Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Ruixiuuna sat on the soft sofa in the study, her hands tightly twisting the handkerchief in her grip.

Beside her, her husband, Viscount Ronald, stood tall, yet he appeared exceptionally ill at ease.

Ronald didn't dare let his gaze linger on the scene outside, yet he couldn't stop it from drifting that way.

Toward the harbor, the silhouette of the steel fleet almost blotted out the horizon, their black hulls looming through the mist like rows of silent behemoths.

Ronald swallowed hard, his calves feeling faint and tight; even though he was an Elite Knight, he couldn't help but feel a sliver of fear toward such oppressive monsters.

Ruixiuuna's mind, however, was no longer on what lay beyond the window; her memories were pulling back and forth in her mind.

In her memory, her younger brother Louis was still a teenager, always keeping his head down and hesitating for a long time before speaking.

At family banquets, he would sit in the furthest corner, yet he still worked hard to maintain proper etiquette.

When she first learned he had been chosen to go to the North as a Pioneer Baron, she thought it was the end; she had truly worried that this weak brother of hers wouldn't even survive his first winter after being exiled to the North.

So she had begged her husband to give him more gold coins and gave her brother her own secret stash of life potions, hoping for even a slim chance of survival.

However, the news returning from the North became crazier each time.

At first, it was just scattered rumors and humble letters from Louis.

That discarded son, abandoned by the family and exiled to the wasteland, had actually gained a foothold in the North.

Starting as a Pioneer Baron without even a decent territory, he had managed to survive the frozen earth and the insect tide, and even married the daughter of Duke Edmund.

Then the news began to get specific.

Duke Edmund fell in battle, and the border lords who had previously acted independently were forged together by him in an extremely cold and efficient manner, while those alien races thought to be invincible were buried in the frozen soil in batches.

Then came the Grey Rock Province, which was annexed by him in a short period of time.

Finally, he drew his sword against the Holy See, and he won.

And so, those scattered titles were pieced together by the people one by one.

The Sun of the North, the Conqueror of Gray Rock, the Destroyer of the Holy See, the Miracle Maker, the Great Calvin... "Is he still that same Louis?" This thought flashed through Ruixiuuna's mind.

She looked down at the dress she was wearing; it was her most presentable one now. The style wasn't new, and the fabric couldn't be called luxurious, but it was all the dignity she could muster.

Ronald noticed her silence, walked gently to her side, and comforted her in a low voice: "Don't worry too much, dear. The Red Tide knights are very polite to us and haven't shown the slightest neglect. This means... Lord Louis still cares for you."

As he spoke, he couldn't help but wipe the sweat from his palms again.

The door was pushed open at that moment.

Ruixiuuna looked up almost as a reflex.

Louis walked in, dressed in clean and simple casual clothes.

He deliberately restrained his presence, suppressing that suffocating pressure to an extreme low, looking as if he were just a young lord who had been away from home for a long time.

Even so, Ruixiuuna was stunned.

The brother before her was much taller than she remembered.

Standing there with his back straight, he naturally became the center of the entire room.

It wasn't a deliberately posed majesty, but an aura settled from long-term command—quiet, yet impossible to ignore.

"He's changed," Ruixiuuna's heart trembled slightly. "He's become like Father..."

She subconsciously prepared to stand up and perform a formal noble salute.

Given Louis's current status, her doing so would be beyond reproach.

But before she could stand steady, Louis had already stepped forward quickly and reached out to support her lightly.

"Sister," his movement was light yet exceptionally natural, "these past few years, you've worked hard."

His voice was gentle, without the slightest condescension of someone in a high position.

In fact, his tone even carried a slightly dependent softness that Ruixiuuna was all too familiar with.

In that instant, all the tension seemed to be gently punctured.

Ruixiuuna's eyes grew hot.

The little boy who used to hide behind her hadn't disappeared.

Louis personally poured tea for her and asked casually, "The knights who went to fetch you weren't rude, were they? How are the children at home... has the little one been troublesome lately..."

He didn't talk about the details of the war or the distribution of interests; he was just making small talk.

While Ruixiuuna answered, she secretly observed his expression.

Louis was smiling and his posture was relaxed, yet she still sensed something slightly off through his eyes.

But as long as he still recognized her as his sister, that was enough.

As the pleasantries wound down, Louis's gaze turned to the man beside her: "Viscount Ronald."

He nodded, his tone solemn: "Thank you for taking care of my sister all these years. Also, back when I was exiled to the North, your family was the only one willing to lend a hand."

