Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 316 Wheat Fields in Ferran's Eyes
After settling the affairs of Duke Edmund, Louis did not linger in Frostspear, as the autumn harvest was fast approaching.

This is the foundation upon which the Red Tide Territory stands—not the swords of the Knights, nor the imperial seat, but those fields of golden wheat.

If the harvest is missed or if there are problems during the harvest, the crop will be reduced, which in the North today is almost tantamount to suicide.

"Let the Cold Iron Knights escort Emily, Lady Elena, and little Isaac back to Red Tide City to settle down. I'll go back after the autumn harvest." On the way back, Louis looked at Emily beside him.

Emily lowered her eyes, her hand resting on her swollen belly.

She didn't whine or try to dissuade her; she simply said softly, "I'm leaving the autumn harvest to you."

Louis paused for a moment, then felt a warmth in his heart.

Emily needed his company more than ever at this time, yet she still thoughtfully shared his burden.

He gently took her hand: "I'll be back as soon as possible."

Emily nodded and said nothing more.

The carriage rumbled along the mountain road, and the scenery ahead gradually opened up.

The entire valley was covered with heavy golden wheat, the ears of wheat drooping like golden waves, undulating in the sunlight.

In addition, hundreds of semi-transparent greenhouses are neatly arranged, reflecting a silvery-white luster under the autumn sun.

"Is this...is this really the North?" Lady Elena stared blankly at the scene before her, her eyes filled with disbelief.

She was used to the famine and desolation of the North, but she never expected to see such a bountiful scene on the barren frozen land.

At the same time, Ferran, the leader of the Cold Iron Knights, rode forward, his expression revealing undisguised curiosity.

He didn't beat around the bush, but said directly, "Lord Louis, may I stay? I want to see for myself how your Red Tide Territory produces such amazing grains on this frozen land."

Louis smiled gently and did not refuse: "Of course. After all, I'll feel at ease if I see it with my own eyes."

In fact, Louis was happy to do this. Some things didn't need to be said. Only by letting them witness the strength of the Red Tide Territory firsthand could these newly surrendered knights truly put aside their doubts.

…………

So Emily, along with Lady Elena and little Isaac, and most of the Cold Iron Knights, set off ahead of everyone else to return to Red Tide Territory.

With the Cold Iron Knights escorting them, Louis was not worried about their safety.

After all, this knightly order, known as the strongest in the North, was capable of protecting his family and ensuring their safe arrival in Red Tide City, even during the insect plague.

He left only a small number of followers behind and went straight to Mai Lang Territory.

At the entrance to the valley, Green and Mick had been waiting for a long time.

Although Green was born a Calvin knight, he was now dressed in a civil servant's uniform and carrying a thick stack of account books.

Mick, on the other hand, still looked like an old farmer with gray hair, and his sleeves still smelled of earth.

The two had been standing there for half an hour, just so they could be the first to pay their respects when the lord arrived.

“I’ve kept you waiting.” Louis dismounted and his gaze lingered on Green and Mick for a moment.

One is in charge of administration, and the other is in charge of production.

The wheat fields were managed in an orderly manner, resulting not only in abundant harvests and stable public morale, but also in seamless warehousing and transportation.

Under their leadership, Wheat Wave Territory is no longer just a subordinate territory, but the most important cornerstone of Red Tide, second only to Red Tide City.

Louis was genuinely satisfied with the two of them.

Upon seeing Louis dismount, Green immediately stepped forward and respectfully said, "Lord Louis, on behalf of all the people of Wheatfield Territory, Green welcomes your return, Lord."

Mick clasped his hands in return, his face full of an undisguised, honest smile: "Everyone has been looking forward to your arrival. The people have been working hard to show you what it's all about.

"How was this year's harvest?" Louis asked directly, without any pleasantries.

Green then opened the ledger he had prepared beforehand and reported: "My lord, the total output of this year's autumn harvest is estimated at 197,000 tons, which is more than 70% higher than the 115,000 tons of the first year's autumn harvest."

"This includes over 60,000 tons of green wheat, over 30,000 tons of rice, and approximately 100,000 tons of miscellaneous beans and root crops..."

This series of numbers and breakdowns struck like heavy hammers into the ears of everyone present, especially the Cold Iron Knights who were unfamiliar with the Crimson Tide.

