Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 386 The First Breeze of Spring in the Cold Sand Territory

Winter had just ended in the Frost Sands, and the wind outside the castle still carried a chill.

As dawn broke, mist rose from the slopes, and the remaining snow slowly melted along the cracks in the fortress walls.

Lord Holder, the Lord of the Frost Sands, sat in the castle's small hall. The rough wooden chair creaked slightly when he sat down.

"Being a lord is too difficult..." Holder muttered in a low voice, his face contorted with worry, as if afraid that the others in the castle would hear him.

In reality, no one hears this; apart from the servants, almost no one in his castle is willing to stay.

The Cold Sand Territory is barren year-round. For the past three years, the mines have been flooded, and the granaries have become emptier year by year.

If it weren't for the salt, grain, timber, and ironware brought by the red tide, this place would have collapsed long ago.

But Holder was unwilling to accept this. He was the lord of the Frost Sands, and by right, he should be the supreme ruler of the territory.
But what about now? Officials sent by the Red Tide want to inspect the accounts, the warehouses are sealed with Red Tide seals, and even spring planting has to be done according to Red Tide's schedule.

When the people in the territory encountered trouble, they didn't go to him, but to the officials of the Red Tide.

“The lord… the lord has become a mere figurehead.” He scratched his messy hair, his face scrunching up even more.

But Holder also knew very well that without the red tide, he wouldn't have survived last winter.

The last few bags of grain in his warehouse were saved thanks to the relief provided by the Red Tide.

Even the winter herbal soup his son ate was delivered by the Red Tide Medical Team.

But when it comes to rebellion, Holder only dared to think about it in his mind; he didn't dare to take any action.

"Should I leave a truckload or two of ore?" Holder's thought cautiously surfaced, then retreated. "Never mind, the warehouse is sealed; even if one bag is missing, it will be discovered."

He then thought, "Maybe... I should write less in the ledger?"

The image of the Inspectorate immediately popped into his mind, and he imagined himself being hung on the city gate. He had already heard about the consequences of other lords concealing their accounts.

Holder felt a chill run through his body and completely shut down the thought.

"Then how about we drive the Red Tide Officer away? ... Don't be ridiculous, I only have a dozen or so knights, their small squad is enough to give me a hard time."

Holder grew increasingly discouraged and slumped back into his chair: "Being a lord is really tough. If only Duke Edmund were still here."

Just as he was rubbing his temples, a servant hurriedly knocked on the door: "My lord, the Red Tide Aid Commander, Pete, requests an audience."

Holder's heart skipped a beat.

Pete? The head of Red Tide Aid? Coming now? What's he doing here?
"Oh no, oh no, are they investigating me?" His throat tightened. "Was my letter to Collins intercepted?"

He recalled the letter full of complaints, and his face turned pale instantly, but he still had to maintain a calm demeanor: "Let him in."

After the servants left, Holder quickly tugged at his sleeves, pretending to sit upright, but his palms were already sweating.

Not long after, Pete stepped into the small hall.

The middle-aged Red Tide official wore a deep red shawl and gave a simple bow, yet he exuded a sense of reliability and dependability.

"Lord Holder." Pete's voice wasn't loud, but it commanded respect.

Holder put on a feignedly impatient, cold expression: "What is it?"

Pete didn't rush to speak, but instead raised his hand to signal to the servant.

Two servants pushed in a wooden box that was half a person's height, so heavy that the stone slabs creaked.

Holder froze, his heart skipped a beat, thinking it was an interrogation instrument, and he shrank back an inch in his chair.

The wooden crate was placed next to the table, and Pete personally pried open the lock with a snap.

The moment the lid was lifted, Holder's breath caught in his throat...

Inside were not documents or seals, but a whole box of dazzlingly bright gold coins.

Sunlight streamed in through the window cracks, illuminating the golden surface and making the small hall seem to light up.

Holder froze, forgetting even to move his Adam's apple.

Pete placed an account book on top of the gold, his tone as steady as if he were reading a routine procedure: "My lord, this is the dividend for Cold Sand Territory this year."

Holder's lips trembled slightly: "...Profit sharing?"

"Two thousand gold coins." Pete personally turned the ledger to the settlement page and pushed it in front of him. "This is the Red Tide settlement; there won't be any mistakes."

Holder stared at that page.

The word "two thousand" was so clear it was as if it were nailed to his eyes.

He reached out to touch it, but his hand trembled so badly that he couldn't even hold onto the corner of the ledger.

In all his long life, Baron Holder probably hadn't seen half the gold coins in this box combined.

Cold Sand Territory is poor year-round. The income of a baron's territory like his, a small territory, is more of a respectable title written in the family genealogy than real wealth that can be held in one's hands.

