Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 251 Returning with a Full Load
Inside the temporary council hall of Frost Halberd, the fire in the stove burned brightly, casting intermittent light on the thick stone walls.

The thirteen seats in the hall were arranged in accordance with the rules, but the atmosphere was just like the wind and snow outside the window—calm on the surface, but turbulent beneath.

The sixth prince, Asta, sat upright on the left side of the main guest seat, his gaze quietly sweeping over each speaker in the hall.

Placed in the center of the room, he seemed somewhat uneasy. Compared to the seasoned veterans present, he was far too young and could only cautiously witness this silent standoff.

The first to speak was Hruda, who was sitting in the front of the right row. He was the representative of the Imperial Capital Logistics Bureau, and his words and actions exuded a kind of "natural" aristocratic arrogance.

He looked around and said in a gentle tone, "Gentlemen, I'm sure you all know the current situation in the North better than I do."

With insufficient warehousing, strained transportation, and frequent road closures due to freezing temperatures along the routes, allowing local areas to manage their own reconstruction efforts would likely lead to inevitable resource waste.

As he spoke, Heruda bowed slightly toward Duke Edmund: “Our logistics bureau could have assisted in building a unified warehousing and distribution system in various regions, but now… without a coordinating body, efficiency would be difficult to guarantee.”

Therefore, I suggest establishing a Northern Joint Logistics Coordination Department, with my bureau temporarily taking the lead in its execution. This is solely for the sake of the Empire's overall coordination needs, and has no other intention.

He spoke with great tact, not directly saying "strip him of his dispatching power," but subtly shifting the core of Duke Edmund's power away.

Edmund didn't answer immediately, but glanced at him for a moment, his expression as calm as ever, but a subtle shadow appeared in his eyes.

“I understand His Excellency Hruda’s concerns. However, the situation in the North is complex, and warehousing, transportation, and distribution are all closely linked to civil affairs. If an office is established, it may lead to overlapping decision-making…” The Duke’s words were polite and restrained.

Before he could finish speaking, a gaunt voice rang out at the end of his sentence: "His Majesty once said in a royal council meeting, 'The North must not repeat the path of disaster,' and I still remember those words vividly."

The representative of the Overwatch Council, Mays, calmly added, "Centralized resources and unified supervision are the best response to His Majesty's instructions. If management is decentralized, and if oversights occur again... the Overwatch Council will find it difficult to fulfill its obligations."

The phrase "it's really hard to deliver" subtly shifts the tone to an indirect warning to Edmund.

The Ministry of Finance representative, Kant Kafir, chuckled and said lazily, "The Overwatch Council is right. If local governments act independently, the financial accounts won't look good. In order not to waste Imperial Gold Coins, I think Hruda's proposal is efficient."

All three were respectful and said almost nothing offensive, but every word they uttered was a way of stripping the Duke of Edmund of control.

Edmund frowned slightly.

This was no ordinary meeting, but an ambush, a political maneuvering under the guise of an "imperial decree".

They seemed not to say anything, but they conveyed the message that "the emperor also hopes you will relinquish power" in a roundabout way, making it sound perfectly watertight.

Duke Edmund frowned slightly, his voice carrying a hint of inquiry: "Since everyone is so insistent on the resource coordination strategy... could we ask the Royal Observation Group, with His Highness the Sixth Prince at its core?"

As soon as he finished speaking, the atmosphere in the room paused slightly.

Asta, sitting next to the head of the table, remained expressionless, his eyelids slightly lowered, as if he were carefully choosing his words.

Suddenly, his silver cup was tapped twice by someone's knuckles. The sound was very soft, but it hit his ear precisely.

Cypher, standing behind him, retracted his index finger, his expression remaining calm, but his eyes subtly conveying a warning.

This is a reminder—don't respond, don't get caught up in it.

Asta nodded slightly, his expression unchanged, and his tone even more humble: "My father ordered me to expedite the expansion. As for the details of the reconstruction of the North... I have only just arrived and still need to consult with many people, so I dare not speak presumptuously."

He neither expressed support nor opposition, simply glossing over the issue in a nonchalant manner.

However, this vague response, when it reached Edmund's ears, made his heart sink.

Was it that he was unwilling to express his opinion, or did the emperor simply not intend to tell him the truth?
Edmund appeared calm on the surface, but his mind was in turmoil.

