Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 249 Louis's Scheme
The heavy snow has finally stopped.

Louis stood on the top floor of Red Tide Castle, gazing at the snow-covered mountains and ruins in the distance.

A ray of early spring sunlight barely pierced through the clouds, illuminating the rooftops and fields that had not yet collapsed in the harsh winter.

Temperatures are slowly rising, and tiny cracks are appearing on the frozen river surface. The steam vents are also spewing steam more powerfully than they have in recent days.

But this does not mean that spring has arrived in the North.

The snow has been lighter recently, but the number of refugees outside Red Tide City is increasing.

They appeared in groups, draped in tattered blankets, their frostbitten fingers bound with hemp rope. Some carried patients on their backs, some dragged corpses, and many more were women holding babies, kneeling by the main road leading to the red tide. Their eyes were long gone, only numbness and the instinct for survival remained.

"Please...we don't ask to live, we just want our child to go in..."

“My husband has frozen to death… If we don’t get into the city soon, we won’t even be able to find his bones…”

Louis stood on the city wall, silently watching them for a moment, then turned and gave the order:

"Open the eastern defense zone and set up a temporary refugee shelter. However, all incoming refugees must undergo two disinfection and quarantine procedures, and corpses are not allowed to enter."

Those whose bodies are not completely ulcerated and who can still stand on their own will be included in the labor service and assigned to temporary tent areas by the post-disaster reconstruction team, organized by family.

Seriously ill patients are transferred to makeshift medical camps so that the doctors there can do their best, but not be forced to.

Whether they survive depends on their own will, but at least they have some hot porridge with us.

So rows of tents were erected on the open ground outside Red Tide City, hastily constructed using scrap wood, animal hides, and fuel cloth, to provide refugees with shelter from the freezing night air.

Every morning, the convoy would deliver stewed sweet potato soup and snow bone wheat dumplings, distributing them according to the number of people, one serving per person, with clear rules.

It's neither warm enough nor secure enough.

But this is the North.

Elsewhere, they should have died long ago.

In the Red Tide Territory, they at least still have the ability to survive.

Even more chilling was the intelligence coming from the north: several remote territories had vanished completely.

It wasn't swallowed up by insect plagues, nor was it affected by war; it simply lost contact.

He looked down at the latest statistical report in his hand; the Red Tide Territory had lost only 3,261 people this winter.

It appears that many people have died, but this is the result of Louis's best efforts, the most outstanding answer sheet in the entire North.

Those places that still had some connection with Louis in the fall are now completely silent.

They survived the insect plague by sheer luck, managing to escape the monsters' blades by relying on mountains or rivers, but they couldn't make it through the winter.

Perhaps the nobles abandoned their people and fled, or perhaps they didn't have time to escape or call for help.

Louis didn't speak, but quietly picked up his pen and drew a thin line on the map, encircling all those towns that had fallen silent into the gray shadow of the dead land.

Then he turned around and said, "There will be no celebrations this year. After all, supplies are tight, and we need to reserve a quarter's worth of emergency food supplies."

Bradley nodded and made a note of it.

“However, we can’t just do nothing.” He paused, his eyes still clear. “Prepare a distribution ceremony, a simple one in the square. Give everyone an extra ‘spring ration.’ New residents and old residents are treated equally.”

That morning, the first public smiles of the winter appeared in Chichao Square.

One by one, horse-drawn carriages drove into the square, and soldiers neatly stacked bags of food: potatoes, rye, salted meat, smoked fish, and some mixed dried stewed vegetables for long-term storage.

This is already the limit of food available in the Red Tide Territory.

Standing on the high platform, Louis surveyed the square.

He wasn't dressed formally, nor did he deliver a long speech; he simply said a few words: "This is proof that you've survived the winter. May we, together, survive all the winters to come."

The applause started as a few scattered notes, like snowflakes falling on a stone slab, but it quickly turned into a roar that filled the entire square, like spring thunder echoing through a valley.

The new residents were deeply moved and bowed their heads in gratitude. Many of them had tears welling up in their eyes as they received the grain that symbolized spring.

For them, who had escaped from the brink of death, this spring food was not just something to eat, but a belief in survival.

The original inhabitants of the city, those who had followed Louis to start from scratch in the ruins two years ago, did not express any complaints.

"We used to be the same way. Lord Louis would bring us a bowl of hot soup and a blanket."

"You're new here, you don't understand. The adults even buried our family members who died of illness and arranged for people to keep watch at night."

"Our great lord still wants everyone to have a bite."

After the ceremony, the Red Tide Territory quickly returned to its usual routine.

There was no celebration banquet, no fireworks, and no dance.

When Louis returned to his study, it was still dark outside, and the cold wind had not completely stopped.

He took off his snow-covered cloak and hung it by the fireplace, but did not immediately sit down to rest.