Now, this box of gold is placed in front of him, heavy and substantial, so bright that even the light is dazzling.

An absurd thought even flashed through his mind: "Is this some kind of joke playing on me?"

Pete began to explain: "The sliding rails made shipping six times faster, and the steam pumps ensured that the mines never had to stop. The Red Tide acquisitions were also conducted at stable prices, so the territory's profits naturally increased accordingly."

Holder felt his mind go blank, and even a little dizzy.

He repeated softly, "Two thousand gold coins... I've never even seen a thousand in my entire life..."

Pete then opened another book: "In addition, the territory also received winter frostbite subsidies, farm tool subsidies, road and bridge repair rewards, and school construction subsidies."

Holder's mind was a little foggy, and he felt as if there was something stuck in his chest, but then it suddenly felt like it had been cleared.

Finally, Pete pulled out an even thinner catalog from his bag, like a grand finale, and placed it in front of Holder. "These are things the Red Tide Merchant Guild can buy; lords within the Red Tide system get discounts..."

Holder's breathing, which had just caught up a little, became completely disordered again. He stared at the booklet as if it were some kind of forbidden magic.

Pete flipped through the catalog, allowing him to clearly see rows of items: federal fine cloth, forged steel swords, gems, glass goblets...

These are expensive items that only the highest nobility could afford.

Holder was completely ignited: "This... I never even dared to dream of these things before! Pete, can I buy this set of glasses? Can I buy this sword? Can I buy this Alchemy Gem Castle?"

“As the Lord of the Frost Sands, you are naturally entitled to purchase,” Pete said calmly. “The Crimson Tide Merchant Guild has stock available. Discounts have already been reserved for you.”

Holder felt as if he'd been struck by lightning for the second time, and he jumped up from his chair: "Lord Louis... Lord Louis is the one who truly changed the North! I actually... Alas, I was so foolish!"

He had already begun to fantasize incoherently: "I want to replace the entire set of tableware in the banquet hall with a new glass one! And order a Federal cloak for my wife... no, two! The children must have one too! The taupe collar must also be made more presentable!"

Seeing that he was completely absorbed in the gold coins and the good days to come, Pete added, "My lord, Red Tide hopes that Cold Sand Territory can hold the Lunar New Year celebration here this year and share the joy with the people."

This is an important step in the infiltration of Red Tide culture, allowing Hanshaling to integrate into the system more quickly.

But Pete didn't need to say that to Holder.

Holder had no time to ponder the deeper reasons. Upon hearing it was a celebration, he slammed his fist on the table, making Jinzi jump: "Let's do it! We must do it! Our Cold Sand Territory needs to show some spirit!"

Pitt nodded: "I will include your reply in today's report."

Holder nodded quickly: "Write it down, write it down, we must make sure Lord Louis sees the sincerity of the Frost Sand Territory!"

…………

Today is the official start of the red tide season.

The morning mist of Cold Sand Territory still clung to the gray stone fortress walls, but the pervasive chill that lingered in the cracks and alleys seemed to be dispelled by a warmth rising from the depths of people's hearts.

As dawn broke, the main street was no longer the deathly stillness of winter.

I don't know which blacksmith shop was the first to hang up a deep red flag with a golden sun emblem.

Immediately afterwards, as if some silent command had spread throughout the town, wooden plaques with the sun emblem were hung on the wooden doors of every household, or bright red linen strips were tied on them.

Looking out, between the gray stone walls and the remaining snow, the bright crimson hues are like dancing flames, completely igniting this border town.

White steam rose from large iron pots placed along the street, oatmeal broth specially prepared to celebrate the festival.

Although there weren't many pieces of meat, the aroma of a little bit of lard and herbs drifted on the wind into the cracks of every window.

"Hot! Freshly baked rye bread! Spiced! Thank you for your generosity, Lord Louis!"

The vendors' shouts broke the morning's tranquility, carrying with them a festive atmosphere.

The old baker, who usually hunched over and had a miserable look on his face, stood up straight today.

He wore an apron around his waist and a rough iron Red Tide Sun badge pinned to his chest, which had been distributed by the Red Tide Aid Officer a few days earlier and which he had polished to a shine with grease.

The stalls were filled with real, filling foods:

The fist-sized rye breads were baked until the crust was crisp, and each bread was topped with a red dot of cranberry jam, symbolizing "sunlight".

Several strips of dried, smoky salted meat hung on a wooden rack, emitting an enticing smoky aroma, along with barrels of pickled cabbage.

"I never imagined I'd be able to celebrate a festival like this before," the old baker said, wrapping bread in parchment paper for a customer while making a sun gesture on his chest. "If it weren't for Commander Pete bringing in those truckloads of flour with the aid team, my oven would have gone out long ago in the winter night."