Although the three men did not mention "imperial decree" in their words, every sentence revolved around "imperial will" and "overall planning and allocation," their tone ambiguous yet leaving no room for refusal.

In fact, there were loopholes in what these people said, but he was unable to calmly discern them at the moment.

The information he's received over the past few months has mostly been serious bad news, leaving him exhausted and no longer as shrewd as he used to be.

"...The emperor still won't let me go." He looked down at his calloused hands, his heart tightening.

Perhaps from the moment his family's power was severely damaged by the Mother Nest, he was already considered an old man to be discarded in His Majesty's eyes.

Anxiety surged up like a tide, making him almost certain that this time they were really going to take action to strip him of his power.

The atmosphere in the meeting room grew increasingly oppressive, as if the warmth of the fire had been extinguished by the chill in the words spoken.

The Northern nobles had varying expressions; some lowered their heads, some glanced sideways, but none of them took the initiative to express their opinion.

They felt both fear and suspicion towards the four representatives from the capital.

Even their leader, Edmund, fell silent at this moment, and they couldn't say anything.

Asta sat on the side, his hands folded on his knees, seemingly respectful, but actually silently observing every word he spoke.

He didn't speak, but his heart was already in turmoil. Was this a clash of supreme power?

As the atmosphere grew increasingly tense, a young but steady voice suddenly broke the silence.

"What you gentlemen have said... seems to differ slightly from His Majesty's previous decree."

Everyone was taken aback, and their gazes followed the voice to Louis Calvin, the youngest powerful lord in the North.

"Since the established resource allocation process of the Dragon Throne needs to be modified, I dare to suggest that this matter should first be reported to the Dragon Throne Meeting, or decided by His Majesty the Emperor himself, otherwise it may be considered presumptuous."

Before he finished speaking, his words struck like a needle of ice piercing still water, causing the expressions of the four representatives to change slightly.

At that very moment, Duke Edmund glanced at the expressions of the four officials opposite him.

The logistics representative, Hruda, remained expressionless, forcing a smile at the corners of his mouth.

Kant, the Minister of Finance, raised an eyebrow and whispered, "There's no need for Your Majesty to handle such a trivial matter..."

Mays of the Overwatch Council narrowed his pupils slightly, then lowered his eyes to conceal it.

Only Gareth, the military representative, showed a hint of barely perceptible annoyance.

In that brief moment, Edmund finally realized that they were putting on a show together, and he was almost caught in it.

Even if... this is truly His Majesty's will, what harm is there in passing the buck back to the throne? It might buy some time.
“Indeed.” He spoke slowly, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “These kinds of matters should ultimately be decided by His Majesty.”

The atmosphere in the room suddenly turned cold upon hearing this.

The representatives from the four departments all composed themselves and said no more.

Kant chuckled twice, trying to smooth things over: "Since it's just a suggestion, it can naturally be considered."

Meanwhile, on one side of the council chamber, Asta slowly raised his head and looked at Louis's profile.

This was the first time he had actually met the legendary Viscount Red Tide.

He was silent and calm, never interrupting, yet he decisively cut off the situation with a single move. Without resorting to sophistry, he simply offered gentle reminders, which threw his opponent into disarray.

This person was younger than me, but he sat in the meeting room more composed than anyone else.

The meeting thus came to an end, with Edmund still presiding over the Reconstruction Directorate, while the Logistics Coordination Agency's proposal was shelved.

Taking advantage of the situation, the military representative suggested strengthening the deployment of troops at the front and offered to send additional corps to help defend the northern border, attempting to find another way to avoid being implicated.

And all of this was thanks to Louis for exposing the false hints of the four departments in the capital.

In fact, he had already learned through the daily intelligence system several days earlier that several representatives in the capital had formed a private alliance with the intention of jointly profiting and undermining the local nobles.

So we were all prepared to see how they would perform.

Edmund, though still somewhat frightened, calmed himself down.

He wasn't unaware of the loopholes in the three men's words, but... his momentary anxiety and sense of being "a lone minister in danger" almost caused him to misinterpret all the signals.

If Louis hadn't pointed it out in time, he probably would have relinquished his coordinating authority at today's meeting.