Ronald subconsciously straightened his back and replied seriously: "Ruixiuuna is my wife; taking care of her is my responsibility. As for what happened back then... it was her insistence, I only did what I should have."

A flash of imperceptible approval crossed Louis's eyes.

His abilities might be mediocre, but this man was sincere enough.

He reached out, picked up a prepared document from the table, and pushed it over casually.

"The Southeast Province is currently in a state of reconstruction. Several manors that originally belonged to Seldon's faction, as well as the exclusive trade rights around White Stone Port, are currently vacant."

His tone was as flat as if he were discussing a piece of idle land.

"I plan to integrate that area into a new Earldom. Would you like to manage it for me?"

Ronald's hand visibly trembled.

An Earldom and exclusive trade rights—he knew exactly what that meant.

In a brief moment, wealth, status, and the future of his family all exploded in his mind.

He took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing his surging emotions, and bowed solemnly: "It is my honor to serve you, My Lord."

Louis simply waved his hand: "It's not serving me, and there will be Red Tide officials to assist you."

After the meeting ended, an attendant stepped forward to guide Ruixiuuna and her husband away.

Before leaving the room, Ruixiuuna couldn't help but look back once more.

Louis had already sat back down behind the desk, looking down as he opened an intelligence report.

That gentle smile had vanished from his face, replaced by an unfamiliar coldness and focus... After Ruixiuuna left, the deliberately maintained gentle aura dissipated along with her.

The old butler, Bradley, who had been waiting in the corner, then took a step forward: "Family Head."

Louis didn't look up, only giving a soft "Mm."

Bradley placed a document on the desk, the cover printed with a line of text—'Statistical Table of the Current Status of Calvin Family Members'.

His voice lowered a bit, yet remained clear: "The statistics are complete. Aside from Lady Ruixiuuna, all direct blood relatives have... withered away.

The remaining survivors are only a few distant branch lines that were usually ignored by the family; most were hiding in rural wineries or on the edges of old territories, thus avoiding the purge."

Louis's gaze lingered for a moment on those red crosses, his expression unchanging: "For the surviving branches, guarantee basic rations, housing, and medical care. Just make sure they don't starve to death."

"But no titles, no annuities, and no inheritance privileges. I don't support parasites."

Bradley's pen paused slightly before he continued writing.

Louis looked up at him: "If they want to live well, they can take the exams for the Red Tide civil service system or become knights. The rules are the same as for outsiders."

Bradley bowed his head and replied: "Yes, My Lord. I shall grant no special treatment."

He looked at Louis sitting behind the desk, overlapping his figure with that of another Duke Calvin.

He remembered many years ago when he was in the Southeast Province; back then, the Calvin Family was the most prominent family in the Southeast.

The banquets were brightly lit, the halls crowded with relatives and vassals, people scrambling to talk for fear of being overlooked.

And that young master sitting in the corner had always watched it all quietly.

At that time, no one would have thought the family would decline so rapidly, with almost everyone dead.

Yet, that Calvin banner had been personally planted at the highest point of this world by this most inconspicuous child.

Just as he was immersed in his memories, Louis stood up and walked to the massive world map on the side wall of the study.

The metal map was illuminated by the lights, appearing cold and clear, with mountain ranges, shipping routes, and power boundaries precisely depicted like a chessboard.

His finger tapped twice on the map, stopping on an area recently marked as occupied.

The Avalonia Archipelago—it was originally the main territory of the Golden Feather Cult Sovereignty, and now the entire area was stained with a dark gray mark symbolizing the completion of the purge.

"This land is ruined." Louis's tone was not an exaggeration.

Bradley, standing to the side, understood the meaning behind those words very well.

Although the Cult Sovereignty had been completely destroyed, centuries of parasitism had already permeated every level of this land.

The soil, groundwater, and even the microbial structure in the air had undergone irreversible alienation.

In the initial post-war surveys, engineers had already reported: fleshy fungi were constantly growing on the surface, some vegetation showed skeletal characteristics, and even insects showed tendencies toward mutation.

This was not a place where people could live just by giving it a wash.

"Send in the engineer corps," Louis continued, his gaze not leaving the map. "Flamethrowers, steam shovels, white phosphorus bombs—use them all."

"Plough everything three meters below the surface for me."

Bradley was slightly startled but didn't raise any objections, only quickly noting down the instructions on his portable recording board.

Louis paused, then added: "After the cleanup, establish a naval blockade. Designate it as an absolute forbidden zone; don't even think about anyone living there for a hundred years."

Bradley bowed: "Understood, My Lord." 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Louis's finger then moved north.