Under the wooden shed next to it, onions and root crops brought by the Red Tide caravan were piled up.

In previous years, this level of wealth was something only noble lords in castles could enjoy in the Cold Sand Territory.

The streets were getting more and more crowded; they were miners who had just finished their night shift.

They were no longer like last winter, their faces covered in coal dust, their eyes numb, like walking corpses.

Today, almost everyone wears a red cloth strip or a crude sun pattern on their wool hat or coarse cloth collar.

"Cut me a piece of salted meat about two fingers wide, and weigh out a small bag of coarse sugar for the children. Today is the Lunar New Year, so we need to have some sweetness in the house." A burly miner took out a few worn copper coins and carefully placed them on the wooden counter.

His companion beside him chuckled and joked, "Old Tom, here so early to buy food for the celebration?" "Of course," Old Tom grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, and pointed to the huge Red Tide flag fluttering atop the administrative building tower in the distance.

"It's been so cold this year. If Lord Louis hadn't sent Officer Pete, we'd probably be buried in a cold grave by now. This money was well spent; it's a celebration of our escape from the clutches of death!"

Just as the miners were marveling at the scene, a series of orderly footsteps came from the street corner.

Pete was walking down this street with the other aid officers.

He was wearing the deep red Red Tide uniform. Although the cape was a bit old, it was clean, and the brass buttons on his shoulders gleamed in the morning light.

"Commander Pete! May the sun shine upon you!"

"Sir, this is freshly baked bread. Please try it; no money required!"

Upon seeing him, the townspeople along the way did not quiet down from their noisy streets; instead, an even more enthusiastic wave of enthusiasm surged forth.

The men removed their hats in greeting, their gesture filled with an unprecedented sincerity.

The women smiled and held up their baskets, wanting to stuff him with the best food.

The children followed him like little tails, and the bolder ones even dared to reach out and touch the hem of his cloak.

Pete smiled and nodded to each of them, politely declining the gifts but accepting the weighty respect they represented.

He took a deep breath of the air, which was filled with the aroma of wheat and the smell of smoke, and something inside his chest felt slightly warm.

one Year.

Pete subconsciously rubbed the inconspicuous wear on his cuff, his thoughts drifting back to when he first set foot on this land a year ago.

The Cold Sand Territory back then wasn't like it is now. It was like a mute town, lifeless and even the wind seemed to whistle.

He remembered it was a gloomy afternoon when Chi Chao's convoy had just entered the town.

There was neither welcome nor insults.

Only pairs of eyes peek out from behind cracks in doors, windows, and dilapidated fences.

Those eyes were cloudy and numb, but deeper within them lay a wariness akin to that of someone looking at a wolf.

At that time, he was both so close and so far from these people.

He was so close he could smell the musty odor emanating from their worn-out clothes, yet so far that no matter what he said, they would only look at him with terrified eyes and then shut the door tightly.

In their eyes, Pete, dressed in a red uniform, was nothing more than another master who came to exploit others.

They feared him as much as they feared winter and death.

Pete did not back down.

He recalled what the instructor had said at the Red Tide Academy: "Don't expect them to understand you from the start. You have to use your actions to etch your rules into their minds."

So he began to use the skills he had learned in Red Tide to solve the despair on this land one by one.

The first thing to do is to bring the dead mines back to life.

The mine was flooded by icy groundwater, and the old lord's overseer only knew how to whip people into the water, resulting in nothing but a few floating corpses.

When Pete arrived, he did not crack the whip, but instead wrote an urgent letter to Lord Louis.

Two weeks later, several steel monsters emitting white smoke were transported to the wellhead—steam pumps.

When the machine roared deafeningly, pumping black water from the deep well day and night like a giant beast, the previously numb miners all knelt on the ground, thinking it was some kind of miracle.

"Stop kneeling!" Pete shouted, standing in the mud. "This is red tide technology! Once the water dries up, we'll start work tomorrow, and there will be wages!"

The second thing is to straighten people's spines.

In the past, miners had to carry heavy mining baskets and climb out of the deep pit step by step, and many of them ruined their backs before they were thirty.

Pete brought in the craftsmen's office to lay rows of wooden and iron-clad rails along the mine tunnels.

When the first minecart, loaded with ore, slid easily out of the mine shaft along the tracks, the miners' hands trembled as they touched them. For the first time, they realized that working didn't have to cost them their lives.

The third thing is to let everyone know where their money goes.

This was the hardest step. Pete erected a huge wooden board at the entrance of the administration building, displaying Red Tide's standardized public ledgers.

Every tax, every bag of relief grain, and every copper coin was recorded in detail.

“In the past, lords collected taxes by robbery, but Red Tide collects taxes by the rules,” Pete said to the onlookers, pointing to the ledgers. “Every grain of wheat you pay is recorded here. Anyone who dares to touch it will be cut down by the Inspectorate.”

