Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 397 Dog

The heavy velvet curtains kept out the howling wind and snow, and the Frostspear City was so quiet that you could almost hear the breathing of the flames.

A faint light flickered in the fireplace, and the dim, yellowish magic lamp divided the room into light and shadow. The only things clearly visible were the high-backed chair and the young lord sitting in the shadows.

Louis was casually dressed in a black silk shirt, the collar slightly open, as if he had just stepped out of the gentle atmosphere of a family dinner.

At his feet lay a young, pure white direwolf, dozing with its eyes half-closed, yet still maintaining the keenest awareness of its surroundings.

Isaac stood quietly in the corner, the boy with his back straight, like a beginner apprentice, his eyes filled with both reverence and nervousness.

Chaotic footsteps came from outside the door.

Then, with a creak, Baron Morcan was led in by his servant.

He was a completely different person from two days ago when he was in the tea room, holding a teacup, chin held high, and saying dismissively, "Louis is just a little kid."

Two sleepless nights, immense fear, and waiting completely overwhelmed him.

His expensive velvet suit, enough to buy a small plot of land, was crumpled, his eyes were dark-rimmed, his hair was a mess as if it had been pulled by the wind, and he was practically pushed in.

That caravan represented nearly a year's worth of produce from the Morkan territory, his only hope for exchanging it for winter provisions.

To make matters worse, he wrote to Graystone Fortress to inquire, only to receive a cold reply: "This matter may be discussed with Earl Red Tide." This made him realize that he had been used as a bargaining chip in a political struggle.

Baron Morkan had barely stepped through the door when he knelt down, his voice trembling, "Your... Your Excellency... please save me..."

Louis looked up and slowly stroked the soft ear tip of the direwolf, who hummed happily.

Morkan mistook this for a sign of impatience, and he quickly crawled forward a step, his voice trembling with tears:

“Ackerman… he doesn’t follow the rules, he doesn’t follow the way of the nobles… sir, I’m willing to pay, that shipment is worth ten thousand gold coins! I, I’m willing to give you thirty percent of the profits, as long as you help me get the goods back!”

Louis's hand suddenly stopped, and the direwolf raised its head, letting out a low, dissatisfied whimper.

Louis sighed softly, his tone as cold as the chill of a northern winter: "Morkan, what have I done to make you disrespect me like this?"

Morkan looked up abruptly, his face filled with confusion and fear.

Louis stood up, put his hands behind his back, and slowly paced in the dim firelight: "If you had been willing to join the Red Tide six months ago... wherever your caravan went, my flag would have been flying. It's not decoration, it's a shield."

He turned back, his gaze sharp as a knife: "But you didn't. You said you didn't need the Red Tide, you said you understood the rules among nobles, you said your connections were enough to make you rolling in money. And what happened?"

Morkan's face turned deathly pale, his lips trembling: "I...I was back then..."

“Now that you’ve lost your cargo and your knight, you remember you still have me, a reliable friend in the North,” Louis sneered. “But you still treat me like a mercenary to negotiate a price with.”

Morkan's voice was hoarse: "My lord, I... I just want to live, I just want my family to live... I don't crave revenge, I only want the goods... I'm willing to pay, I'll pay whatever it takes..."

Louis turned and looked at the flickering flames in the fireplace, his tone as indifferent as stating a fact: "Your cousin's limbs were crushed, and he froze to death buried in the snow. Your knight was cleaved in two. And here you are, kneeling, thinking only of how much your cartload of goods is worth."

You won't even address me as Earl Calvin.

Morkan trembled and finally burst into tears.

But Louis turned back and looked at him again: "But I'm a reasonable man. The Morcan family is, after all, a part of the North."

Upon hearing this, Morkan grasped at a straw: "M-Sir...you're willing to help me?"

“I will give you a letter,” Louis said. “The guard Gray will bring it in half an hour.”

Morkan raised his head, a glimmer of hope appearing in his eyes.

“Take that letter,” Louis continued, “and ride to Greystone Fortress yourself, and hand it to Ackerman in person.”

Morkan looked as if struck by lightning, his face turning deathly pale: "My lord, Ackerman... that madman will kill me!"

“If you send a servant with a message,” Louis said casually, “he would kill you.”

Louis bent down to meet Morcan's gaze, his tone gentle: "If you act humble enough...sincere enough...for my sake, he'll return part of the goods to you."

It's better than losing everything, isn't it?

Morkan trembled all over, but finally kowtowed, his forehead slamming hard against the cold floor tiles: "Yes, Your Excellency! ... For the sake of the family, I will go!"

But deep down, he remained stubborn, even cold.

He didn't kneel out of respect for Louis.

He knelt because he had no other choice, and because Ackerman was more likely than Louis to kill him immediately.

His mind raced. As long as he could get the goods back, he was willing to lose some money. He didn't care about saving face as long as he could protect his family.

As long as Louis is willing to intervene temporarily, Morkan will remain an independent nobleman and will not have to truly grovel at the feet of the Red Tide.

