Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 133 Northern Frontier Expedition - Round Two
After the hunt, the knights excitedly surrounded the enormous carcasses of the mad bulls, whispering among themselves as they gazed at the colossal creatures lying in pools of blood.

"My lord, what should we do with these...?" a knight finally couldn't help but ask.

Louis looked down at the remains of the colossal beasts scattered on the ground, crossed his arms, and pondered for a moment.

To be honest, these Snow River Bulls are tough and thick-skinned; they're neither rare magical beasts nor have any medicinal or alchemical value...

The only thing worth mentioning is that the meat was actually quite delicious.

He glanced at everyone and said with a smile, "Since we've worked so hard to win this, let's take it all back and have a spring banquet to celebrate the harvest."

"Oh—!!" The knights cheered, praising Louis's generosity and their morale soared to its peak.

But Louis's mind had already turned to his real goal.

These cattle are not the key; the frost-leaf vines are the reason he went to such great lengths to create this elaborate scheme.

Of course, it's impossible to simply uproot the vines and take them back; that would be short-sighted. The truly sustainable approach is to cultivate and train them properly.

“Go and fetch Mick,” he commanded.

Not long after, Mik, the agricultural officer of the Red Tide Territory, arrived with several experienced herbal transplanters, their faces still showing barely concealed excitement.

"My lord, do you have any orders?"

Louis pointed to the lush patch of frost-leaf vines and said calmly, "Prepare to transplant this plant."

He glanced at them and said in a calm and unhurried voice:
"Remember to choose seedlings that are 1 to 2 years old, with blue-white roots and no yellowing leaf veins. These seedlings have the highest survival rate."

When digging, be careful to keep the root system intact, with a clump of soil attached, and don't let it fall apart. Don't break the vines, especially the newly grown tender shoots, as these are the most crucial part for spring growth.

If we could find a root tuber with small side shoots, that would be even better; that's the core for its expansion.

"Understood!" Mick grinned, his eyes lighting up. "Your Highness, rest assured, we will definitely replicate this vine forest exactly as it was for you!"

…………

Frostspear City, late at night.

The heavy curtains blocked out the howling north wind from outside the window, and the fire in the fireplace was weak. The charcoal crackled with a "pop," casting a dim red glow throughout the room.

Duke Edmund sat behind his desk, his fingertips slowly tracing the secret letter covered with gold sealing wax; the royal dragon emblem on the envelope was still familiar.

He had already recognized that the letter was written by the emperor himself.

Simply open the package; there are no extra ceremonies.

He read it quietly, his eyes expressionless: "So they still came."

His tone was neither sad nor happy, only a hint of weariness in his eyes.

In fact, he had already learned the contents of this letter several times from the emperor's letters.

This time, however, it was officially issued – “Northern Frontier Expansion Order, Round Two”.

This wasn't the first time he had received such an order.

The previous batch of so-called "aristocratic children" hadn't even managed to grow a single bag of wheat on the frozen ground before half of them died.

Those who survived were either insane or deserters, becoming the laughingstock of the northern people.

Of course, there are exceptions like Louis, but there's only one like him.

He knew the true meaning of these orders: they did not truly value the expansion of the northern border, but rather the emperor was promoting a balance of power and weakening the eight great families, especially the old nobles who were deeply rooted in the south.

He himself, or rather his Edmund family, was already powerless to defy the emperor's orders.

Two years ago, the rebellion caused bloodshed in the North, and Frostspear City nearly fell.

Two-thirds of his family died, and more names were crossed off the family tree than the living.

Although the Edmund family is now ranked among the eight great families, apart from its command of the Union Army, its financial, influence, and trade routes have long since lost their prestige.

“That’s fine…” he murmured.

He was not necessarily unhappy about the weakening of the other eight major families.

At least it can give their family a little breathing space in the torrent of power in the imperial court.

Of course, the emperor also promised that in exchange, the native nobles of the North would also be eligible to participate in the development of the new southern territories.

Edmund was convinced of this, because he knew what kind of person the emperor was and that he wouldn't lie to him.

They were old acquaintances. When the emperor was still a prince, they had been stationed in the northern border for three years, and the two had drunk together and fought side by side.