Crossing the archipelago, it landed on the vast territory of the Southeast Province. The colors in that area were not uniform; most towns were marked as 'mildly infected zones'.

It hadn't completely devolved into a kingdom of monsters, but it was equally broken.

Millions of civilians had spent years inhaling golden feather flower pollen, having been forced or voluntarily connected to that divine network.

Even though the network had been severed, the aftereffects remained clearly upon them—mental lethargy, slow reactions, limb degeneration... like a group of addicts suddenly deprived of their substance.

Bradley hesitated slightly before speaking: "My Lord, the state of this part of the population... is very unstable. If they are not pacified, I fear there will be large-scale riots, or even cases of self-mutilation and suicide."

After hearing this, the corner of Louis's mouth twitched: "Pacified?"

Bradley was stunned.

Louis's gaze remained on the map, but his tone became cold and hard: "Their brains are broken not because they eat too little, but because they think too much and do too little."

"Then make it so they have no time to think." He raised his hand and pointed at several heavily affected areas: "Coordinate with Frost Leaf Sedatives to perform forced withdrawal first. Cut off all remaining sources of the poison."

"Then organize them. The empire has been smashed to pieces, there are ruins everywhere. Enroll all these people into the Post-war Reconstruction Corps—building roads, erecting bridges, dredging, mining..."

Louis's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.

"Heavy physical labor by day, night school by evening. Learn to read, learn Red Tide law, learn how to live in a world without gods.

Let them sweat. Exhaust them until they don't even have the strength to pray. Once the sweat has run dry, the poison in their brains will be drained out too."

Bradley closed his recording board and bowed solemnly: "Understood, My Lord. If there are no other orders, I shall go and arrange it now."

Louis nodded: "Go on."

The old butler bowed and turned to leave... The doors closed again, and Louis was finally alone. He began to observe this study, one of the legacies left by the Old Duke.

This was the first time since his transmigration that he had truly stepped into the power core of the Calvin Family—this study.

Unexpectedly, it had not been looted.

Oil paintings of the generations of Calvin Family heads hung on the walls.

Some were clad in armor, some wore formal attire, and others held scepters.

The painting styles varied, but their gazes were strikingly consistent—shrewd and greedy, like a group of businessmen still calculating profits from across their frames.

Louis's footsteps stopped before the final painting.

It was the Old Duke.

The old man in the painting sat upright, his back straight, hands folded over a scepter.

His gray-white hair was meticulously combed, and his hawk-like gaze seemed to be scrutinizing everyone who walked into the study through the canvas.

Louis looked at him for a few seconds, then shifted his gaze, raised his wine glass, and gave a ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) slight toast to the portrait.

"To be honest," he whispered to himself, "I don't have much feeling for you."

There was no filial affection, nor was there any resentment for being exiled to the North.

"You wanted to treat me as a discarded pawn, a tool to deal with the Emperor, but I gained freedom and my own territory.

Besides, without the subsequent financial support, it would have been impossible for me to rise so easily. For that, I owe you my gratitude."

Louis tilted his head back, draining the wine in his glass. He didn't look at the portrait again, but turned back to the desk.

A parchment map was already spread out.

He picked up a red pen, its tip moving across the map.

Southeast Province.

He drew a complete red circle around this area.

This was the empire's granary and harbor, as well as one of its most densely populated regions.

In the past, it supplied blood to the Imperial Capital; now, it would provide raw materials and labor for the operation of the Red Tide.

The industrial system of the North had already taken shape, and the agriculture and ports of the South would become its most stable fulcrum.

Industry in the North, agriculture in the South—the line naturally closed under his pen.

With the deaths of his father and brothers, and the signet ring on his hand, he was now the undisputed sole master of this land.

In the center of the map, Louis drew a prominent X.

"This place doesn't need new lords," he said in a calm tone. "It only needs factories, farms, and the Red Tide Administrative Office."

Power was no longer to be divided, but directly embedded into the system.

Following the shipping routes, he connected the northern and southern waterways on the map.

Once this line was completely opened, the Southeast Province would be fully integrated into the Red Tide's military industry, logistics, and trade cycle, never to be separated again.

Just as his thoughts were about to sink deeper, there was a knock on the study door.

Weil pushed the door open and entered: "My Lord."

Louis didn't look up: "Speak."

"That puppet emperor, Lampard," Weil paused, his tone carrying a hint of irrepressible excitement, "was intercepted by our patrol boat."

Louis closed the map, drained the last of his wine, and the corner of his mouth curled into an inscrutable arc: "Very good."