Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 392 The Art of Negotiation

The wind and snow pounded against the dome of the Tulou castle, the sound deep and resonant.

Only the wall lamp was on in the study, and the air was filled with the steam of black tea.

Louis leaned back in his semi-circular chair, flipping through the latest issue of the Red Tide Daily.

The coarse pulp paper still had a slight wood shaving smell, the layout was neat, and the handwriting was clear.

Although the paper quality wasn't great, it was clear that the editorial team had put in a lot of effort.

Since the Red Tide Movement popularized literacy education and night schools, the number of people who can read has increased rapidly.

Louis then had the Education Department try publishing a newspaper, incorporating local news and simple stories.

The paper was rough, but it was enough to allow ordinary people to access the latest information about the North, the Empire, and the world.

Although newspapers circulated among the nobility in the Emerald Federation and the Empire, the literacy rate was extremely low, and ordinary people would never see them in their entire lives.

Red Tide was the first time in the world that written language was brought to the grassroots level.

Louis promoted literacy not for self-cultivation, but for future productivity.

He knew that while illiterate people might be able to work, they wouldn't be able to understand the procedures, recognize the symbols, or complete the processes according to the blueprints in the workshop.

In the Red Tide, only those who can read and write can become craftsmen, recorders, junior officials, or sergeants.

Literacy is the first hurdle to overcome when entering the Red Tide system.

If Red Tide wants to expand, build, and unify the northern border in the future, it must first enable the lower classes to have literacy skills.

Only those who can understand the rules will be willing to abide by them, and only those who can comprehend the system will actively uphold it.

There was a knock on the door.

Bradley pushed open the door, carrying several documents: "Sir, the main structure of the new castle is stable and will be completed next spring."

Louis didn't even look up: "Emily and the others went again today?"

“I just went there this afternoon.” Bradley smiled slightly. “They care about that new castle more than you do.”

Louis put down the newspaper, looked up and asked, "What has that envoy from the capital, Sorel, been doing these past few days?"

This was the first time Louis had asked about it since Sorel arrived more than ten days ago.

Bradley reported truthfully: "He spent his days wandering around the city. He spent the most time in the asylum and the administrative hall. On the seventh night, he sent two high-ranking knights to try to approach the East District."

Louis raised an eyebrow: "Can we get closer?"

“No,” Bradley said calmly. “He was stopped by the patrol before he even touched the second fence. He behaved himself after that.”

Louis smiled gently.

“But from that day on, he began bribing the waitresses and cooks at the reception with gold coins,” Bradley continued, “not to spy on military matters, but to find out your preferences, what kind of wine you like, what kind of food you prefer, or… what kind of woman you are.”

Louis rubbed his forehead, as if amused: "You're working pretty hard."

“I had the maid make something up,” Bradley said casually.

Louis laughed and said, "No problem, it's good for them to earn some extra money. It seems he's planning to take the ingratiating route."

He stood up, picked up his black tea, and paused by the window for a while.

Outside the window, the wind and snow were heavy, casting a hazy glow on the castle lights.

“Almost done.” Louis paused. “Go tell him that I just returned through the snowstorm. Although I’m exhausted, out of respect for the Second Prince, I’m willing to see him immediately. Give him twenty minutes to prepare.”

“Yes, sir.” Bradley acknowledged the order and left.

The study returned to silence, and Louis continued to look down at the newspaper on the table.

In fact, he never left the Crimson Tide Territory.

The reason for not meeting Sorel was simple: to let him stay in the city for a few more days and see the true nature of the red tide firsthand.

And the gift he was waiting for was ready.

…………

The lord's mansion, the main conference room.

The furnishings here are simple, almost rudimentary for a lord of the North, except for the huge map of the North on the wall that stands out.

Louis Calvin pushed open the heavy oak door and strode in.

He wasn't wearing the aristocratic attire Sorel had expected, nor was he draped in armor symbolizing military power; he was simply wearing a plain, heavy dark gray overcoat.

A chilling aura swept into the warm hall with his steps, instantly dispelling the sweet, cloying southern incense in the air.

"Sir Thorell! I'm sorry to have kept you waiting!"

Louis's voice was cheerful and enthusiastic. He did not go to the head seat, but walked quickly to Sorel and shook his hand.

"The snow outside is too heavy, and there's been a slight mishap on the glacial route, so I can't leave. I hope Bradley hasn't neglected you?"

Louis's smile was as bright as that of a guileless young man next door, and his eyes were full of sincere apology.

Sorel was momentarily stunned by this sudden enthusiasm.

Over the past ten days, he witnessed the stifling throughput of the industrial zone, the refugee conversion line in the containment area that was like a precision instrument, and the extravagance of the extraordinary knight guarding the gate.