When the people saw that those numbers had actually turned into repaired roads, built standard red tide granaries, and rations distributed to them in the winter, the layer of ice called vigilance finally melted completely.

Not to mention the newly built town school.

Previously, miners' children could only roll around in coal slag like weeds; now, they sit in bright rooms, reciting with teachers sent by the Red Tide: "Lord Louis saves the North..."

When the old miner, his face covered in coal dust, heard his son read the words from the book for the first time, this man who had never shed a tear in his life hugged Pete's boots and cried so hard he couldn't stand up.

That's how it is, step by step, one thing at a time.

Using the power and wisdom bestowed upon him by the red tide, Pete forcefully intervened in their lives, transforming this muddy swamp into solid land.

The wariness, like that of someone looking at a wolf, dissipated, replaced by an almost blind trust and respect.

They began to realize that this stern Commander Pete was different from the lords of the past who only knew how to wield the whip. He was the kind of man who would actually put bread in their hands, the kind of man who would check the roof for collapses even on a snowy night.

This respect and affection is not just for Pete personally.

Pete could sense that whenever he mentioned the name "Lord Louis," the light in the eyes of these people would become even more devout.

Because Pete had told them: "I am just an executor. It is the Red Tide, the great Earl Louis Calvin, who gave you steam engines, rails, food and schools."

And so this gratitude flowed along Pete to that distant, sun-like name.

Now Pitt is walking down the street, enjoying the feeling of being surrounded by crowds and followed by eyes.

This feeling is so wonderful.

He was no longer a lowly adjutant; he became the backbone of these thousands of people, their guardian angel.

This sense of accomplishment made him feel that all the cold he had endured and all the sleepless nights he had stayed up were worth it.

The more he enjoyed this honor, the deeper his gratitude towards that person became.

Pete glanced instinctively at the red flag fluttering in the distance and took a deep breath.

"Without Lord Louis, I am nothing."

Lord Louis gave him this uniform, these supplies, and more importantly, this Red Tide method that could change the world.

He simply followed the blueprints drawn by Lord Louis and built this miraculous town.

All the prestige he possessed was a reflection of the Red Tide's brilliance.

"May the sun shine on you forever, my lord."

Pete prayed silently, straightened his back, and walked with a more steady gait toward the end of the street.

There, medical officers dispatched by the Red Tide Movement are posting winter health reports.

Death toll: Six.

Pete stopped in his tracks, his gaze lingering on that number.

To the uninformed, this might just seem like a cold, hard record, but to someone who has lived in the North for over a decade, this number is nothing short of a miracle.

In previous years, during the harsh winter, this number was usually at least two hundred people, or even more.

Whenever a blizzard blocked the roads, Hanshaling became an isolated island. The elderly died silently on their cold earthen beds, miners coughed up blood and died in the middle of the night, and children died from fevers because they couldn't afford medicine. At that time, the end of winter was often accompanied by a boom in the coffin business, and funeral processions could stretch from one end of the street to the other.

But this year, there are only six people.

Moreover, Pete knew the names of these six people very well; three were elderly, and the rest were already terminally ill.

None of them froze to death, none of them starved to death, and none of them were abandoned in the snow because they couldn't afford medical treatment.

All of this is thanks to the medical station on the street corner, which displays a red cross alongside the sun flag.

The doctors sent by the Red Tide did not charge consultation fees, and that bitter-tasting cold-preventing medicine was forcibly fed to every weak citizen every day.

"Lord Louis once said that in the territory of the Red Tide, human life is more valuable than gold."

Red Tide has achieved this.

"Mom, look! I have the sun!" A clear child's voice broke the silence of the day.

A group of children, dressed in ill-fitting thick cotton-padded coats, held small wooden windmills in their hands, the blades of which were painted with sun patterns.

They weaved through the crowd, singing a short song composed by the aid team's bards: "The red flag rises, the ice and snow melt, the Lord's grace passes by like a spring breeze..."

Their faces were rosy, no longer the bluish-purple bruises from frostbite.

The adults looked at the children with exceptionally gentle eyes.

Torches soaked in pine resin and ribbons printed with the Red Tide emblem swayed in the wind along both sides of the street.

This is not just a holiday decoration, but a complete act of loyalty.

Everyone here, from the bread vendor with his badge to the grateful miner, and even Pete's upright figure, has become the most solid cornerstone of the Red Tide order in this market filled with red elements.

The wind was still cold, and life was not exactly prosperous, but as long as people saw the ubiquitous red tide sun emblem, their hearts were warmed.

Because they knew that as long as that red flag was still flying, the harsh winter of the Frost Sand Territory was over.

(End of this chapter)