Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 430 May the Sun Shine on the Limestone
The Black Iron Council Hall was incredibly crowded, with five hundred hardwood chairs crammed together, and you had to look at the expression on the face of the person next to you before you could even turn your shoulder.

The side door was then pushed open.

Sunlight streamed in through the crack in the door, and Louis walked onto the podium, facing the rising dawn outside the window.

He wore a dark cloak, without gilding or any extraneous decorations, with only a simple badge fastened at the collar.

The morning light fell on his shoulder line, clearly outlining his entire silhouette.

The scattered sounds in the council chamber naturally subsided.

Louis stopped, his gaze sweeping across the audience. Five hundred faces, almost pressed together, some young, some weary, some with sharp eyes, and some still adjusting...

He looked around, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "It's good for everyone to squeeze in. That's how we huddled together for warmth during the first blizzard in the North."

As soon as the words were spoken, several people in the front row subconsciously moved their shoulders, as if those words had brought back their memories.

“A few years ago, the North was a no-man’s land,” Louis continued, without deliberately raising his voice. “The wind would blow people down, and the snow would bury corpses. But now there are factories spewing steam, blazing-hot underfloor heating, and schools where children can study.”

He paused here, letting the image take shape naturally in everyone's minds.

“Some people say it’s a miracle brought by Louis.” He shook his head. “No, they’re wrong. Uh, it’s a miracle of the red tide.”

The hall fell silent for a moment after the voice faded.

“This honor belongs to me, to this flag.” Louis pointed to the emblem behind him, “but even more so… to each and every one of you here, to every drop of sweat you have shed.”

Pete felt a warmth in his chest and instinctively straightened his back.

The people around them, who had been leaning back in their chairs, sat up straight and their eyes lit up.

Even the most exhausted group can hardly deny that their efforts over the years have not been in vain.

Louis didn't let this emotion fester for too long.

He changed the subject, his tone softening: "However, I've heard that the people of Grayrock Province are sympathetic to us."

Some people in the audience were stunned for a moment.

"They said, poor Northmen, living in the ice and snow, must be gnawing on tree bark every day."

No sooner had he finished speaking than several suppressed laughs broke out.

Louis didn't stop him, but just smiled slightly: "Tell me, is the winter cold in the Red Tide region?"

This sentence is like opening the floodgates completely.

A burst of neat and confident laughter filled the hall.

"Cold?" The representative from the Craftsmen's Bureau stood up halfway and shouted, "Sir, our heating is too hot, we have to open the windows at night!"

"Gnawing on tree bark?" another official chimed in, laughing so hard he slapped his knee. "We're tired of eating meat!"

The laughter rose in waves, seemingly unintentionally coordinated, yet remarkably synchronized.

The former noble officials sitting against the wall exchanged a subtle glance.

The laughter felt like a direct slap in their faces, burning them.

The desolate land they remembered was actually richer than the province they were so proud of.
The sense of superiority that had been built up since childhood was crushed in this moment.

As Pete listened, his previously tense shoulders relaxed without him even noticing.

He noticed that the expressions of many of the Red Tide officials around him had softened from tense.

That laughter contained both nostalgia for those difficult years and a sense of pride that no longer needed to prove anything.

As the laughter subsided, the smile on Louis's face also faded.

He stood on the podium, with the morning light still streaming in through the high window behind him, but his tone had clearly become more subdued, carrying a hint of restrained compassion.

“But is this funny?” He paused, his gaze falling on the faces deep in the hall that were not yet fully relaxed. “No. It’s actually quite sad.”

The council chamber fell silent again.

"While we are enjoying heating and hot meals in the North, hundreds of thousands of people in the Limestone Province are waiting to die in the mines."

Louis's voice wasn't loud, but it was firm and resolute. "They're not lazy or stupid; they've just been told from birth that the world is inherently dark, that hunger is God's will, and that surviving is luck."

He didn't raise his voice, but made sure every word fell clearly: "This arrogance and ignorance is the real winter."

A brief silence filled the hall.

Louis stepped forward and extended his hand to the audience.

“We are not here to conquer a piece of land, nor to seize a few stones.” His gaze swept across the faces of the rows of Red Tide officials. “We are here to bring the Red Tide’s sun to this dark land.”

We must tell the people of Graystone that although winter is cold, life can be warm; although fate is cruel, people can live with dignity.

He stopped there and didn't elaborate further.

"This is the mission of the Red Tide!"

No one spoke in the hall.

The emotions that were just now burning were weighed down by these few words, becoming something heavier and settling in everyone's heart.

Louis quickly regained his composure, preventing the atmosphere from deteriorating further.

"Of course, saving lives cannot be done with hot blood." His tone changed, and he became calm again. "Everyone here has been tempered in the snow and wind of the North."

He nodded, as if confirming a certain fact.

"You must adapt to local conditions and know how to turn wasteland into food and how to turn stones into fortresses."

Upon hearing this, many people instinctively straightened their backs.

