Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 376 Earl Harvey
After Leighton was led out of the main castle, the night had not yet fallen. Louis did not rest, but simply ordered his guards to relay the message again.

Soon after, a second person with his head covered was brought in.

The man was breathing rapidly, and his clothes smelled strongly of spices and southern wines.

Louis raised his hand, and the knights stopped what they were doing: "Untie him."

The hood was ripped off, and the man blinked. When he saw who was sitting in front of him, his face turned pale instantly, and he unconsciously took a half step back.

The man opened his mouth, instinctively wanting to blurt out that familiar excuse: "I'm just a small-time spice dealer..."

Louis simply smiled and watched him.

……

That night, the firelight at Red Tide Fortress stayed on until very late.

From merchants of the Crimson Glow Guild to representatives of the Ashes Guild, and then to the lurking messengers of Starfall, four or five members of the Federation Guilds who had been hiding in the Crimson Tide for many years.

The firelight of the Red Tide main castle burned until late at night as they were brought in one by one, and then taken away one by one.

However, throughout the entire process, there was not a single question uttered, nor a single drop of blood shed.

Louis did the same thing to everyone.

First, state their real names and guild affiliations, then briefly describe their activities in Red Tide, Dawn Harbor, and Silver Ridge Hill over the past few years...

Finally, they were asked to sit down, and a letter bearing the Red Tide seal was pushed towards them.

“Rest assured,” Louis said gently, “I will not execute legitimate merchants in the Red Tide; the Red Tide needs trade.”

Those self-proclaimed seasoned guild members opposite him broke out in a cold sweat under Louis's calm gaze.

“There’s just one thing…” Louis tapped his fingers lightly on the table, “From now on, we can ship the goods and you can make money. But you can’t stab us in the back, leak secrets, or lay cables for enemy countries.”

“If your superiors are smart, they will understand that I am giving you a path to long-term profits, not an enemy.”

Someone couldn't help but ask, "Are you... threatening us?"

Louis smiled. "It's just a polite reminder."

He didn't raise his voice or show any anger; he simply pushed the letter in front of the recipient himself.

"It's very clear in the letter. Red Tide is opening trade quotas to the Federation and major guilds, but reasonable prices and clean channels are required."

Take it back and convey their message verbatim. If they accept it, Red Tide's goods are always open to you; if they refuse..."

He paused, his tone not harsh, but it sent a chill down one's spine: "Then ask them to stop reaching into the Northern Territory."

As the last person was hooded and taken away, only the crackling of the fireplace remained in the study.

“If they had any brains,” Louis said in a low voice, “they would see this as a win-win situation.”

Red Tide is not xenophobic; it does not refuse Federation gold coins or guild cargo ships, but Red Tide insists on doing things its own way.

This is something Louis has always wanted to do; otherwise, he wouldn't have kept these Emerald Federation spies around for so long.

Some spies even infiltrated the Red Tide territory before Red Tide City was established and began doing business there.

As long as these spies did not cause any real damage, Louis, who had a daily intelligence system, simply turned a blind eye.

However, the Calvin family cut off trade channels, bringing forward their plans.

Louis stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the lights of Red Tide City in the snowy night: "Father, I have made my choice, and I hope you will not regret it."

…………

The sea breeze in the southern provinces always carries a salty smell, but there was not a trace of dampness in Count Harvey's study.

The heavy stone walls blocked out the sound of the sea, and the fire in the fireplace burned steadily, its flickering light reflecting off the ledgers and documents.

The desk was piled high with tax returns, invoices, and quota lists, and a silver wine jug was half-empty, with red wine swirling in the glass.

Count Harvey held a pen in his left hand to approve documents and sipped wine in his right.

That was a habit he hadn't been able to break for years; after a few sips, his mind would clear up, and he could match numbers, names, and port tax deeds perfectly.

When I'm not drinking, I feel restless and irritable; I've had this problem since I was a teenager.

He was not born into a true aristocratic family.

My grandfather was a viscount on the verge of bankruptcy, a gambling addict who nearly squandered the family fortune.

When my father took over, there were barely any servants left in the house; it was just an empty old manor.

That period taught him from a young age what it means to be unable to move an inch without money.

Thanks to the perseverance of the father and son, the Harvey family has been able to recover.

My father made his first fortune by smuggling wine and spices, and then set up a trading company in the harbor to supply food to the imperial fleet.

Harvey himself studied in the capital, not at the Knights Academy, but in finance and law. After graduation, he followed his father to the docks, settled accounts, and dealt with imperial officials.

That's when he developed the habit of drinking to settle accounts; strong liquor could suppress his anxiety and also help him concentrate.