In fact, the pressure is only just beginning, and it's not just about the plans for the beginning of spring.

According to intelligence, the sixth prince, Asta August, who has been marginalized by the empire for a long time, has arrived in the North.

The Governor's Conference on Post-Disaster Reconstruction in the North will also be held within a month.

There simply isn't enough time.

He walked to his desk and spread out his notebook, which he used to record intelligence in Chinese characters, along with maps. These were records he had kept over the years of using the daily intelligence system, detailing the distribution of resources and changes in power in various territories.

In the past, his territory was too small, and he was destined not to be eligible to participate in the struggle for these lands.

But now the situation has changed.

Most of the nobles in the North were severely damaged, some lords were completely wiped out, and large swathes of land were left uncultivated.

Given his dominance and miraculous survival in this disaster, the Red Tide Territory will surely be rewarded even more.

To be precise, it will be large areas of wasteland that he will be needed to fill.

He took a sip of cold tea, his expression calm, yet a quiet joy resided within him.

This is a blessing in disguise.

The map was spread out in front of him, already covered with circles and dots, dense handwriting, and layers of tactical symbols and red and blue markings.

He held a silver pen in his hand and gently traced the mountains and valleys on the map.

First target: the low-lying valley in the southeast.

He drew three thick lines around that area.

"There is also some geothermal energy, which is suitable for expanding greenhouses, settling displaced people, and storing grain."

He wrote three words on the side: Red Tide Granary.

As long as we control this valley, coupled with our own greenhouse cultivation methods, and the existing food supplies from the Red Tide territory, we can achieve our goals.

Within the next two years, we will not only achieve food self-sufficiency but may also be able to export food, at which point the entire northern region will have to rely on our food supplies to get through the winter.

Second target: abandoned mineral veins in the north.

He marked several dark brown mountains on the map of the North, the lines winding like the veins of frozen soil yet to awaken.

That mineral belt is scattered among the mountains in the north, with complex terrain and extremely high mining difficulty.

For many years, generations of nobles attempted to mine the area, but all gave up due to unstable rock formations and unclear resources, leaving behind abandoned mine tunnels all over the mountain, which became a "mining failure zone" registered by the empire.

But Louis was different; he had a cheat code—the daily intelligence system.

The intelligence told him that the mineral belt was not depleted, but rather that it had not yet truly begun to be mined.

The Fiber Marrow Oil, Qi Vein Stone, and even the possible deep-seated Demon Marrow veins are still hidden deep beneath that frozen expanse.

As long as we reach that territory, establish stable control, and conduct slow exploration, it will eventually become the Red Tide Territory's most important resource base.

The Empire's magical energy development has always been slow and conservative; the Emerald Federation is truly at the forefront.

He had always wanted to use his memories from his past life to advance magic energy technology, making it the future of Red Tide's weaponry and infrastructure, and a stepping stone for technological leaps.

But in the past, without resources, even the most skilled cook cannot make a meal without rice.

It's true.

Even if the Red Tide Territory cannot be fully utilized in the short term, it is enough to make a fortune even if it is only used as an export base for magical energy raw materials.

Third target: Frosthowl Fjord.

He marked a hypothetical shipping route on the white and blue icy coastline and marked several pirate activity points around it.

"Where there is a port, there is trade; where there is trade, there is wealth."

He gently pointed to the harbor, his eyes sharp: "Even if it's only open for a few months a year, as long as I can get spices, salt, wine and intelligence from the south, I can change the strategic rhythm for the whole year."

"As for those pirates..." He smiled faintly, not continuing to write, but simply tapping lightly on the edge of the shore.

……

As time went by, the map was gradually filled with dense annotations, red lines like veins, and a silver pen lying quietly on the edge of the table.

Louis leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the table, his eyes clear and calm.

"The issue with these lands isn't whether we can acquire them, but how to acquire them quickly, securely, and without anyone noticing."

A true hunter never makes a sound before killing his prey.

He pondered how to make suggestions under the guise of "assisting in reconstruction," apply for land with the most reasonable justification, and quietly incorporate key plots of land into his territory.

By the time others noticed, they had already quietly taken root.

Louis knew he couldn't be too strong, as that would make others wary, but he also couldn't be too weak, as that would leave him with no leverage and would arouse the jealousy of other nobles.

Therefore, he needs to be "just right" in his strength.

At the upcoming Northern Conference, he will disguise this "expansion plan" as a selfless dedication to post-disaster reconstruction.

And tonight he has already quietly sketched out the development of Red Tide Territory and other territories for the next ten years in his mind.

The red lines drawn were not just boundaries, but also a hidden path leading to true power.

Once the snow melts and the seeds are planted, he will have his own granaries, mines, ports, and manpower.

He will make everyone think that he is just "trying to survive".

Until one day, they will be surprised to find that the weak Louis has become a sun that can shine in the North.

(End of this chapter)