"It will be tiring and difficult." But I promise that Red Tide will never let down every fighter.

The achievements you make here will directly determine your future.

Whether you desire a title, wealth, or a place in history, the Graystone Province is your ladder.

This time, no one laughed, but Pete felt something slowly closing in his chest.

It was no longer just about repaying a debt of gratitude, nor simply about personal loyalty to Louis, but a sense of responsibility that had been given direction.

He suddenly realized that he was not only saving compatriots he had never met, but also climbing a path that belonged only to him.

No one gave the order.

Chief Steward Green of the Grayrock Province was the first to stand up and bow: "May the sun shine on Grayrock!"

Then came Pitt, and then many more.

Three hundred Red Tide officials rose at almost the same time, their movements not synchronized, but unusually resolute.

Everyone bowed: "May the sun shine on the gray rocks!"

The roar exploded under the dome, causing the crystal chandelier to tremble slightly.

Louis stood in the morning light and nodded slightly to the crowd.

At this moment, he was like a statue draped in light, yet without any sense of superiority.

After the meeting ended, the door was reopened.

A cold wind blew into the hall, and Pete strode out.

In the square outside the gate, a number of ordinary people from the gray rock were gathered, their clothes tattered and their eyes numb.

They didn't know what was happening inside; they just instinctively looked at the group of people in dark uniforms.

Pete paused for a moment, looking at them, a warm, unprecedented impulse rising within him.

Just wait, we've brought the sun with us.

…………

The heavy oak door closed behind us, the hinges making a deep, muffled sound that completely shut out the clamor of the five hundred people outside.

The meeting room fell silent, with only the crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace remaining.

Unlike the crowded large conference hall, this is a small conference hall.

A long, narrow black walnut conference table sat quietly in the center.

Louis sat in the first seat, and Green was in the first seat to his left.

This Greyrock Chief Steward was once just a knight and served as the steward of Wheat Wave Territory, but now he sits here, representing the highest authority of the Red Tide administrative system in Greyrock Province.

His back was ramrod straight, but his hands were unconsciously clasped together, and there was no tense expression on his face.

There were more than a dozen people sitting on either side of the conference table.

These people were all from the Red Tide headquarters, core officials and technical leaders transferred from thousands of miles away, and they had just sat in the first two rows of the conference hall.

Each and every one of them is someone whose abilities have been repeatedly proven in the North.

Green took a deep breath and slowly pushed a black ledger with a worn-out cover to the center of the table.

“Lord Louis,” he said in a low voice, “the situation is worse than we anticipated.”

He paused, as if searching for the right word.

“This isn’t a mess,” Green finally said. “It’s a graveyard.”

The ledger was opened; the edges of the pages were yellowed and curled, but the writing on them was dense and intricate.

"To raise funds for the attack on the capital, Raymond sold off all the province's registrable iron ore reserves." Green turned the pages, his tone gradually turning cold. "Not enough, he also emptied the province's treasury to buy the support of several other legion commanders."

To gather provisions for the army, he forcibly collected several years' worth of taxes from the people; he even ordered the melting down of farmers' plows and iron pots to procure equipment.

At the conference table, someone unconsciously clenched their fist.

“A large number of young and middle-aged men have been conscripted into the army,” Green continued. “Now, what’s left in the province are either the old, the weak, the sick, or expendable resources locked in the mines.”

He closed the ledger, and his voice trailed off.

“To put it simply,” Green looked up at Louis, “in the current Gray Rock province, you can’t even keep a single rat alive in the warehouses, and you can’t find a single nail in the blacksmith’s shop. Feeding these hundreds of thousands of people and getting production back on track is an impossible task.”

Louis didn't bother to look into that account: "A mess is a mess because the previous owner was incompetent."

His gaze swept across both sides of the conference table. "That's why I called all of you professionals here. Please share your thoughts."

The Director of the Mines Department, Valentine, spoke first.

This was an old craftsman who had spent his entire life working in the mines; his hands were as rough as two rocks. He had clearly thought about the limestone mines countless times in his mind.

“I’ve been down in several main mines.” He spoke frankly, without any embellishment. “The conditions were far worse than in the North. There was almost no ventilation, and drainage was all done by hand.”

He paused here, as if he remembered something, and the corners of his mouth unconsciously turned up.

“Of course,” he added, “there’s nowhere in the world that’s truly more advanced than the mines in the North.” A few soft chuckles rippled through the conference room.

Valentine quickly composed himself and became serious again.

“But the problem isn’t with the vein.” He looked up at Louis. “I’ve examined it carefully. The limestone vein has a good orientation and neat strata. If we were to mine it according to the Northern system, the scale could even be larger than that of the North.”

He stretched out two short, stubby fingers and tapped them on the table: "Only two things are missing: ventilation and drainage."

“Trouble or motivation?” Valentine frowned. “Large steam engines, such as stone crushers and water pumps, simply don’t have suitable fuel here. If we use Qi vein stones, we can only transport them from the North, which is prohibitively expensive and simply cannot sustain long-term operation.”

