Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 342 Factory and Training

The steam engine hummed softly, the furnace was not yet fully heated, eight looms were lined up in the workshop, and the air still smelled of coal ash and lubricating oil.

Dozens of skilled workers were already lined up neatly in the spacious and bright weaving workshop.

They were all dressed in uniform grey-blue artisan robes, with the Red Tide sun emblem sewn onto the hem.

Some people looked excited, some kept glancing around, and some couldn't help but clench their hands.

"The lord has arrived!" someone whispered.

In an instant, everyone in the factory turned their attention to the entrance.

The door opened the next moment, and Louis walked in, dressed in a gray suit with the Red Tide Sun Badge pinned to his chest.

There was no entourage; only Bradley and Hamilton accompanied him, along with a few knights.

No one had trained the workers on how to welcome anyone, but the applause erupted naturally like a flood.

Like waves, it flows from the front row to the back row and back to the front row.

"Welcome, Lord!" someone called out.

“It’s Lord Louis!” An elderly craftsman’s eyes reddened, and his voice choked with emotion.

He raised his hand to signal for quiet, but the applause erupted again, even more enthusiastically than before.

Louis did not adopt an authoritative posture; he simply smiled, a wry smile tinged with helplessness.

The next second, he slowly raised his hand, and a slight wisp of vibrating magic spread out with the sound, sweeping across the factory like a gentle breeze: "I know you are excited, and so am I."

The sound reached everyone's ears clearly, and the applause gradually subsided.

He looked around at the rough but determined faces, and his tone softened slightly.

“I remember many of you. You were here in the first year, the second year, and even before Red Tide City had its outer walls.”

Some started by moving stones and transporting materials in wind and snow; some fired bricks and laid tiles, working fourteen hours a day; some slept in the workshop for three whole months, all to fine-tune the precision of the first batch of gears.

You repaired streets, built irrigation ditches, installed fireplaces, and endured food shortages and work stoppages during harsh winters.

"The city's current state is not due to me, but because you all supported it."

The factory was silent. The workers stopped clapping, their eyes reddened, and they instinctively straightened their backs.

"And now, what I want you to do is weave cloth."

Louis's tone suddenly tightened: "But not for clothes, but for our children, so they won't have to freeze and wear tattered sacks through the winter."

It was to sell Red Tide fabrics throughout the North, even to the capital, so that they would know we could make the best textiles in the world.

You are the old Chichao people, the ones who built this city bit by bit from the snow, and you are the most reliable group of people.

The reason I've put you here to work today isn't just because of your skills, but because you are trustworthy.

He paused for a moment: "The wages and benefits here are among the best in Red Tide, and your status will rise along with your skills."

I hope that in three months, the first batch of fabric for export will be woven here. You are not just working; you are writing the history of the red tide.

After the last sentence was spoken, the room fell silent.

Then a loud round of applause suddenly rang out.

Immediately afterwards, as if someone had released a taut string, more people began to clap, shout, and whistle, making the entire workshop boil over.

"It's a red tide!"

"Let's see this through to the end!"

"Ten machines aren't enough, we need a hundred!"

Standing to the side, the factory manager, Heaton, suddenly swung his arm and shouted, "Did you hear that? We're going to cover the North with the cloth of the Red Tide!"

The crowd burst into laughter, and applause erupted once again.

…………

The enthusiastic applause still echoed in the distance, but the row of looms had fallen silent again.

The steam pipes trembled slightly, and several Type 1 looms that had not yet been started reflected a soft light in the sunlight.

Louis walked side by side with the factory manager Heaton between the looms.

"Is there a problem with manpower?" he asked bluntly.

“It’s enough for now. We’ll need to bring in four more batches of skilled workers from the technical camp later.” Heaton replied quickly. “I’ve thoroughly understood Hamilton’s blueprints, and we’re also coordinating with the parts warehouse to replenish stock.”

“Good.” Louis glanced at the young craftsmen who were cleaning up the debris from the trial run. “When there are more people, we don’t need to care about their backgrounds. Whoever does a good job will be promoted, and whoever causes trouble will be kicked out. I don’t need to say more about the importance of this place.”

He said this calmly, but there was no room for negotiation.

Hearing this, Heaton stopped and nodded solemnly: "Understood. If you trust me, I will not embarrass myself, nor will I embarrass the factory, nor will I embarrass the Red Tide."