Once it falls into the other party's control, it becomes incredibly difficult to get it back.

After the meeting, everyone got up and left.

Edmund didn't leave immediately; instead, he waited quietly until the familiar young figure walked towards him.

He gave a rare, relaxed smile, reached out and patted Louis on the shoulder, and whispered, "...Well done, Louis."

Louis paused for a moment, then smiled modestly: "It's nothing, really. If I hadn't spoken up, you would have realized it sooner or later anyway. I just spoke a little too soon."

Edmund shook his head, gazing at the still-burning fireplace flames: "You're thinking too much. Those people set up a very deep trap, even returning the letter to me before the meeting... I did have some faith at that time."

He paused, his voice softening, "Perhaps it's because I've been away from the core of power for too long, I almost truly believed that was the Emperor's intention. Indeed... I was a little anxious." After a moment of silence, Edmund seemed to realize something, his tone returning to its usual seriousness, "Today is just the beginning; tomorrow will be the real tug-of-war."

You've done enough today; you've shown them the North isn't a pushover. There are still supplies, fiefdoms, military settlements, grain taxes… each and every one of these depends on you. But go back and get some rest tonight.”

His tone carried a rare hint of concern: "I'll need your help tomorrow."

Louis nodded in agreement and bowed, "I understand, Your Grace. I shall take my leave then."

Duke Edmund nodded and told Louis to go back and rest.

Just as Louis was about to leave, a gentle greeting came from behind him: "Viscount Calvin... wait a moment."

Turning around, he saw the sixth prince, Asta, walking steadily towards him.

“Your Highness.” Louis stopped and bowed, his tone respectful but not servile.

Asta nodded slightly: "I heard you also graduated from the Knight Academy in the capital? Although we enrolled at different times, being from the same school is somewhat of a coincidence."

Louis gave a polite smile: "That's true. If I remember correctly, Your Highness, you were a few years ahead of me. Back then, when I was still in the Southeast Province, I heard that 'Lord August' had topped the tactical assessment that year."

“That was back then,” Asta smiled, his tone shifting naturally. “Seeing you today, Viscount, though so young, makes me, your senior, feel somewhat ashamed.”

"I dare not accept such praise. The affairs in the Northern Border are often chaotic. If we are talking about prudence, it is Your Highness's handling of the situation today that is truly admirable."

The two looked at each other and smiled, each taking a step back and yielding slightly, their words remaining polite and neither revealing any deep acquaintance.

This is the most standard etiquette for establishing initial closeness within aristocratic circles.

Asta said slowly, "If the Viscount has some free time, you might as well come and sit at my place. My camp is still being renovated, but at least I can make some warm tea."

Louis bowed respectfully: "If Your Highness does not find my humble abode too simple, the Red Tide camp always keeps several jars of strong liquor, which we are willing to use to warm Your Highness and relieve your fatigue."

The two exchanged thanks, and in their conversation, they had already formed a preliminary friendship in the northern border where the frost and snow were just beginning to melt, before they parted ways.

A little further down the corridor, Cypher, cane in hand, watched the young viscount turn away after receiving the gift, narrowed his eyes, and murmured, "This young man from the Caven family is truly remarkable."

…………

The three-day meeting continued, like frost and snow gradually melting, and like water flowing slowly but never stopping.

After the first day of competition, the four divisions in the capital felt as if they had been doused with cold water. Although they did not admit defeat, they knew that they could not force the issue.

Over the next two days, their tone became noticeably more subdued, their proposals became more cautious, and they frequently concluded with terms like "consultation" and "joint discussion."

The framework of the Reconstruction Agency's authority was thus stabilized, and the North's seats were no longer as weak as they had been initially.

Under the duke's coercion and enticement, the four departments of the capital began to slowly split apart.

Finance representative Kant and logistics representative Hruda gradually felt frustrated and became more cautious in their speech each day.

After several conversations with Duke Edmund, Gareth, the military representative, began to take a more pragmatic approach and was granted the right to station troops in the North.

Mays of the Overwatch Council remained indifferent, as if everything was written in his pamphlet, but no one could see his true feelings.