The friendship we shared during those years was genuine, and our correspondence continued for several years afterward.

In recent years, however, every move this former friend has made has become increasingly incomprehensible to him…

"Boom, boom."

Just as Edmund was gazing out the window, lost in thought, there was a soft knock on the door behind him.

"Father, may I come in?"

It was a sweet voice, like the first ray of sunlight falling on the snow.

He didn't need to turn around to know who was coming.

"Come in, Emily." A long-lost gentle smile appeared on Edmund's lips.

The door was gently pushed open, and a girl carrying a silver tray stepped into the study.

She wore a thick, aristocratic blue and white long dress, an apron, and carried a steaming cup of coffee in her hands. Her steps were steady, yet her movements were as light as a cat's.

"You've stayed up late again," Emily complained softly, placing the coffee steadily on the desk. "I had someone add extra milk, so it won't be so bitter anymore."

"Okay, I understand." Edmund reached out and took the cup, the warmth of his palm spreading through the cup.

He once told others that if Emily had been born in the capital, she might have become a princess long ago.

The Emperor had indeed offered to help with the marriage, but Emily was too young at the time, and he couldn't bear to part with her, so he politely declined.

Now, as he looked up at her standing in the firelight, he suddenly felt a lump in his throat.

She has indeed reached marriageable age and cannot delay any longer.

"What's wrong?" Emily noticed his silence and tilted her head to ask.

"It's nothing," he smiled, taking a sip of his coffee as if to cover up his embarrassment, "I just suddenly realized that time is passing too quickly."

Emily didn't understand what he meant, or rather, she understood but didn't want to point it out, she just lowered her head and smiled softly.

Edmund gazed at her smiling face, a complex mix of emotions welling up within him.

This girl is probably going to be a lucky break for that kid Louis.

He was a good match for the Calvin family in terms of age and social standing, had military achievements, and was exceptionally capable. Although the emperor did not explicitly say so, he did not object either, which was tacit approval.

The details are gradually being confirmed in the correspondence between the two families.

If nothing unexpected happens, we'll probably have to hold the wedding this year.

I always feel... maybe I should have stayed with her a little longer, a few more years.

Watch her walk in from outside the door a few more times, carrying coffee, and calling him "father".

It's a pity that one can't keep their daughter by their side forever.

“Emily,” Edmund finally spoke, his voice low and slow, “I was thinking of waiting a bit longer about this.” “Hmm?” Emily, who was fastening the buttons on his shawl, looked up at him with an innocent expression. “What is it?”

He hesitated for a moment, but finally said it: "You... might be getting married."

Her hand paused slightly, but she didn't show much surprise.

“Oh.” She lowered her head, her eyelashes drooping, casting a soft shadow in the firelight.

“Actually, it’s about time.” She said softly, “I know I’m not young anymore. In other families, I probably would have already had my second child.”

Edmund paused for a moment, then shook his head with a wry smile.

"Then...who did Father choose for me?" she asked casually, but her curiosity was undeniable.

Edmund paused, as if weighing his words, and finally sighed, saying, "Louis Calvin."

“Ah, it’s that one…” Emily narrowed her eyes slightly, searching her memory. “The Calvin family, the pioneering lords from the south, right?”

"Yes." He nodded. "They're also from one of the eight great families... but they're a little different from ours."

Emily nodded. Of course she knew the name of the "young pioneer," having heard him mentioned frequently in Frostspear City lately.

The phrases like "surprise attack on Qingyu Ridge," "outstanding military achievements," and "an anomaly in the aristocratic wasteland" make it sound like they're describing some kind of savior of the North.

She was actually quite curious about what kind of person the man was who could make her father look serious and even consider marrying her off.

"It's all up to Father's arrangement." She smiled obediently, her hands folded in front of her skirt, her posture as proper as that of a noble lady.

But the fleeting slyness in her eyes did not escape Edmund's notice.

“Emily…” he glanced at her, then said meaningfully, “You’re not planning on running away from the wedding, are you?”

"No, no, there isn't." She opened her eyes wide, looking completely innocent.

"I just think," she said, pursing her lips as if pondering, her tone slightly playful, "it's always necessary to meet them beforehand... in case they look too fierce, their smile is too fake, and they have a bad temper, then I... I'll have to think about how to escape, right?"