He was able to rise to the rank of earl entirely thanks to the emperor.

When Ernst August first took office, he implemented heavy taxes on ports and reforms to trade routes. The older generation of nobles opposed it, but he took the initiative to assume the risk of reforming coastal taxes and paid for military expenses and port repairs on behalf of the royal family.

The emperor admired his courage and skill, and personally bestowed upon him the title of Earl of Southern Ports.

From that day on, he understood that he was no longer an aristocrat who relied on bloodline, but a political businessman who relied on tactics.

His background instilled in him a near-neurotic vigilance.

Harvey didn't believe in luck, only in numbers that matched the books; he didn't believe in lineage or honor, only in a ship that could weather the storm.

As he reviewed the documents, he felt somewhat irritated.

The emperor has gone into hiding, the regent is seriously ill, and the princes are engaged in open and covert struggles.

Orders from the capital came one after another, the coastal tax system was revised again and again, and the preparatory agenda for the Dragon Throne Conference grew thicker and thicker.

The old aristocracy schemed against each other, while the new aristocracy was used as a buffer; no one wanted to be the first to fall.

Harvey put down his quill pen and took a sip of his wine: "Ha... what a mess this table is full of."

The current crisis is far more complex than just the tax reforms outlined in official documents.

The coastal shipping routes were repeatedly requisitioned by the capital, and a merchant ship had to pay taxes three times. Piracy in the south was resurging, and there were even people secretly supporting them.

Taking advantage of the chaos, inland nobles cut off the supply routes, forcing him to make concessions. Creditors in the capital were pressing for payment, and the IOUs from the Ministry of Military Supplies were still piling up.

Trade throughout the South was like a ship riddled with holes, on the verge of capsizing at any moment.

Harvey was well aware of his situation; although the Harvey family had been granted the title of Earl, their foundation was still weak.

At the slightest sign of trouble, the old guard will join forces, and they will be the first to be ousted.

The current financial situation is still manageable thanks to the export taxes from the three ports and the income from the wineries.

But if the capital were to reassign supervisors and cut off tax revenue sharing, his hard-earned business of ten years could vanish in an instant. Worse still, he would be forced to maintain ambiguous relationships with various factions.

The envoy from the capital wanted him to swear allegiance to the Second Prince, while the Censorate was trying to win over the Fourth Prince's faction...

Every line has to be kept and every line has to be appeased; if one side moves too much, it will alert the other side.

"The more chaotic the capital, the more we, who got our positions through money, should stick together for warmth," Harvey murmured, as if reminding himself.

As he spoke, he signed his name on the document.

Just then, there were light footsteps and knocking sounds outside the gate.

"Come in." He put down his wine glass, his tone calm.

The servant pushed open the door and entered, bowing respectfully and presenting a silver tray with two letters on it.

One letter was engraved with the sun emblem, the mark of the Red Tide Territory in the North; the other bore the familiar emblem of a sea vessel, belonging to his own Harvey family, and was written to him by Yorn.

Harvey raised an eyebrow, recognizing the sun emblem; it was a letter from Louis Calvin.

He was curious to hear what this lord of the North wanted to talk to him about, since a letter had come from a count in person.
But he put the letter aside for the moment and reached out to pick up the one with the ship's crest.

"Let's see what that kid has written this time." He leaned back in his chair and sighed.

This second son is a real headache for him. He is his son born late in life and has been spoiled since childhood. He is a little slow-witted than his older brother, but his mind is not bad. He is just a bit arrogant.

The path originally planned for him was the safest one: guard the family port, inherit a minor baronial fief, live a life of wealth and comfort, and just stay out of trouble.

As a result, the kid was full of enthusiasm and went to sign up for the Northern Expedition.

That place was practically a pile of dead bodies; he truly thought his son would never come back.

Who knew that not only did he survive, but he also managed to curry favor with the Lord of the North.

In just a few years, he managed to earn the title of viscount. His ability to curry favor with powerful figures is somewhat similar to his vision when he was young.

He smiled helplessly and opened the envelope.

The letter is written in a lighthearted tone, with disorganized sentences, and is full of Jon-esque enthusiasm.

"Lord Louis, the Crimson Tide Lord, wants to cooperate with us! He's the most capable person I've ever met! ... He proposed that our family can provide the southern ports, and the Crimson Tide can ship leather, cold iron, and the like... profit sharing! This is a sure-fire way to make money!"

Earl Harvey laughed out loud halfway through the reading, shaking his head and sighing, "This lad... he's already a viscount, and he's still so naive."

He could actually understand why Jon wrote it that way.

