Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 237 Post-War Conference (Part 1)

As dawn broke, Viscount Brooke opened his eyes.

He sat up and put on a black robe with silver patterns. The robe was well-tailored and the shoulder ornaments still retained the traditional wolf fang leather decorations of the North, giving him a composed yet noble air.

He gently smoothed his sleeves and adjusted his bow tie in front of the bronze mirror, then lightly draped the cloak bearing the family crest over his shoulders.

"Hmm, as expected of a noble from the North." He muttered to himself, a satisfied smile appearing in his eyes.

After dressing, he calmly boarded the carriage.

The carriage was lined with furs, and outside were his three remaining personal guards, who were of lower rank but still looked spirited.

He lifted the curtain and looked outside; the streets of Chichao Territory were already awake in the morning light.

The streets of Chichao remain busy.

As the morning sun shines, rows of neat new wooden houses and semi-subterranean dwellings line the street, with geothermal chimneys rising and falling, emitting steam.

The roads have been paved, and many displaced people are queuing in an orderly manner to receive hot porridge and clean water.

Children chase and play along the clay roadside, while security knights adorned with the Red Tide emblem patrol the area.

In the distance, several craftsmen were hoisting some kind of boiler device, while a fire-backed tortoise was dozing off next to the heating relay point.

“Well done.” Viscount Brooke looked at everything with a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Better than many senior old nobles.”

He stroked the wooden frame by the car window, squinting, "He can fight wars and understand people's livelihoods... If only my son had even a tenth of his abilities."

But then Brooke's smile faded: "It's a pity he doesn't understand the rules among nobles. We are not commoners, not these poor wretches who live on porridge."

He gripped the car window frame tightly, his gaze darkening.

They seized military power, locked supplies in granaries, and smuggled their voices into a few secret orders and the eyes and ears of the supervisory bureau.

Even if he comes from one of the eight great families of the empire, even if he has made great contributions, even if the governor says he saved the North... so what?
“I’m not trying to seize anything… a few words, a few hundred men, that’s all,” Brooke murmured, as if trying to convince herself. “I’m willing to submit to him, really. But we have to give him some breathing room.”

The carriage made several turns on the familiar cobblestone road and stopped outside the inner fortress area of ​​the Red Tide Territory.

The black stone gate of Tulou Fortress remained heavy, but the knights guarding it had been replaced; each one was now in clean armor and stood ramrod straight.

Brooke remembered that the last time he was here was in the early stages of the insectoid catastrophe.

At that time, he humbly pledged his loyalty and handed over all the knights under his command, just to preserve the bloodline of his family.

This time, however, he donned the dignity of nobility, brought a joint proposal, and also gained the support of many Snow Peak nobles.

"This time, I will not submit to orders again."

He straightened his chest and stepped into the hall with steady steps, as if he were stepping onto a stage for a contest.

Inside the Red Tide Lord's Council Hall.

The morning sun streamed in through the high windows, casting a slanted light on the neatly arranged long table. The iron lamp holders embedded in the stone wall dispelled the chill, but could not dispel the heavy sense of oppression in the air.

The Red Tide flag flew high in front of the hall, and its sun-shaped emblem, illuminated by the sunlight, looked like a burning eye, overlooking the entire hall.

The tables and chairs were arranged in perfect order, and the noble representatives sat down according to their family status and the order of their post-war registration, with their names written in red on their place cards.

Viscount Brooke sat in a slightly central position, casually toying with a silver ring in his left hand.

His expression was indifferent, but his gaze swept over the guests in the hall and landed on the empty head seat at the very top.

That is what he is truly focused on today.

Among those seated figures were several key figures from the Louis camp at the Snow Peak Conference.

The first one to catch my eye is Baron Willis, Louis's brother and the son of Duke Calvin. He entered the North a year after Louis and rose to prominence rapidly alongside him.

Next is Baron Jon, who comes from the wealthy and newly rich Harvey family. His father is Earl Harvey, who has been gaining popularity in recent years.

But this young baron was devoted to Louis, and it was rumored that they had been close friends before they came to the North.

