Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 339 Toran's Choice
The snowfall gradually subsided, but a somber atmosphere remained along the border.

At the entrances of the seventy-three border villages, the same lines of people appeared almost simultaneously.

The knights, draped in long cloaks with crimson tidal crests, were followed by administrative officials carrying document boxes.

"Everyone must be present."

The sound wasn't loud, but no one dared to resist.

…………

Before the abandoned totem stone at the entrance of Bianwei Village, the interpreter unfurled the parchment scroll and read it aloud.

“Red Tide Territory Government Document No. 347: “Provisional Regulations for Barbarian Autonomy (First Revised Version)”, effective immediately.

He read out each item: "First, the military household status is confirmed, and those who submit to the barbarians are uniformly numbered and filed. They sign a military household oath, abolish the hereditary system, and change it to a functional system. They are assessed annually, evaluated for excellence every three years, and promoted or demoted based on their performance."

Secondly, the promotion system is open. Anyone with military achievements, academic qualifications, or skills can participate in the Red Tide official selection examination, regardless of background or tribe.

Third, a pilot program of self-governance evaluation will be implemented, with each village establishing a self-governance evaluation group. Members can be sent to attend regular military and political meetings on the Chichao border to raise questions and appeals.

Fourth, a mixed training camp will be established in the Red Tide, with Red Tide Knights and Old Barbarians jointly teaching the classes. Young men will be selected to enter the Red Tide Military Academy for trial training, and the best will be assigned to the Guard, Engineering, or Command branches..."

The official read quickly, as if not allowing the villagers time to process it.

But after he finished speaking, he paused, changed his tone, and slowly added: "The lord said that the Crimson Tide does not discriminate based on origin, but only on loyalty."

Those who betray are punished, and those who abide by the law are rewarded.

You are no longer exiled barbarians, but the shield of the Red Tide, the protectors of this snowy land.

After the reading was completed, the knights left behind a wooden plaque with seven articles written on it, which was erected at the entrance of the village: "Each village shall have its literate members explain the details of the articles, and all members of the village must understand them within three days."

The literate middle-aged barbarian was the village chief, and had once been a tribal nobleman.

He took the copy, sweat beading on his forehead. Three knights were still behind him. He knew how he had to explain.

“What this says… is good news.” He glanced at the faces of the villagers. “As long as we work honestly, our lives will become more and more stable.”

"Remember, we're not meant to be military households forever. If we do well, we can get promoted. In the future, if any child from the village is selected to go to military school, that will be a great honor for the family."

"Clap! Clap!" Everyone applauded.

Most people don't really understand it at all; they only grasp a few keywords.

"The murderer has been hanged."

“We were not punished as a result of collective punishment.”

"The lord also distributed winter clothes."

Beside the fire, a burly man muttered to himself, "As long as we don't drag the whole village down with us... that's good."

Another patted him on the shoulder: "Behave yourself from now on. The Imperials... aren't unreasonable."

They didn't like these clauses and even thought they were all nonsense.

But compared to the panic of losing the whole village in the past, it now seems acceptable.

The women huddled around the fire, wearing sheepskin coats worn by Chi Chao, with tears from washing clothes still visible between their fingers.

It might not be a bad thing that they react faster than men.

"Will we really be able to distribute grain?" the oldest woman asked, squinting her eyes.

"According to the village chief, there's dry food, winter clothes, and something about registration..." The person next to him nodded.

"If my son gets into the army, do you think he'll never have to come back to this kind of village again?"

No one answered, but someone whispered, "Who would want to be a barbarian if they could avoid it?"

"Having food to eat, clothes to wear, and the ability to earn salt and rice through odd jobs—isn't that better than before?"

They had no sense of tribal honor, nor did they consider whether those who were hanged deserved it.

For them, as long as they don't go hungry and their children have somewhere to go, that's better than anything else.

“The village chief said that obedient children can become officials in the future, just like the old tribal chiefs.”

"Really?" Someone's eyes lit up.

"I don't care about anything else, but if my child can go, I'll send him first."

There weren't many literate barbarians, but there were always a few in every village.

They copied down the contents and went back to their houses, sheds, or small open spaces behind the kitchen to read them little by little, whispering among themselves to their companions from the old tribes.

That conversation did not belong to the villagers, but to the old barbarian nobles.

The literate barbarians were basically nobles of a certain tribe who had spoken at alliance meetings, sworn oaths of blood and flesh at banquets, and were the first to enter the imperial manor after siege battles.

Now their offspring must enlist in the military, their wives must queue for rations, and they themselves must live at the mercy of the Red Tide people.

With his identity established, his voice also softened.