And so the parchment scrolls on the table piled higher and higher, each word outlining the fate of the North in the coming years:

Who will oversee the reconstruction of the territory amidst the ruins?
Where did the first batch of grain, fodder, and iron materials come from and where were they transported to?
How should displaced people be registered, taxed, and resettled?
Soldiers returning to camp? Military settlements established? Or land leased for reclamation?

……

In this gradually stabilizing situation, Louis, like a quiet stream, subtly seeped into every crevice.

He almost never actively sought power, yet he always managed to lay out his network of interests in inconspicuous details.

It's as if those resolutions were meant to be that way, not out of contention, but out of "reason," and to gain enormous benefits.

Louis did not linger after the three-day meeting ended.

He merely nodded to Asta and a few local nobles, exchanged a few polite words, and then turned and left the Frostspear Council Hall.

Amidst the howling wind, Chi Chao's carriage was already waiting at the street corner.

Louis got into the car, the door closed, the curtains were drawn, and the sound of the wind was instantly blocked outside the window.

Then I untied the scarf, leaned back between the cushions, closed my eyes, and let out a long breath.

done!
Louis's mind raced through every topic and every "suggestion" from the three-day conference. He didn't make a single demand or directly compete for any area.

But what he ultimately received was more than he had expected.

The temporary reconstruction area of ​​over 800,000 square kilometers was cleverly incorporated into Chi Chao's territory.

Concentrated in the southeastern part of the North, and according to the daily intelligence system, it possesses a vast amount of resources.

Of course, he wouldn't show it off.

A viscount who holds lands the size of a marquis or even a duke should naturally keep a low profile.

He only needs to ensure that the population truly settles down, villages and towns take shape, and granaries are operational, and then it will be a fait accompli.

In addition, there is the population: 23,000 migrants were listed as permanent residents and laborers of the Red Tide. This is the lowest level of labor force and the future "new Red Tide people".

Another 20,000 slaves have been incorporated into the support team and will be delivered in batches over the next month.

They are nameless and without official status, yet they are an indispensable part of farming and construction.

In addition, he was in the first tier of the "Northern Reconstruction Priority" plan.

Refugees, artisans, merchants, and wandering knights—as long as he provides them with a meal, a piece of land, or a contract of protection, they will become part of the Red Tide.

No nobleman could "eat up" this marginal population before him.

As for resources, he didn't leave empty-handed either.

What he truly took away this time was a complete core resource system that would allow the Red Tide Territory to fully recover.

He obtained priority in grain allocation. The first batch of emergency relief grain before spring, totaling 2,500 tons, will be directly allocated by the Imperial Capital Grain Reserve Bureau and delivered to the Chichao Territory warehouse first.

This means that all resettlement sites for displaced people and agricultural settlements will have their food rations covered before the spring, thus securing a crucial window for planting.

Thirty tons each of salt and cheese, forty tons of cured meat, and a batch of medicinal herbs and basic pharmaceuticals.

In addition, priority will be given to applying for 500 sets of iron farm implements, including hoes, plows, hammers, and shovels.

Two primary forging furnaces, three spare magic energy furnace cores, and one hundred tons of raw ore for smelting were also approved, although the amount was not large.

However, this was enough to ignite the first spark for the Red Tide's "self-created" system.

Thus, Louis had enough resources to emerge from the disaster and the harsh winter.

With oxen and iron tools for spring plowing, furnaces for hammering iron can be lit at construction sites, refugees no longer have to rely on gnawing on tree bark to survive the winter, and simple houses can be built before the snow melts.

Louis leaned back in the carriage seat, his mind as still as a deep pool.

He didn't fight for a say at the conference table, but when he turned around, he seized control of the entire spring planting season.

They didn't return empty-handed, but rather with a full load.

At this moment, the ice and snow in the North have not yet melted, and the wind whistles through the forest like a mournful song.

But in Red Tide Territory, the refugees had already begun to till the frozen soil, craftsmen built greenhouses by the geothermal wells, and fires breathed in the snow. Amidst hunger and cold, hope was ignited in people's hearts.

Just wait another month...

When spring plowing begins, iron tools are laid in the fields, and cooking smoke rises, he is no longer a young lord, but a true founder of the new North.

This is a gamble.

He wasn't betting on the emperor's favor, nor on the duke's protection.

Rather, it is every bite of hunger and every yearning face on this frozen land.

They're betting on what they can bring to themselves.

(End of this chapter)