Below them are several newly emerging nobles personally promoted and supported by Louis. Although they came from humble backgrounds, they held real power and were all loyal and steadfast.

Of course, there were also some dissatisfied people in the council chamber.

Although they sat calmly at the table, their eyes occasionally exchanged secret signals with Brooke.

These people were the "pawns" he had secretly arranged beforehand.

Two young women sat at the head of the table.

Emily, with her elegant blue hair and composed demeanor, is the daughter of Edmund, the Governor of the Northern Territory of the Empire, and Louis's legal wife.

Sif, with her silver hair and cold demeanor, possesses a sharp and imposing presence. Though silent, she commands respect without anger, and despite her unknown origins, she commands respect.

The seat between them was empty, for the true protagonist of the day had yet to appear—Viscount Louis Calvin.

Brooke raised her head slightly, looking at the high-backed chair that had not yet been occupied, a mocking look appearing in her eyes.

“Louis…” he murmured to himself, “I’m ready. Let’s see how you respond today.”

As he secretly pondered this, Brooke watched the pendulum in the hall slowly approach the appointed time.

As the clock struck midnight, the gates finally opened slowly.

A gust of cold wind swept across the heavy threshold, bringing in the young man who everyone was waiting for.

Louis walked at a leisurely pace, wearing a crimson robe, with his sword still at his waist and the emblem of the Shield of the North on his chest.

A gentle, slightly weary smile graced his face, a smile as warm and inviting as the winter sun.

As soon as he entered, everyone almost instinctively stood up and bowed.

"Lord Louis."

"Congratulations on Lord Louis's triumphant return!"

"It is truly our good fortune to have you in Xuefeng."

"The Light of the North, truly deserving of the title!"

The compliments came like a tidal wave, and the nobles' faces were full of smiles. Some of these words were sincere, while others were just for show, but no matter what they thought in their hearts, they were all extremely respectful on the surface.

Brooke also stood up, clapped twice with a smile, but kept her eyes fixed on Louis's.

The young man remained expressionless, as if the praise was nothing more than leaves rustling in the wind, and he didn't even bother to reply with a "thank you."

"He still has the look of a true young hero." He murmured to himself, his tone full of envy.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Louis said, taking his seat at the head of the table and scanning the room.
"The war is over, and we have entered the recovery phase. I know that every family has suffered heavy losses and has its own thoughts, so let's skip the small talk and get straight to the point. Everyone is welcome to speak up if they have any opinions."

He tapped the table lightly, getting straight to the point without even exchanging pleasantries.

This was unexpected by everyone, and the entire council hall fell silent instantly.

An awkward silence.

Many people looked at each other blankly, even though they had prepared in advance and had even thought about what to argue for and what to bring up.
But at this moment, no one was willing to be the first to speak.

The atmosphere was like solidified honey, thick and stagnant, as if afraid that an invisible thread might be broken if one were not careful.

Brooke frowned slightly. He had hoped Roland would be the first to bring it up, but the old man shrank back like a field mouse.

Just as the air was about to freeze, Baron Jon chuckled and raised his hand to speak:

“Boss, now that you’re back, we have food, lodging, and hot springs here. It’s like we have a home after the war. To be honest, I have no objections.”

Louis turned his head and smiled at him.

Then he calmly said, "Since there are no suggestions, let's move on to the next topic."

Upon seeing Louis's desire to skip the proposal, Brooke felt a surge of restlessness rising within her.

Not right.

This was not what he had expected.

The ringleaders he had chosen were now all shrugging their necks, not daring to even meet Louis's eyes. Those who had been the loudest in private were now like wooden sculptures frozen to their seats.

Didn't you say that as soon as Louis came back, we had to teach him some "rules"?

He glanced at the several allies who had "coordinated" in advance.

Baron Harris was looking down at his shoes, and even Sirius, that kid, was unusually quiet, his eyes darting around.

Viscount Roland indeed looked trembling, staring down at the corner of the table as if he were a chair himself.

They're all useless...

He was confident last night, saying he could speak openly at the meeting, but now he doesn't even dare to raise his head.

Brooke felt the opportunity slipping through his fingers, and gritted his teeth.

Can't wait.