Even though he was so overwhelmed by fear that he could barely breathe, he still gritted his teeth inwardly.

Once he gets through this ordeal, he will never bow down. He will not be a dog of the Red Tide, nor will he truly submit.

When he looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed and his lips were trembling, but a trace of resentment and calculation still lingered in his eyes.

The door slowly closed amidst the sound of Morkan's staggering footsteps.

Isaac finally couldn't hold back any longer: "Brother-in-law... A man like Ackerman won't spit out the meat he's eaten. Sending Morkan... isn't that just sending him to his death?"

Louis picked up his quill and wrote something on the letter paper bearing the Red Tide emblem, his expression calm to the point of indifference: "Isaac, the first thing you need to learn is not to place your hopes on the mercy of the enemy."

I sent Morkan not so he could retrieve the goods.

He stopped writing and let the ink spread slightly in the air.

"Those goods were gone the moment they were stolen."

Isaac was stunned.

Louis looked up, his pupils as deep as the night of a deep winter in the North: "What I really want is a reason."

Then he turned and ordered, "Sarco, go and call Lambert over."

The barbarian boy nodded and went out.

Isaac looked up slightly, seemingly curious but not daring to ask any more questions.

He could sense the atmosphere shifting, from the previous instruction to a silent fighting spirit.

A moment later, Lambert stepped in. His armor was covered in frost from the wind and snow, but he still wore it perfectly.

He stopped half a step in front of Louis, clasped his hands in a salute, and said, "My lord."

Louis asked directly, "How many knights are there in Frostspear City right now?"

Lambert's eyes narrowed, and he immediately understood what Louis meant.

He didn't ask any questions or hesitate: "The Crimson Tide Knights number two thousand one hundred, the Silver Fang Knights six hundred, and the knights who came with the various noble families, totaling about one thousand one hundred."

If all are integrated, 3,700 cavalry can be mobilized; the weapons have also arrived.

Louis smiled slightly, a smile that carried a chilling undertone.

"enough."

The direwolf let out a soft growl, as if it had sensed an approaching storm on the snowfield.

…………

The war room on the top floor of Graystone Fortress.

The huge map of the North on the wall was torn to pieces by red lines, like a dissected beast.

Ackerman stood before the map, his imposing figure resembling an upright brown bear.

His fingers tapped lightly on a parchment scroll, which contained his own handwritten draft of the "Northern Joint Defense Draft."

The firelight illuminated half of his face, making his eyes appear sinister and greedy.

Empire, prince, nobleman... none of these words felt as real to him as the hereditary dukedom. He was not loyal to the second prince; the second prince was merely a stepping stone he could use temporarily.

He is to replace the Duke of Edmund.

All that's missing is a reason to ignite it.

The "requisitioned" goods from Morkan were both bait and a test.

If Louis remains silent, it means the Red Tide is nothing but a paper tiger.

If he dares to step forward... there is reason to accuse him of interfering in military affairs and abusing his power.

Ackerman's lips curled into a cold smile.

Just as I was about to continue examining the map, I heard hurried footsteps at the door.

The atmosphere in the main hall of Graystone Fortress suddenly became tense.

Two soldiers pushed in a trembling man—the Baron of the Morcan family.

Ignoring the frost on the ground, he knelt down at Ackerman's feet with a thud, bending over like a frozen stray dog, yet forcing a smile.

“Commander…it was my men, Morkan, who failed to perform their duties properly and disturbed your army. I am foolish and do not understand the profound meaning behind your military deployment…I have come here to apologize.”

As he spoke, Morkan deliberately lowered his voice, making it soft and insinuating, as if he were imitating the tone of a nobleman pleading for mercy in a southern court, even the end of his sentence carried a flattering connotation.

"I hope Your Excellency will understand... Our small caravan is but a grain of sand in the northern border, insignificant compared to the military might and reputation of your army..."

He quickly climbed forward, took out a bag of gems from his bosom, and held them high with both hands, allowing the gems to reflect the brightest light in the firelight, as if he would be willing to offer his whole body if Ackerman nodded.

"This is just a small gift... please accept it, sir. My brothers work so hard, training day and night, patrolling tirelessly; I have the utmost respect for them. If only that shipment could be... uh..."

"I'm only returning a token amount, not for the money, but so I can have an explanation when I go back... If you ever need anything from me in the future, the entire Morkan family will not dare to slack off!"

His words were full of flattery and obsequiousness, praising Ackerman as if he were half the ruler of the North, repeatedly saying "Your Excellency is wise" and "Your Excellency is renowned," even his tone of voice sounded like he was licking a boot.

Ackerman looked down at the bag of gems on the ground, and his eyebrows twitched slightly.

He was not a person without desires.

This kind of aristocrat, so humble yet so adept at flattery, certainly suited his taste.

If Morkan had been a little smarter and more careful normally, perhaps Ackerman would have given him a few empty words to brush him off.

After all, keeping such a talkative fat sheep is more profitable than killing it.

However, this time he wasn't after such a small, petty gain.

