.

If the ship was gone, even if she escaped alive, she would be devoured by other pirates like scavengers picking at carrion... The small boat was lowered, and Rosa stepped onto the pier with two of her most elite guards.

The dock was even quieter than she had imagined.

Despite several pirate ships being moored there, not even the slightest clamor of drinking or gambling could be heard on the pier; the dead silence was somewhat abnormal.

Several black-robed attendants stood on both sides, their heads bowed, their movements stiff and sluggish.

As the distance closed, that uncomfortable fishy-sweet smell became even more concentrated.

Rosa's gaze swept over the hands protruding from beneath the black robes, and her pupils constricted slightly.

The skin showed a sort of deathly gray wrinkling, and it seemed to be covered in a mucus that would never dry, looking like either a severe skin disease or a floating corpse that had been soaked in water for a long time.

"Is it Sea-leprosy? Or the side effect of some alchemical toxin?"

She assessed silently, her hand resting inconspicuously on the hilt of her sword.

"What on earth is that old thing Balke up to..." Rosa didn't speak, but her gaze grew increasingly dark.

She didn't mock her opponent's wretched state as she usually would; instead, every muscle in her body tensed up, like a leopard walking into a strange territory filled with the scent of its own kind.

Her high-heeled leather boots stepped onto the decaying wooden pier, making a crisp sound.

"Clack, clack, clack..."

With every step, she observed the surrounding shadows.

In her eyes, this was indeed a lion's den.

But the one guarding it might not be a toothless old lion; it was very likely a monster that had gone completely mad just to stay alive.

And she had to be at her absolute sharpest to ensure she was the one eating the meat, not the meat on the plate.

And...