After all, that northern lord had given him so much—promotion, fiefdoms, resources, and glory along the way—all opportunities that fell from the sky.

Honestly, even if I arranged it myself and did everything in my power, it would have been impossible for him to rise from Baron Pioneer to Viscount in just a few years.

Thinking about this, Harvey felt a mix of emotions, half pride and half regret.

He put down the letter and picked up the one engraved with the sun emblem.

It was written by Louis Calvin; the handwriting on the cover was neat, and the wax seal was clean.

The letter was laid out, the handwriting neat and the wording calm, conveying the restraint and orderliness of a negotiation.

In the letter, Louis addressed Harvey as "Uncle Harvey" in a calm, appropriate, and neither humble nor arrogant tone.

The entire letter contained not a single superfluous compliment, nor any hint of coercion; it read like a lord who knew his place was stating the facts.

He first briefly explained the current situation in the North, stating that Red Tide City had become the core of the North's commercial flow, with stable output and expanding scale.

The cooperation intentions were then stated: Red Tide was willing to exchange leather, cold iron, magic marrow and various minerals for grain, spices, silk and wine circulation channels in Harvey Port, and to establish a stable transit warehouse.

The letter even detailed several proposed solutions, including revenue sharing ratios for goods, winter storage and transportation subsidies, port maintenance sharing, and future expansion of trade volume.

Each item is clearly numbered, making it easy to see the logic and organization of the entire management team behind this letter.

Furthermore, Red Tide pledged to speak up for the reasonable proposals of the "New Elite Alliance" at the Dragon Throne Conference.

If the situation in the Empire deteriorates or the war spreads, priority will be given to ensuring the transportation of supplies and access to ports for the Harvey family.

The last sentence is concise yet profound: "If the North and the South could join hands, the chaotic world could be more stable."

After reading it, he gently put down the letter, his gaze lingering on the firelight, his thoughts gradually forming.

"The Calvin family is the dominant force in the empire's leading port trade routes. This child is Calvin's son, yet he bypassed his own merchant guild to come to me?" he murmured to himself.

This is no ordinary collaboration invitation; it's like slapping your own father in the face.

Either it's an internal power struggle within the Calvin family, or the young earl is planning to establish his own independent household.

He took a sip of his drink, countless thoughts flashing through his mind.

The port of his own and the Calvin family's had always been in competition, and they had been secretly vying for power for many years.

Louis had saved Jon's life, pulling the fool from a pile of corpses and helping him obtain the title of viscount. He couldn't pretend he hadn't seen this favor.

Moreover, the emperor had been absent for a long time, the princes were forming factions, the old nobles were plotting a restoration, and the new noble alliance was being suppressed in the capital. As for himself, this count who had risen to power through money, to put it bluntly, his roots were still shallow and his position was not yet secure.

“Taking sides is like gambling with your life,” he murmured to himself. “But that young man from the North has turned a wasteland into a place where people have enough to eat and wear, making him better off than half an old nobleman. At least he needs partners now, not prey.”

He knew all too well that binding himself to the old nobles would only result in passive subservience.

Opening a separate line with Louis means having an extra hand and an extra escape route.

Moreover, if Louis fails, he can claim that he was merely taking care of the local cooperation on his son's side.

He tapped the table and made a decision: talk first, then take sides.

“Draft a reply,” he instructed his secretary, “in a friendly but not servile tone. Express interest in the proposed cooperation and be willing to send a representative to the North for detailed discussions, starting with a shipping route and a shipment of goods as a trial.”

He gazed at the firelight, but his thoughts did not cease.

Harvey weighed the significance of this step in his mind. This letter was not just a negotiation, but a test, a quiet gamble.

He knew he was not qualified to confront the Calvin family head-on, nor could he easily get involved in the prince's faction.

But Louis was different. The Northern region had always been ambivalent about politics, both geographically and in terms of people's hearts, and was independent and tenacious.

The fact that he could establish himself in that kind of place shows that he could create order on his own without relying on imperial power.

Such a person understands both the game of power and how to survive in the mud.

If they can get on this northern border, no matter who wins in the capital, the Harvey family in the south will have room to maneuver.

Harvey's mind was half calmly calculating, and half secretly admiring.

Young, bold, and methodical—such a lord is a rare sight in this decaying empire.

“He’s betting on the future of the North, and I’m betting on him,” Harvey murmured.

Count Harvey decided to be more cautious and not rush to bet everything, but he needed to hold onto this line first.

He raised his glass, as if drinking with a distant figure in the firelight: "Let's see how far you can take the North, Louis Calvin."

(End of this chapter)