Louis looked at him for a moment, then nodded slightly: "I believe you."

The sound of steam rose again from afar, and the bell in the weaving workshop rang exactly on the hour.

This factory is just the beginning.

Next, the Red Tide First Textile Factory will become the main producer of fabric in the entire northern region.

Coarse cloth, linen, cotton fabrics, and all sorts of everyday items would be produced continuously from these steam looms, and then transported from warehouses to various parts of the North.

Moreover, the textile mill will serve as a model for replication in the second and third factories built after the red tide.

At that time, through the seaport, the red tide's cloth will be packed in bulk and transported by cargo ships to the southern border in exchange for more salt, sugar, medicine and ironware.

If they can open up the guild market in the capital, they may even be able to directly connect with the Royal Capital Chamber of Commerce and open up a brand new business route.

Steam weaving is not just about improving efficiency; it is the first step that Chichao has truly taken into large-scale production.

…………

The number of barbarian boys living in the domed house is increasing, from the initial seventeen to seventy-six.

On their fourth day here, Harom brought another group of new faces.

As soon as they entered, they looked around warily, some even instinctively reaching for their waists as if to check if they were still carrying any knives.

Although they had been asked to surrender all their weapons before entering the city.

Meanwhile, the long-time residents inside the house have gradually adapted to the pace of life brought about by the red tide.

“Don’t be nervous.” Bessa was the first to stand up, walked over to the newcomers, and patted one of them on the shoulder. “We were like that when we first came, but you’ll get used to it quickly.”

When Bessa said this, she looked completely at ease, and her tone was as if she were welcoming a lost relative home.

He even said with a hint of pride, "I can almost recite the heroic deeds of the great lord backwards."

The new boy stared at him, somewhat confused: "You're... one of them?"

Besa laughed and grinned, "I am now a member of the Red Tide."

He spoke with such confidence, even a hint of pride, as he called people to go eat.

Hot rye bread, stewed meat soup, and roasted vegetables were served one serving to each person, neatly arranged on the long table.

The ingredients weren't exactly luxurious, but for these barbarian youths who used to eat dried meat in the snow, it was an absolute delicacy.

The new boys pounced on the bread, grabbing it and stuffing it into their mouths. "Don't run around after you finish eating. Go take a shower later," Bessa reminded them. "It's a shower with hot water, not heated by firewood, it's heated by pipes underground."

The young boy pursed his lips and muttered, "That's a lie, right?" but his chopsticks moved faster and faster, and he couldn't bear to part with a single piece of meat.

But seeing him eat faster and faster, Kosa, sitting in the corner, just hummed softly.

Kosa sat in the corner, slowly chewing his bread as usual, without saying a word.

But his eyes were much gentler than when he first arrived.

Kosa still remembers how he looked on the first day he stood at the door of the hot water shower room, his face full of doubt, as if he were facing some kind of trap.

But when he actually stepped inside and the hot water gushed down the copper pipes, the warmth almost overwhelmed him.

Now he has learned how to adjust the temperature, how to hang towels, and when to take out and change clothes.

Their schedules were posted on the door, printed in standard Imperial English, and the instructors checked daily to see if they were completed.

Initially, he resisted, believing that this system was a process of enslavement and domestication.

But now he's starting to realize that as long as he follows the rules, not only will no one scold him, but he'll also have enough to eat, warm clothes, and a room that won't let in any drafts.

"It's not that bad, actually," he thought to himself.

Besha sat down next to him and said excitedly, "We can visit the workshop next week. I heard that the steam hammer there can break rocks."

"Do you really want to be a Red Tide person?" Khosa suddenly asked.

Besha didn't hesitate at all: "Of course. I used to have no home, no land, and no food. Now I have a house, clothes, food... Red Tide Territory has given me everything. I want to stay and become an official, like Lord Harrom."

Harom has clearly become Bessa's idol.

Upon hearing this, Kosa remained silent and continued eating his bread.

…………

Besides the difference in daily life, the training is also somewhat different.

Once all the barbarian youths had arrived, the training at Red Tide officially began.

When Khosa was in the tribe, he went to real battlefields with his tribe, so he was not afraid at all.

Imperial youths and barbarian youths stood mixed together in the queue, without discrimination or special precautions.

Kosa stood at the very end of the line, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

"The Qi circulation... is almost exactly the same as what I learned," he silently judged to himself.