Their attitudes toward the "Trial Provisions on Barbarian Autonomy" varied.

Some people say, "This is captive breeding."

Some people gritted their teeth and said, "At least this is better than freezing to death in the snow."

Many others remained silent, their fingers tracing the edges of the copied pages, their gazes lingering on a particular spot for a long time.

It's not that I don't understand, it's that I understand too much.

These provisions are not harsh; they even suggest a chance.

Serving in the military can earn you military merits, which can be exchanged for a different identity, and your children can even be sent to the Red Tide Military Academy. This can be considered a way out.

But they knew that the barbarian system based on bloodline was about to be completely buried under the snow by these few red tide characters written on the wooden plaque.

They weren't fools; it's just that some people accepted the fact that they had fallen from tribal rulers to Red Tide villagers very quickly, while others were still stuck halfway through.

As a result, the reactions varied. Some people regarded the paper as an insult, feeling that it was an iron plaque that read "I have been tamed" and nailed to their foreheads.

Some people see it as a lifeline, even if the piece of wood is covered with nails, it's better than sinking to the bottom of the sea again.

After a long silence, some people stood up and walked out, heading towards the village chief's house.

They wanted to know if their son's name could be included on the list of those going to Red Tide City.

…………

Toran Hanchi stood before the newly erected wooden sign of the "Supplementary Notice of the Barbarian Autonomous Regulations," wearing an old sheepskin robe, his hands behind his back.

He is thirty-seven years old this year, the son of the former elder of the Hanchi tribe, Tomon. He learned to read and write and knew etiquette from a young age, and was fluent in both the barbarian language and the imperial language.

When the border defense village was established, he led the surviving tribesmen to voluntarily submit to the red tide, and he is now the village chief of this border defense village.

He no longer wore his tribal braid as before, but instead got a short haircut in the style of the Red Tide.

His beard was neatly trimmed, and although his fur robe had a few patches, it wasn't dirty.

Toran stared at a line of text on the wooden sign.

“Young people of the appropriate age recommended by the village chief can go to Chichao for training.”

He read very slowly, skimming over each word, and then repeated it after he finished.

…………

The fire had not yet been completely extinguished, and occasionally a muffled thud would come from inside the furnace.

Toran sat by the fire, holding tongs and adding fuel, but his eyes drifted toward the wall.

The faded fabric was hanging on the wall.

That was the flag that Toran brought from the tribe.

When Titus began his southward sweep of the tribes, Toran's father, one of the tribal elders at the time, only said two things to him: "Take your people south. Keep your people alive."

That night, the entire valley burned down.

Carrying the banner, Toran led fewer than fifty of his people across the mountains overnight, retreating south along the frozen river. Several froze to death and others fell behind along the way, but the banner remained tied to his back and was never untied.

When they were almost at their wits' end, the Red Tide Knights discovered them while patrolling the border. After ascertaining their identities, they registered them as surrendered barbarians and settled them in the newly established border village on the north side.

He didn't hand that flag over to Chichao, nor did he mention it to outsiders; it remained just a simple thought.

Now he stays in the village, farms, and hunts, surviving on the dry rations and tools that Red Tide provides each month.

Life wasn't glamorous or free, but the house was no longer drafty, and there was always something cooking in the pot.

Compared to our old compatriots who died at the bottom of the valley and whose bones were buried under the snow, this is good enough.

Toran knew very well who had given him all of this.

The Red Tide did not bring glory to his tribe, but it gave his family everything they needed to survive.

Only occasionally, when the night is quiet, he would still take that old flag out of the corner and hang it on the wall for a little while.

The fire crackled a few times.

Toran looked away from the flag and called out to the corner of the room, "Khosa, come here."

The boy in the corner looked up.

At thirteen years old, he was tall and thin, his frame not yet fully developed, but his body already showed some curves.

His fighting spirit had long been awakened, and he was already at the level of a formal warrior.

Sako was practicing his calligraphy, using the Imperial script, reading from the book "Our Great Lord Louis," a book that every household in the border village now owns.

He put down his pen and walked towards his father.

Toran glanced at him and then took out three more things: a set of winter clothes, a bag of dry rations, and a piece of parchment with a completed military academy registration form.

Three things were neatly placed on the table.

“This is your chance,” Toran said calmly.

Kosa didn't take it, but just looked down at the paper, his lips pressed tightly together, and asked in a very soft voice, "How long will I be gone?"

“It’s best not to come back.” Toran paused, his tone unchanged: “Live by their rules.”

Kosa's fingers twitched, but he didn't reach out.

He stared at the registration form, and after a moment asked in a low voice, "Then... can I still say that I am a member of the Cold Tooth family?"