He slowly rose, a gentle and humble smile spreading across his face, his voice steady yet respectful: "Lord Louis."

He began with a respectful opening statement: "First of all, on behalf of all the nobles present, I would like to express my sincerest respect and gratitude for your contributions in the Battle of Frostspear."

If you hadn't stepped forward, the North would likely have become a nest of insects. You brought back hope, and you preserved the last glimmer of light on the snow-capped peaks.

A few murmurs of agreement rang out in the room. Not many, but enough to keep Brooke talking.

He changed the subject, softening his tone, like a mature family elder offering a "kind reminder" to a younger generation:
"However, as you said, postwar reconstruction is indeed a long and arduous task, which is why we are willing to pool our wisdom and help each other overcome difficulties."

As he spoke, he gently raised his hand.

The Viscount Roland sitting next to him seemed to be pricked by a needle, his body trembled, and he shakily pulled out a parchment document from his sleeve.

"This is a 'Snow Peak Joint Proposal' drafted by several nobles present, which mainly puts forward two points..." Brooke smiled, as if he were reading a plea rather than forcing someone to resign.

"First, we earnestly request that some military power be appropriately returned to the former subordinates in order to maintain border stability and alleviate the pressure on displaced people."

Second, regarding the distribution of supplies and the restoration of territory, could the 'Snow Peak Council' establish a special task force to jointly deliberate with the Red Tide Territory?

It's not that we distrust the Red Tide Territory, but rather that we hope to increase the confidence of its inhabitants through 'co-governance'.

At this point, he looked up at the young lord in the main seat: "What do you think—is this feasible?"

Viscount Roland, standing nearby, was deathly pale. He held the letter as if it were a hot potato, avoiding Louis's gaze, and muttered under his breath, "I...I'm just passing it on..."

All eyes fell on him, like invisible hands lifting him from the chair and carrying him to the altar.

Brooke breathed a sigh of relief as the document was finally placed before him.

He stood there, smiling, his words perfectly measured, and there was even a hint of smugness in his heart.

Everything is planned.

Not a single nobleman objected; even Viscount Roland obediently handed over the letter.

In addition, he possessed a knack for using language, first showing respect before offering advice, first praising before advising, and always knowing when to advance and when to retreat, maintaining a proper sense of proportion.

This is the kind of social tactic that Viscount Brook excels at.

"Well done."

He was about to reveal a perfectly timed, composed smile...

But then he suddenly realized that the young man in the main seat hadn't said a word the entire time.

Louis simply sat there, his fingertips tapping lightly on the solid wood table, producing a rhythmic yet deep sound, like the faint beeping of a war drum.

There was no response, no rebuttal, and no expression.

His gaze, however, was like a blade in the cold night, sweeping from one side of the seating area to the other.

Those who had just been echoing Brooke lowered their heads, as if a sharp sword were pressed against their necks, not daring to look at him again.

Brooke's smile gradually froze.

He suddenly felt a little cold, and beads of sweat slowly appeared on the back of his neck.

Why isn't he saying anything? Why isn't he refuting it?
Not responding is the most ruthless form of retaliation.

He didn't care at all about the so-called "Snow Peak Noble Alliance Proposal," and didn't even bother to refute its legitimacy.

Was he waiting for me to finish speaking so he could make a final decision?
At that moment, an absurd and terrifying thought flashed through Brooke's mind: he already knew.

“Viscount Brooke,” Louis said, his voice as cold as snow.

"You were the lead author of this proposal?"

Brook straightened his back, trying to maintain his composure: "It's me. But that's what everyone agrees on..."

“Understood.” Louis nodded, his tone not heavy, yet like the fall of a gavel.

He raised his right hand and waved it gently.

"take away."

The door was pushed open with a "bang," and several knights from the Inspectorate and Bradley stepped into the hall with steady steps, their boots making a low rustling sound.

They held a document aloft, and Bradley, standing to one side, cleared his throat and read aloud in his usual official tone: "Red Tide Surveillance Bureau Intelligence..."

Viscount Brooke secretly colluded with displaced people and bandits, instigating them to harass granaries and military posts. He instigated several displaced people uprisings, using the chaos to seize military power.

