Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

As the morning sun fully rose, the Red Tide Memorial Plaza was completely covered in crimson.

Countless banners unfurled in the wind, shades of red intertwining like a surging sea of fire.

When the shouts of nearly a million people converged above the plaza, the very air seemed to be weighed down.

This collective will of the common people was far more heart-pounding than the Dragon Emperor's roar from years ago.

At the very front of the plaza were seats reserved for the awardees, and Irene stood there as well.

Those people had propped up the backbone of an era.

Irene's gaze fell upon one of the elderly men.

Marshal Lambert sat in a wheelchair, his frame much smaller than in her memories.

The oversized Marshal's uniform hung somewhat loosely on him.

His hands rested quietly on his knees, his skin mottled with age spots like a map repeatedly folded by time.

But when he raised his head to look toward the end of the plaza, those eyes remained as sharp as they were when he stared down dragons.

Sitting beside him was General Weil.

He was nearly seventy, yet he still sat perfectly straight—not out of a forced posture, but as a long-cultivated instinct.

This general's entire life had been dedicated to a single task: guarding Lord Louis's safety.

Further back, Young Hamilton's shoulders and back were straight.

He held an exaggeratedly large giant gear wrench, the symbol of the Chief Engineer.

Irene remembered the day the great Hamilton passed away; the entire world fell silent for him.

That man had sacrificed his lifelong health to steam machinery, leading to his untimely death before the age of forty.

Now, that obsession had been taken up by his apprentice and adopted son.

It was these people, known as technical fanatics, who turned the once-unreachable magic energy into a resource as common as air.

Light was finally able to enter those underground spaces sealed for millennia, and darkness was no longer seen as destiny.

On the other side, Ed was straightening his collar.

The high-pressure differential water cycle power theory he proposed caused industrial costs in remote mountainous areas to plummet, giving a future to lands once considered destined for poverty.

Physician Green stood at ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) the end of the scientists' queue.

His name was repeatedly mentioned within the medical system; fifteen years of research had given hope for a cure for dragon blood residue syndrome.

Standing in her position, Irene looked over the ninety-nine awardees in her row, both old and young. She suddenly understood that the true reason for the Red Tide's strength never lay in the power of a single individual.

Knights would grow old, and geniuses would take their final bows.

But as long as there were people to pass on experience to the next generation,

Then this torrent called the Red Tide would not stop because of any one person's departure.

It would continue forward... The ceremonial cannons of the award ceremony echoed over the Red Tide City Plaza exactly forty times.

When those heavy castle gates slowly opened, the million-strong crowd that had been boisterous for hours instantly fell into a dead silence.

In the last decade or so, Louis Calvin had almost stopped appearing in public.

To the new generation of the Red Tide, he existed more on the title pages of textbooks, in city statues, and on the currency circulated daily.

But to the people of the old era, he was a real and great man.

So when that figure truly stood in the sunlight, the entire Red Tide City seemed to experience a silent tremor.

"Long live Lord Louis!"

The first shout came from Marshal Lambert's raspy voice.

"Long live Lord Louis!"

Subsequently, millions of voices merged into a torrent, piercing the clouds.

Crimson banners surged across the plaza as people waved their arms, tears flowing uncontrollably.

Louis Calvin waved while walking down the steps, leaning on a cane.

At seventy-two, his white hair was combed neatly back, the corners of his eyes were lined with the marks of time, and he wore an extremely simple tailored formal suit.

In Irene's sight, this old man no longer looked as young as in her impressions.

He looked more like a mentor patiently solving problems in a study, or an elder standing on a field ridge concerned about the harvest.

He came before the wheelchair and stopped.

Marshal Lambert sat there, his frame appearing thin.

The body that once propped up the Red Tide's defensive line was now just a rigid skeleton.

Louis leaned down and personally pinned the 40th Anniversary Commemorative Medal on him.

"Lambert," his voice was very low, close to the old man's ear, "do you remember? When I was sent to the North, I was just a child who knew nothing.

Back then, you were the one standing behind me. If you hadn't been willing to walk into the North with me and block the first blizzard for me, there wouldn't be the Red Tide of today."

He straightened the slightly loose lapels for the old man.

The legendary knight in his nineties, who had never shed a tear on countless battlefields, was now sobbing like a child.

Tears slid down his furrowed cheeks; he tried with all his might to raise his hand in a knight's salute but could only tightly grip the armrests of the wheelchair.

Louis simply patted his shoulder gently.

Then he continued forward, pinning medals on one contributor after another and speaking briefly with them.

Facing the young engineer who developed the magic energy unit, he paused for a moment and said simply: "Don't let the gears of progress stop."

The young man nodded vigorously, his throat tightening.

Facing the doctor who overcame dragon blood residue syndrome, Louis's gaze softened: "Life itself is the highest truth. Thank you for letting those who would have withered continue to live."

There were no long speeches or flowery rhetoric, yet it made people straighten their backs.

When it was Irene's turn to stand before Louis, her hands trembled uncontrollably.

The old man stopped his pace. He didn't immediately pin the medal on her but gazed at her for a moment, as if searching through a properly preserved old memory.

"Irene..." Louis spoke slowly, his voice not loud, "I remember you. Your father, Smith, a knight of the Broken Fang Knights."

Irene's throat tightened.

"One year, he asked me a question in the North." The old man's tone was steady, yet every word was clear. "He asked me if this world would truly become better."

Louis reached out and steadily pinned the golden Sun Medal to Irene's chest.

"Today, with your laboratory and those wind power towers standing on the wasteland, you have answered that question for him."

Louis looked at her with a gentle gaze: "Irene, you have done excellently. You haven't failed the Red Tide, and the Red Tide will not fail you."

At that moment, Irene could no longer maintain any restraint.

This Chief Academician, known for her composure in the Academy of Sciences, burst into tears under the gaze of millions.

After awarding the ninety-nine outstanding representatives of the Red Tide, Louis turned around to face that surging sea of red.

He did not tell stories of dragon slaying, nor did he review the hardships in the North.

He simply raised his hand and pointed below the stage, toward the ordinary people wearing work clothes, school uniforms, and white coats.

His voice spread clearly across the entire city through the amplification array. "This world never belonged only to me, Louis Calvin.

Nor does it belong to those false gods who have long since turned to dust. It belongs to every person willing to think and willing to work."

He paused for a heartbeat.

The moment his voice fell, thousands of fireworks bloomed simultaneously over Red Tide City.

The colorful light illuminated the plaza, the statue of the silver armor and red cloak, and Louis's snow-white hair.

"Long live Lord Louis!"

"Long live the Red Tide!"

The shouts rose wave after wave.

Standing among the crowd, Irene watched the old man slowly turn around and walk toward the shadows deep within the castle.