Toran looked at him, his eyes unwavering, only his brow furrowed slightly: "That thing is worthless now."

A flash of anger crossed the boy's eyes: "But I am of the blood of the snow, a descendant of the north wind, a..."

Toran interrupted him: "Will that bloodline be enough to save your life?"

For a moment, only the sound of the stove remained in the room.

Kosa lowered his head, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his clothes, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything in rebuttal.

He wasn't stupid; he knew his father was right.

But that feeling pressing on my chest, like frozen snow, just wouldn't melt away.

Toran folded the registration form neatly, tucked it inside his shirt, and patted him on the shoulder.

“Remember not to be a show-off, and don’t compete with others. If you’re doing well, then keep living. If you’re not doing well…” He paused, “then eat more.”

The woman at the door remained silent.

She was one of the orphans of the Cold Tooth tribe, Tolan's wife, and Kosa's mother.

She stuffed a piece of dried meat into the child's cloth bag, tightened his scarf, and smoothed the stray hairs from his forehead, but said nothing.

Kosa hugged his father, then his mother.

He didn't cry, but his eyes were a little red.

The next morning, the snow had not yet melted, and it was not yet fully light.

A red tide military flag was erected at the entrance of Bianwei Village, fluttering in the wind.

Three Crimson Tide Knights stood beside the flag, wearing cloaks and carrying standard longswords at their waists. One of them was checking the list in his hand.

Toran walked ahead, wearing an old cloak. He led the six boys, and they stood one by one under the stone pillar at the village entrance.

The youngest of these teenagers was eleven years old, and the oldest was only sixteen or seventeen. Some were still yawning, some were clenching their fists, and some looked bewildered, secretly glancing in the direction of their parents.

They knew they were leaving today, but no one knew what life would be like from then on.

Toran didn't say much, he just stood to the side of the group, his hands tucked under his cloak, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the boys.

His son, Kosa, stood second, his back straight, his hands clasped in front of him.

The knight began reading the rules:
"Seven people from this village have entered the Red Tide City Military Academy for the first phase of training. During this period, they are not allowed to leave the team without permission."

Those who perform exceptionally well may be recommended for advanced training or promotion; those who violate this rule will be dealt with according to military discipline.

As soon as he finished speaking, Toran stepped forward and distributed simple bags, dry rations, thermal cloaks, and identity badges to each boy.

The bronze plaque bears the sun emblem of the Red Tide tribe, but has no tribal name or surname.

A knight walked to the front of the line, scanned the group, and said, "Anyone else who wants to leave, you can say so now."

No one moved.

All the boys had their heads down, some with trembling hands, some gritting their teeth, none of them willing to back down in front of everyone.

Toran stood still, watching quietly.

He only sighed softly after they had all shouldered their packs and stepped out of the village.

…………

The flag of Red Tide Border Guard Village had already faded into the distance behind them, but Louis did not turn back to Dawn Harbor.

He changed his itinerary at the last minute and led his entourage south back to Red Tide City.

This was the third time in the past five months that he had set foot in this main city of the Red Tide.

The first two times he only made brief stops to handle urgent matters and visit his wife and children. This time was no different; he didn't have much time, but he had to come back.

It was already late at night when we returned to Red Tide City.

The bedroom door was gently pushed open, and Louis entered, his footsteps light as he walked in, looking travel-worn.

Wearing the weariness of a long journey, with the soles of his boots not dried, he left a wet mark on the wooden floor.

Emily leaned against the bed, holding her sleeping baby in her arms.

The baby is over six months old, with round cheeks, soft hair, and the outline of his nose is slowly emerging. When he is asleep, he occasionally smacks his lips, as if he is dreaming.

Emily wasn't asleep; she was just resting with her eyes closed.

Louise stood there for a moment, then opened her eyes, smiled, and said, "You're back."

Louis nodded, hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward, knelt down, and gently stroked the child's hair.

“I should come back more often,” he said, “but I can never…get away.”

Emily didn't answer, but simply reached out and took off the cloak from his shoulders and hung it aside.

As soon as Louis sat down next to her, she gently moved the child to the crib and pulled a blanket over his lap.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” she said calmly. “It’s just… sometimes, don’t forget that you’re a father.”

Louis lowered his head and took her hand: "I know, I'm just too tired, and sometimes I'm not even sure if I'm doing the right thing."

Emily didn't try to persuade him or ask any more questions. She just squeezed his cold hand a little tighter: "The child is very good. He has been waiting for you."

He chuckled softly, leaned on her shoulder, and closed his eyes: "Then tonight, I'll tell him a story, the story of the great Lord Louis, who thwarted a traitor's plot."

(End of this chapter)