“You silly girl.” Edmund chuckled, then gently flicked her forehead. “If you run away, I’ll have to issue a military order to bring you back as a deserter in a political marriage.”

"Ouch, that hurts." Emily rubbed her forehead and muttered, "Maybe I should write him a letter beforehand saying 'I'm ugly,' and he'll give up on his own."

"He's not that stupid..."

"Then I can only pray that he's good-looking, funny, and easy to bully." She said as she stood up, her skirt swaying gently. "I can't possibly marry a fierce, bald old man, can I?"

“He’s only nineteen.” Edmund sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Little brother, I'll think about it." With that, she hummed a little tune and walked out the door, leaving behind only a warm aroma of coffee.

Once out of her father's sight, Emily's expression slowly turned cold.

He was joking with his father when he said those words, but he did indeed want to meet his fiancé and see if he was good enough for him.

…………

The new Northern Frontier Order was not only sent to Duke Edmund, but also delivered in a heavy royal envelope to the study of every nobleman obliged to participate in the mission.

The Duke of Calvin received the messenger's visit early in the morning.

He sat in his study, tapping his fingers on an envelope, a playful smile on his face.

"Here we go again..." he snorted, pulling out the letter. "It's almost exactly the same as last year's, except for a few more requirements. It makes it seem like they're really 'carefully selecting' one."

He ignored the flowery words and focused his gaze on the key point:

Selection criteria: Applicants must be direct descendants of the family, possess the strength of an elite knight or above, have war experience, and be able to lead a team of at least one hundred knights.

"...Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, not angry but amused. "You've learned your lesson this time, aren't you? Are you afraid we'll send some more useless people to waste our time?"

He recalled the absurd outburst of anger last year.

At the time, almost all the nobles thought it was just a "political gesture" and few took it seriously.

So he took the opportunity to send his most mediocre and least noticeable son over there, getting rid of a marginal member of the family along the way.

Who would have thought that Louis, who had extremely poor talent and little presence, would actually thrive like a dragon entering the sea!

He couldn't help but begin to suspect that his son had been pretending to be stupid all these years.

So when faced with a similar order now, he did not treat it lightly, but spent an entire night carefully considering it among his dozen or so children.

In the end, he picked two people.

The most outstanding ones are not the best; the best ones should stay in the capital, stay by his side, and be the heir to the family.

It wasn't the worst either. Those hopeless good-for-nothings would only turn into nameless corpses in the snows of the North, failing to achieve their goals. He also knew that Louis was just an exception.

These two are just right.

What he wanted was not to be "sent to death," but to be "verified."

The question remains: is it Louis himself who is truly capable, or is it Calvin's bloodline that gives him a natural advantage in the chaos of the North?

"Butler," he finally spoke.

“Yes, sir,” a butler announced.

“Go and summon Pal and Veris, and tell them that I have something to tell them.”

"clear."

Shortly after, footsteps could be heard outside the door.

The study door was gently pushed open, and two figures entered one after the other, their gazes upright and their posture straight.

"Father."

"Father."

Duke Calvin nodded, his gaze sweeping between the two men.

Parr is 21 years old. He has shown outstanding performance since childhood, especially in tactical learning, but he is somewhat arrogant.

Veris is twenty years old, calm and taciturn, and skilled in mounted combat and commanding troops.

These two individuals won't cause much of a stir in the capital's politics, but they're enough to make a difference in the North.

"Do you know that the Northern Frontier Reclamation Order has arrived again?" he asked calmly.

The two men were taken aback for a moment, then nodded: "Yes."

“I have submitted your names.” He looked at them, his tone devoid of emotion. “Be ready to depart with the troops within three weeks.”

They exchanged a glance, but neither questioned their father's decision.

“It was your brother Louis who went last time,” Duke Calvin said slowly. “He did a good job, surprisingly well.”

The two bowed their heads and said, "Yes."

"I want to know, is it his personal skill, or is it that Calvin's blood is naturally suited to conquering the North?"

Duke Calvin stood up, his tone now carrying a heavy, authoritative air: "You either gain a foothold there, or you die on that snowy ground."

"Understood," the two replied in hushed tones.

(End of this chapter)