"The previous goods... if you could return 20%... no, no, sir, 10% would be enough! I would be satisfied! In the future, I will definitely praise you as the true guardian of the North..." But Morkan was unaware of Ackerman's true purpose and continued to chatter on.

Ackerman kicked the bag of jewels away, sending it crashing into a stone pillar. The jewels scattered and tumbled about with a clattering sound.

“Misunderstanding?” Ackerman looked down at him, his tone as sharp as a clash of iron. “Are you implying that I stole something from you?”

Morkan broke out in a cold sweat, slumped lower, and almost buried his head in the ground: "No, no, no! Absolutely not! It's requisition! It's an honor! I... I came to ask you for guidance, sir..."

Ackerman waved his hand impatiently, ready to have the soldiers drag the eyesore out.

Morkan hastily drew his last card, his voice almost trembling, yet he tried his best to maintain the proper tone befitting a nobleman:
"Lord Ackerman... Lord Louis Calvin, the Lord of the Crimson Tide, has entrusted me to deliver a personal letter to you. If you are willing to take a look, you will understand its profound meaning."

Ackerman's eyebrows twitched slightly. It seemed Louis wasn't so stupid after all.

The envelope was torn open, and he began to read it word by word.

The flickering firelight from the fireplace fell on his increasingly somber face.

Ackerman scanned the first line, and the veins on his forehead bulged immediately.

"To the 17th Army Corps—Ackerman, acting commander."

The person in charge is neither "the Legion Commander" nor "Your Excellency".

It was a temporary title, rarely used even in imperial official documents, and carried a derogatory connotation.

Ackerman's chuckle was low and dangerous.

He continued reading, and almost every sentence in the letter touched upon the line of humiliation that the nobility could not tolerate:
"I am shocked to learn that your men have recently acted strangely, like uncivilized wild dogs in the wilderness, even robbing noble caravans and tarnishing the honor of the Imperial Army."

This act constitutes treason. Considering your humble origins and lack of manners, I have specially dispatched Baron Morcan to teach you the proper etiquette.

"Return all supplies within three days and kneel in Frostspear City to receive thirty lashes. In that case, I might consider not impeaching you at the Dragon Throne Meeting."

The signature reads as if asserting some kind of dominance: Earl of the Red Tide, Acting Governor of the North—Louis Calvin

The room was deathly silent as I read the letter.

Suddenly Ackerman burst into laughter, his laughter rough and wild, like chains scraping against the ground: "Hahahaha... Louis! Louis! You genius!"

He laughed until tears streamed down his face, but his smile concealed a fierce killing intent.

Seeing him laugh, Morkan thought things had taken a turn for the better and quickly chuckled awkwardly, "The Legion Commander is right, Lord Louis's words are always... very reasonable... So, my goods..."

The laughter stopped abruptly.

Ackerman's eyes instantly turned icy cold: "Teach me manners? You're using this letter to humiliate me?"

"W-what...?" Morkan's face turned pale, and he didn't have time to react.

Ackerman drew his sword with lightning speed.

A flash of cold light, and blood splattered onto the "Northern Joint Defense Draft".

Morkan's head rolled to the ground, his face still bearing a fawning smile, as if he were still hoping for a non-existent pity before he died.

Ackerman looked at the bewildered head and said in a low voice, "This is the sincerity you've shown me."

He kicked the head away with a sudden thud: "Very well, I accept it. Use your life to begin my path to becoming a duke."

…………

Ackerman, carrying a bloodstained sword, strode out of the secret chamber.

The outer room was crowded with his trusted officers.

Upon seeing the bloodstains on his body, they all held their breath.

Ackerman slammed the letter on the table, the sound like a war drum exploding:

"Look carefully, everyone! Lord Louis Calvin of the Crimson Tide is colluding with smugglers, threatening the Imperial garrison, and attempting to divide the Northern Territory! This is a provocation against the Empire, a provocation against all our legions!"

The trusted officers exchanged glances, none daring to question him, but all understood Ackerman's intentions.

Ackerman raised his sword, the blood reflecting off his face, making him look both mad and excited: "This letter is his declaration of war! It's also our ticket to leap into the circle of nobles!"
Immediately send messages to Iron Wall Sol of the 14th Army and Mad Dog Bart of the 7th Army! Tell them... Louis has made his move!
Let them choose for themselves: whether to continue being watchdogs or come and share in this feast!

The officers were filled with excitement and readily accepted the order.

In the end, only Ackerman was left standing by the window.

The wind and snow lashed against the thick glass, like whispers from afar.

He looked up to the north, to Frostspear City, where all the nobles of the North were gathered.

Their eyes burned with the light of a predator.

"A golden opportunity! Once I take Frostspear City, I'll wipe out all those nobles holding that meeting... Heh..."

"No matter who becomes emperor in the capital, they will all have to beg me to grant them a hereditary dukedom!"

Behind them, two soldiers dragged Morkan's headless corpse across the ground, leaving a bloody trail that stretched like a crimson road toward Frostspear City.

(End of this chapter)