In his imagination, the master of the Red Tide should be a sinister, cold-blooded tyrant who exudes terrifying pressure.

But the young man in front of me, apart from being somewhat handsome, was too... ordinary.

However, it was precisely this stark contrast that gave Sorel a chill that went deep into his bones.

If a tiger roars at you, you at least know it wants to eat you.

But if a tiger smiles at you like a human and affectionately puts its arm around your shoulder, you'll never know what it's up to.

"No, no, I dare not." Sorel quickly withdrew his hand and bowed deeply. "It is my honor to meet you, Your Excellency."

“That’s good.” Louis casually pulled out a chair and sat down, gesturing to the person opposite him. “Sit down, don’t be shy. We Northerners don’t care about formalities.”

Sorel carefully sat in the spot Louis had indicated, only daring to sit halfway up, his back ramrod straight.

The strategy he had devised beforehand had been rehearsed countless times, and now it was finally time to put it into practice.

“Your Excellency Louis.” He opened the gold-inlaid velvet box he carried with him and presented it with both hands; inside was probably a letter from the Second Prince.

"His Highness has heard of your achievements in the Northern Territory. His Highness believes that an ordinary earl title is no longer worthy of your status."

Louis raised an eyebrow, picked up his teacup, and casually replied, "Oh? Then what does Your Highness think I should be?"

Sorel stared into his eyes and slowly uttered the title that was enough to shake up the empire: "Grand Duke of the North... the former title of Duke Edmund."

He stared at Louis, waiting for the other to reveal an expression of ignited ambition.

“Once Your Highness ascends the throne, your rule over the North will be officially recognized. You will become the irreplaceable Northern Guardian of the Empire, and the five-year-old Edmund will naturally no longer be able to influence your right to inherit this land.”

This is a carefully orchestrated scheme to flatter someone and then kill them.

If Louis agrees, he will immediately become the common enemy of the old nobles of the empire and be dragged into the quagmire of the capital's politics.

To maintain the Grand Duke's dignity, the only option is to continuously deplete the power of the Red Tide.

Louis put down his teacup, glanced at the roll of sheepskin, his expression as calm as if he were assessing ordinary supplies: "That certainly sounds impressive. So... what do I need to give up for this honor? To fight for His Highness in the north and south?"

“No, we don’t need your troops.” Sorel immediately seized the opportunity, his tone becoming even more humble. Sorel could tell that Louis hadn’t refused immediately, which was the signal he most wanted.

So he began his next line of dialogue: "His Highness only hopes that you will become a stable cornerstone of the empire. To show his sincerity, the Second Prince can persuade the Raymond family to open three core trade routes in the south to the Red Tide."

This time, Sorel's tone was gentler than before, as if he were patiently coaxing a young lord: "Red Tide's ores, glass, iron products, and tools can all enter the southern market duty-free."

We are also willing to provide Red Tide with a stable supply of high-quality southern goods such as spices, silk, and sugar at cost price.

He described it as if he were describing a risk-free, win-win collaboration: "Red Tide only needs to continuously transport goods down from the North, and the southern trade routes will naturally open up for you."

However, their words concealed a sharp hook, making the Red Tide accustomed to goods from the south and its workshops accustomed to exporting minerals and semi-finished products.

Once this dependence is established, if the Raymond family tightens trade routes even slightly in the future, the entire Red Tide industrial chain will be strangled, just like what the Calvin Chamber of Commerce did to Louis.

Sorel added, as if to deliver a fatal blow: "Duke Calvin... your own father, seems to have been trying to block the flow of Red Tide's goods, hasn't he? We are willing to dismantle the barriers he has erected for you, so that Red Tide can truly reach the Empire."

These words are like a fine needle, gently pricking the wound.

This implies both the Duke of Calvin's hostility and the Red Tide's dependence on external markets.

But once Red Tide embarks on this path, it will slowly become a vassal of the Raymond family.

Louis remained silent, only tapping the armrest lightly with his fingertips, as if waiting for him to finish speaking.

Sorel gritted his teeth and threw out the final trap.

"Your Excellency..." His tone became humble, as if he were worried for the other party, "If I may be frank, the Red Tide has strength and an army, but it lacks the foundation to match its status."

He slowly explained, “Your officials are very capable, but they are too much like craftsmen. They know nothing about heraldry, aristocratic etiquette, or how to host a ball appropriate to your status. This will make those conservative nobles in the south look down on you.”

Then he gently pushed forward the prepared list: "His Highness the Second Prince is willing to dispatch a hundred-person advisory group free of charge, including a law doctor from the Royal Academy, a master of ceremonies, a gardener, a musician, a royal chef..."