During the war, they colluded with aristocratic groups, attempting to disrupt the internal order of the Red Tide and scheming to influence the reconstruction of the Snow Peak Conference.

The entire conference hall seemed to freeze instantly.

No one dared to move.

Brooke froze, his lips moved but no sound came out. His instinct was to deny it, to cry foul, even to rush forward, snatch the document, and tear it to shreds.
But he couldn't move at all...

Because it was at that moment that he saw clearly: Louis's gaze was not one of anger, but of weariness.

A kind of indifference from those in power towards worthless playthings.

Brooke struggled and screamed as she was dragged out the door.

But those thick, heavy knight's arms held him firmly like iron hoops.

It's incomprehensible that I had arranged everything in advance, passing it through layers of intermediaries, avoiding spies, and ensuring that all the contacts were absolutely trustworthy people.

"How could he possibly know..."

The thought swirled in his mind like a whirlpool in stagnant water, drowning him between absurdity and terror.

He couldn't possibly know that Louis had a cheat code like the Daily Intelligence System.

Even without the daily intelligence system, even if Louis had no idea what Viscount Brooke had done.

He could also easily fabricate a sufficiently serious crime to drag him down from his high seat, out of the council chamber, throw him into the mud, and behead him.

Because it's very simple: most of the "nobles" present are no longer nobles.

They no longer had a knightly order; their manor was burned to ashes, their fiefdom buried under snow, and their relatives either died or fled.

They had no backing anymore; the grand mansions of the Northern nobles had long since collapsed in the calamity of the "Mother Nest of the End."

They were nothing more than refugees who had escaped from the ruins, refugees dressed in the guise of nobles.

Louis's gracious treatment of them was a gesture of respect for the Empire's "noble law."

What right do they have to bargain with Louis?
Jumping around in front of him will only annoy him.

What's even more absurd is that they themselves knew it.

So when Brooke was dragged out and his bloodied head fell to the ground, no one was really surprised, and no one dared to shout that they were innocent.

Their eyes showed fear, not righteous indignation.

What was racing through their minds was:

"Luckily, I didn't say too much."

"Did he find out about me too?"

"From now on... we need to keep a low profile."

The meeting room was deathly silent, save for the crackling of the fireplace.

Louis did not get up.

He simply leaned back in that high-backed chair, his gaze sweeping coldly over the entire room.

“Bradley,” he said calmly, “go on.”

The old butler stood up, unfolded the documents in his hand, and spoke clearly and without mercy.

"Baron Harris attempted to bribe transport officials three times in an attempt to divert supplies that were not part of his quota."

"Sirius Kalan attempted to secretly contact his former family's old subordinates seven days ago and tried to privately reorganize the remnants of the knights, violating the order for military unity..."

As each name and charge was read aloud, the air in the hall seemed to grow even colder.

Some people lowered their heads, some turned pale, and others quietly shrank back in their chairs, as if to avoid the sweeping gazes directed at them.

Sirius Calan abruptly stood up. He was still young and full of youthful vigor. His face flushed red, and he shouted almost hysterically, "What right do you have?! I am an earl, a legitimate nobleman of the North, and you are just a viscount! Who gave you the audacity to interrogate me!"

Before he could finish speaking, Louis finally moved.

She merely tilted her head slightly, glanced at him impatiently, then turned to the Crimson Tide Knight Commander beside her, her tone as indifferent as if she were discussing the weather: "Gag him and drag him out."

The order was given, and the action was swift as lightning.

Two fully armed Red Tide Knights stepped out almost simultaneously. One pulled out a rag and roughly stuffed it into Sirius's wide-open mouth, while the other grabbed his collar, dragged him and his chair to the ground, and pulled them out of the hall.

"Ugh! Ugh—!!"

The screams turned into muffled sobs, and the boots scraped against the stone pavement.

No one stopped them, and no one spoke.

Even the nobles who had just been having a private discussion with him at the same table all lowered their heads, as if they did not recognize him.

Louis lowered his eyelashes, picked up his teacup and took a sip, as if the commotion wasn't worth his lingering.

　(Part 2) I'll post it later, I'm still writing it.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)