Whether it's the standard battle aura cultivated by Imperial Knights or the primal fighting spirit awakened within Barbarian Warriors, their essence originates from the same power system.

They all utilize the body's energy to enhance strength, speed, and endurance, but the underlying principles remain a mystery.

Unlike the newly arrived barbarian youths, the Red Tide youths moved in unison with a clear rhythm, their bodies already adapted to this discipline.

When the instructor gave the order to turn around, there was no need to shout or use a whip; everyone simply obeyed.

Kosa didn't keep up at first, but a gray-haired boy next to him whispered a reminder: "You've miscounted the steps, just adjust half a step to the right."

He hummed in response, but he wasn't good at expressing gratitude, so he didn't say anything else.

That day was their first combat skills training class.

The instructor leading the team was a burly man with scars on his cheeks, wearing Red Tide standard light armor. He walked with a brisk pace, kicking up the snow and mud on the ground as he stood in front of the team.

"My name is Bruch, and I am the training officer of the Red Tide Territory Youth Camp."

His voice was deep, yet it carried throughout the entire training ground. No one spoke, not even daring to cough.

“I don’t care which noble family’s son you are. From the moment you stepped into this group, you are Red Tide people.”

His gaze swept across the crowd, landing on a few of the most wary-looking barbarian youths.

"I won't explain how to circulate battle qi; some of you know more than I do. Today we'll start learning combat techniques, beginning with the low-stance slash."

He paused, his expression darkening slightly: "Don't think this is just fancy footwork. If you falter at the last step, the people around you could lose their heads."

"In Red Tide, discipline is the lifeblood of every soldier. You may not be prone to fighting, but you cannot disobey orders. If you don't understand the instructions, go home and herd sheep."

After saying that, he threw his short sword onto the snow with a "clang" and pointed to a row of wooden training dummies behind him:

"Each person performs ten low-posture slashes, divided into groups of three. After an hour, the slashes are changed. Whoever fails to meet the standard will not get dinner that night."

There was no disturbance in the group; everyone did as instructed.

Kosa had thought that the Imperials' training was nothing more than writing and putting on airs, but he never expected that the first lesson would be practical combat techniques.

Although it was a wooden sword used for training, it was incredibly heavy.

During his first low slash, he crouched too low, resulting in a crooked and uneven strike. The second slash was slightly faster, and the recoil caused his wrist to go numb.

No one laughed at him, because all the apprentice knights were pretty much the same.

The gray-haired boy in the group even frowned and reminded them, "The knife is too high; it will break the formation."

Sako was beginning to understand what the Red Tide people meant by discipline.

Just as they were practicing the fifth move, another team next to them ran into trouble.

A barbarian boy deliberately drew his sword faster, but his movement went astray, causing the imperial boy next to him to lose his footing. The entire formation immediately fell into chaos, and one of them almost had his knee slashed, causing him to cry out in alarm.

Instructor Bruch walked over and shouted, "If that slash you just made had happened on a real battlefield, your comrade would be dead."

The barbarian boy tried to argue, "I just wanted to hurry..."

"You practice fast, disobey orders, and lose control, attacking your teammates?"

Bruch stared at him, his voice still low, but chillingly cold.

"Punishment: Ten rounds of continuous low-stance combat. Everyone stop and watch."

The entire training ground fell silent.

The barbarian boy blushed and gritted his teeth as he did as instructed.

The imperial youth who had been accidentally injured nearby said nothing and simply returned to his place in the queue.

“Discipline is not for show,” Bruch said, turning to look at the entire audience. “If you take the wrong step at the last moment, someone behind you will lose their life.”

"Don't treat what we teach as mere slogans, and don't gamble with your companions' lives."

Subsequent training sessions were conducted in battle formations.

They worked in groups of three, taking turns attacking in twos in front and one in back, practicing basic combat techniques in shifts with each other.

The movements must be synchronized; the distance, angle, and timing of each strike must be controlled, leaving no room for error.

“This is not a one-on-one fight,” the instructor emphasized. “Battle formations are about survival.”

"If you want to continue like this, become a hunter instead of a knight."

Kosa gritted his teeth and persevered. He was agile and his strikes were accurate, but it was soon found that coordinating with others without any flaws was ten times more difficult than fighting alone.

If the queue is even slightly off, the entire operation will collapse.

But he gradually understood what Bruch meant: the importance of discipline.

(End of this chapter)