"They will help Red Tide establish a true court system, so that Red Tide is no longer just a military camp, but a royal court that the empire can recognize."

After he finished speaking, Sorel held his breath.

This is his most proficient tactic in the capital: give you status, bind you with ambition; give you business opportunities, trap you with profits; give you etiquette, erode you with culture.

If Louis accepts this advisory group, Red Tide's administrative efficiency will be slowed down by etiquette and red tape, and the knights will be corrupted by extravagance.

In five years, within five years, this roaring steel behemoth will have its teeth dulled and will become a dancing cat.

Sorel waited for Louis to show even a moment's hesitation.

He knew in his heart that Louis most likely wouldn't agree.

But if there is even the slightest sign of weakness, he can steer the negotiations in a direction that is favorable to him.

However, Louis's answer completely surprised him.

Louis raised his head, his expression calm: "Sir Sorel, I have a question for you."

Sorel immediately sat up straight: "Please speak, Your Excellency."

"Are you here representing the Second Prince?"

“Of course,” Sorel replied immediately, “I am naturally representing His Highness.”

Louis shook his head slightly: "What I mean is..."

He paused, his tone still gentle, yet sharp as a blade cutting through the air: "Are you here representing the Second Prince? Or... Duke Raymond?"

Sorel's breath hitched, and his heart felt as if it were being gripped by an invisible hand.

Because of this, no one should know.

Apart from his own relationship with the Duke of Raymond, this genuine bond of loyalty never appeared in any documents, any secret letters, or any talks.

The discerning nobles in the capital all believed he was the Second Prince's man, and the Second Prince never doubted it.

This was an identity buried deep in the shadows, unknown even to his accompanying knights.

Logically, a young lord far away in the north would never dare to call out such a thing.

But Louis, with just a casual remark, saw right through him, as if he were being ripped apart from the bone.

"Just guessing, right?" he consoled himself.

But fear still instantly surged up my spine, like being suddenly seen in the dark.

Louis, however, did not stop. He continued along a path he already knew, his tone even carrying a hint of concern:
"You're working so hard for the Duke because of your child who's recuperating at the monastery, aren't you?"

That little girl named Ellie… her Greyscale disease has progressed to stage two, hasn't it? The Duke promised you a rare alchemical potion in return.”

Sorel's breath was instantly choked.

He froze in his chair, as if all his strength had been drained from him.

why?
How could he know?
Sorel didn't even know which part of his current fear came from.

Was it because the secret was discovered?

Or was it because Louis's tone was too calm, as if he had already investigated everything clearly, yet he showed no hostility?
Sorel looked at Louis's young face as if he were seeing a giant eye lurking in the darkness.

This man is not a remote lord; he is the devil.

Not only did they know about Duke Raymond's private accounts, but they also held his most secret and most vulnerable points in their hands.

Ellie was his only child and everything his deceased wife left him.

He would rather die than let anyone get close to him, let alone let outsiders know.

In the presence of this young nobleman, he was completely transparent.

Moreover, Louis's tone wasn't threatening. Louis was concerned about him.

Louis did not press the issue; he simply pulled open the drawer and took out a slender glass bottle.

The bottle is light green, and the mouth is sealed with silver wax. The liquid inside fluoresces slightly under the light.

Louis placed the bottle on the table and pushed it in front of Sorel.

"The medicine the Duke gave you can only suppress the symptoms," he said calmly. "It can't cure her. You also know that the so-called rare medicine has no effect on the second stage of gray scale disease. This is a medicine developed by Red Tide that can cure this gray scale disease within ten years."

Sorel stared at the vial of medicine, his pupils contracting slightly, as if he couldn't believe it.

In fact, this formula was not deduced out of thin air by the Red Tide.

Louis learned of Sorel's daughter's illness from the daily intelligence a month ago, the moment Sorel stepped into the North, and also learned the exact location of the remote monastery where she had been placed.

This potion was originally developed under the leadership of Master Merian of the Emerald Federation. As long as the materials are complete, it is only a matter of time before it is fully restored.

Moreover, this pale green potion was prepared specifically for this moment.

Louis gently pushed the potion closer: "This isn't a deal, it's a gift. You can take it and try it out. If it works... we can discuss the terms later. I have some more here, enough to cure your daughter."

Sorel's Adam's apple bobbed, and he felt as if something heavy was pressing down on his chest.

All his assets—his title, trade routes, etiquette system, and political bait—were worthless in the face of this tiny potion.

His lips trembled slightly, and he finally reached out his hand, but stopped before touching the bottle.

At that moment, his defenses completely collapsed.

(End of this chapter)