Ferran had been relaxed with his arms crossed, having already been shocked by the crops he had seen along the way, and was mentally prepared.

But as Greene reported, his expression gradually became serious, until he froze completely.

197,000 tons!

What kind of concept is this?
In his memory, even if all the territories large and small in the entire North were put together, they might not be able to produce such a quantity.

But now, a newly cultivated territory, established in just two years, can independently support the food supply for hundreds of thousands of people and even spare grain to support other areas.

"This...this is simply a fantasy," Ferran muttered to himself, his brow furrowed.

He didn't consider himself a civil official skilled in accounting, but as a knight who had fought all his life, he knew all too well what food meant—it meant military strength, it meant survival.

He even suspected that Louis had given him a false figure.

Ferran turned his head and stared straight at Green: "Are you sure these numbers are correct? Or are they fabricated?"

Green's expression remained unchanged. Instead, he straightened his back and said, word by word, "Although it's not officially finished yet, it's almost done. I'm willing to stake my life on it."

At that moment, Ferran saw a kind of confidence in the young supervisor's eyes.

Mick chuckled beside him, raising his calloused hand: "My lord, if you don't believe me, come with me to the shed and take a look."

Vegetables can grow here even in winter; the irrigation ditch flows continuously, and the soil is as fertile as springtime.

Ferran remained silent for a long time. He had originally thought he had mentally prepared himself for the bountiful harvest of the Red Tide Order.

But the numbers, the people, and the proud expressions before him made him realize that he might have underestimated them.

“This…this is an astronomical figure,” Ferran finally spoke, muttering to himself.

Green, Mick, and Louis all couldn't help but show a hint of pride.

Green spoke in a firm voice, flattering, "All of this is due to the lord's foresight and command."

Louis shook his head, his expression calm: "No, this is the result of everyone's hard work. I only offered some small suggestions; it was you who truly made it a reality."

Mick chuckled softly, his calloused hands gently stroking his sleeves; his simple pride needed no words.

The group walked side by side into the fields, preparing to inspect the area before officially settling in.

It was the first day of the harvest season. As the bugle sounded, farmers from all the villages shouted in unison, and tens of thousands of people swung their sickles at the same time, creating a golden wave of wheat.

New-style long-handled sickles and hand-pushed hay mowers whizzed up and down the field ridges, far more efficient than the old-style sickles, filling the air with the crisp sound of cutting wheat stalks.

Ferran's gaze was completely captivated by everything before him.

He was born into the Cold Iron Knights and had roamed the Northern Frontier for many years, but he had never seen such a scene before.

"...What's this?" He pointed to a semi-transparent greenhouse not far away, gleaming silvery-white in the sunlight, and surprisingly lush with greenery inside. Green smiled and replied, "That's a greenhouse, using geothermal heat and pipe networks to maintain the temperature, so vegetables can be grown even in winter. What you see are vegetables from the south."

Ferran paused for a moment, stunned. In the North, fresh vegetables in winter? That was practically wishful thinking.

Before he could react, a loud "boom! thud!" sound rang out.

Amidst white steam, a barrel-shaped machine was spewing hot air and roaring as it pumped water up from the ground, flowing it into the irrigation ditch through a wooden trough.

"What the hell is that?" Ferran instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword, his eyes wary.

Green chuckled and patiently explained, "This is a steam pump. It uses fuel to burn water and generate steam to drive a piston, continuously pumping water from the well. This way, even in a drought, the fields will not lack water."

Ferran opened his mouth, too shocked to speak.

Louis looked at his expression and smiled inwardly.

This was exactly the effect he wanted: to let the Cold Iron Knights witness the true strength of the Crimson Tide Territory and put their minds at ease.

…………

Ferran originally thought that the "red tide bumper harvest" was just an exaggerated rumor in Frostspear City.

After all, Duke Edmund had mentioned Louis's talent for governance to him many times, but he just smiled and thought it was just the ailing duke paving the way for his successor.

But on the first day, standing on the hillside of Wheat Wave Ridge, watching the golden wheat fields undulate like waves and thousands of people start harvesting in unison, he silently withdrew his contempt.

There was no exaggerated mobilization, nor any aggressive, miraculous atmosphere; there was only a steady, orderly, and almost calm pace of harvest.

Over the next few days, Ferran became increasingly silent.

He thought the first few days of harvesting had reached its limit, but the pace of the autumn harvest did not slow down. Instead, it roared day and night like a tightly running machine.

Harvesting takes place during the day, transportation in the afternoon, and threshing at night.

The three-shift farming system is as precise and seamless as a military dispatch order.

Children bundle wheat on the ridges of the fields, women carry it in teams, and Red Tide Knights patrol in formation.

No one shouted or urged anyone on; there was no chaos or noise. Everything was in perfect order.

It hardly resembled a grain harvest; it was more like a military operation without a signal.

He once suspected that this was a facade maintained by intense pressure.

One night, by the threshing floor, he finally whispered to Green beside him, "These people can do this... how did you manage to force them to do it?"

Green did not answer immediately, but silently gazed for a moment at the crowd waving flails in the wheat field before speaking:

"They did it voluntarily because they were working for themselves. That is the power of the Red Tide system, and the greatness of Lord Louis."

That short sentence seemed to ignite Ferran's long-dormant heart.

He looked at the people working hard in the night, some of them were covered in sweat but singing and laughing, and some took out freshly picked vegetable leaves from the greenhouse to make soup during the breaks from threshing.

They are not suffering, they are reaping.

They are using their own hands to create a better future.

At that moment, Ferran suddenly realized that what he couldn't understand wasn't these people.

Rather, the order that operates in this place, on this land, seems to be completely different from that of the Old North.

Torches lined the threshing floor, illuminating the entire valley.

Each strike produced a sound like the echoing of war drums as the wheat grains separated from the stalks.

The firelight shone on their faces, reflecting their sweat and an unspoken sense of satisfaction.

Ferran stood at the edge of the threshing floor, silent for a long time.

He never imagined that one day he would use the word "magnificent" to describe the threshing scene.

At this moment, a craftsman pushed in a new type of drum thresher. Although the metal structure was not complicated, it performed amazingly during the trial.

With just two people operating the equipment, a single round can completely remove all the wheat sheaves from the cart, the grains flowing into the cloth bag like mercury spilling onto the ground.

"Did you make this yourself?" he couldn't help but ask in a low voice.

“The third-generation modified version developed by Red Tide Workshop,” Green replied from the side. “It was originally an old watermill modified by Mick. Hamilton proposed a wheel-axle reversal solution for use here, which saves a lot of effort.”

Ferran nodded slightly; he wasn't particularly surprised.

Because too many things have surprised him in the past few days.

Greenhouses that can grow vegetables in the dead of winter, steam pumps that can automatically pump water, light reflectors that can adjust their angle according to sunlight, and geothermal pipes that can store heat...

The miracle of red tides lies not in one or two inventions, but in the continuous progress.

An autumn harvest quietly changed Ferran's heart.

Initially, he had no expectations for the Red Tide Territory and Louis, and even questioned in his heart: Why Louis?
How could a young nobleman shoulder the great responsibility of rebuilding the North?
He even asked the Duke of Edmund himself.

The duke at the time simply smiled and said, "Perhaps this lad... can bring something new to the North."

At that time, he did not understand the Duke's meaning at all, and only took it as the helpless words of an old and sick man entrusting his son to someone.

But now he understands, he has seen this land with his own eyes.

How hope is cultivated with hoes and sickles, how southern vegetables grow from frozen soil, and how order is maintained amidst the roar of steam in the wind.

He had witnessed how proud the farmers were, how calmly the people cooperated, and how the knights maintained order with composure and discipline.

He had also seen the drum thresher, as well as novel tools such as greenhouses and water pumps.

But most importantly, he saw the will of the entire territory.

This is a will rooted in the land, a will that keeps moving forward.

And its origin, without a doubt, is Louis.

At this moment, he no longer doubted the young lord's abilities.

Even in a corner of his heart, he had to admit that perhaps it was somewhat disrespectful, but in the realm of politics, ten Dukes of Edmund might not be able to match one Louis.

Because this young man did more than just maintain order; he changed the underlying structure and reshaped hope in the North.

For centuries, the rulers of the North had maintained stability, and Louis was the first to attempt to change its very nature.

Ferran finally understood that when the Duke spoke of a new life, he was not referring to who would take the high position.

Instead, there was one person who genuinely intended to rebuild the North, starting with the land itself.

(End of this chapter)