Before Louis could even speak, Director Mike of the Craftsmen's Office had already stood up.

He got up quickly, as if afraid that someone would steal his idea. He walked to the map in a few steps and tapped his rough fingers heavily on the glacier that ran through the city.

"That's none of Lord Louis's concern."

His tone carried the confidence unique to craftsmen, and even a hint of excitement.

“There’s no fuel here that a steam engine can use,” Mike said, “but this river is a raging beast.”

He pulled a charcoal pencil from his pocket and quickly sketched on the drawing.

“I’ve calculated the flow rate, and it’s more than enough to drive a three-stage water turbine system. This is something new that the Craftsmen’s Office researched two years ago.”

As the pen touches the paper, the structure quickly takes shape.

"The first stage drives the giant bellows to force air into the mine, solving the ventilation problem."

The second stage activates a chain winch to pull up the accumulated water and ore together, solving both drainage and ore extraction simultaneously.

He paused for a moment, then drew a heavy line at the bottom of the drawing: "Level three can make hydraulic forging hammers."

There was a brief silence in the conference room.

Louis looked at the rapidly forming sketch and asked, "Will this work?"

“I’ve tried it in the North.” Mike nodded without hesitation. “It’s just that the current there isn’t strong enough. Many times, it just doesn’t have enough force.”

He looked up at the glacier on the map, his eyes shining.

“The limestone is different. If this river is tamed properly, it will be more useful than ten steam engines.”

Louis remained silent for a moment, without asking for further details.

These specific structures, torques, and transmission ratios were outside his area of ​​knowledge.

But he was well aware of one thing: Red Tide now gathers the world’s most creative and daring artisans.

To allow these people to try new things without any reservations, he invested a great deal of money, resources, and institutional costs...

So Louis simply nodded, his tone calm and resolute: "Then let's give it a try."

When it was the turn of Agriculture Commissioner Mick, he simply poured a bag of freshly sampled black soil onto the tray on the table.

The black soil particles scattered, carrying a damp and pungent sour smell.

"This land is unsuitable for farming."

Mick's voice was low but firm: "The soil is thin, highly acidic, and receives little sunshine. I've compared the data; if we force ourselves to plant those things from the North, the yield per acre won't even cover the cost of the seeds."

He paused, then added a more realistic assessment: "Relying on the northern border for grain transport is also not feasible; once heavy snow blocks the roads, we're doomed."

Louis did not look at the plate of dirt.

He walked to the huge map on the wall, his gaze sweeping across the entire province before finally settling on a region in the south.

His tone was not harsh, but it cut off any further pessimism: "Go and see the Black Valley Basin."

Mick paused for a moment, then subconsciously looked up.

“The soil there is acidic, but rich in humus, and sheltered from the wind,” Louis continued, as if stating a fact that had already been confirmed. “High acidity is not a defect, but a condition that can be utilized.”

He pointed to the map and said, "I'll have Hilko send you a batch of new type of carat powder. First, neutralize it, then improve it. Don't rush to conclusions. Try it on several plots of land."

Louis quickly steered the conversation to a more practical level: "As for sunlight and temperature, there's no geothermal energy here..."

He picked up a charcoal pencil and quickly sketched a familiar structure on the drawing paper.

“Replicate the three types of glass greenhouses in the North, use steam heating, and simplify the structure to prioritize stability.”

Louis paused, offering no false assurances: "This plan won't be able to support everyone."

"But with the mushrooms that can be grown in the mine, at least everyone can have a hot bowl of potato and mushroom stew every day."

"For the remaining shortfall, we'll import more from the North, and then gradually find ways to restore the soil or develop new planting methods."

Mick didn't ask any more questions. He glanced down at the bag of black soil, then neatly tied the bag shut and put it back in his arms.

“Since the adults say it’s okay,” he raised his head without the slightest hesitation, “then something will definitely grow in that field.”

Then, Mike from the Craftsmen's Office scratched his chin and tapped his knuckles on the table, making a dull sound.

"The food problem can be solved, but the housing problem remains." He said bluntly, "Building greenhouses, factories, and roads all require building materials."

The limestone province has plenty of stone, but quarrying, polishing, and transporting it are all incredibly slow. At the current pace, the first batch of workers' dormitories won't be completed until next year.

Louis walked to the map, his gaze sweeping over the town and mining area, landing on the area to the west marked as wasteland: "Red Slope."

As those three words fell, Mike subconsciously looked up.

Louis looked up at him, his tone as calm as if he were recounting something utterly ordinary.

"There's a dark red clay down there. Dig it out, grind it into powder along with the limestone that's everywhere, and then put it in the furnace to burn."

Some people around the conference table frowned, while others subconsciously flipped through maps.

“This isn’t brick, nor is it pottery,” Louis continued. “It’s a special kind of hydraulic mortar. When water is added, it hardens on its own, and it’s stronger than stone even when soaked in water.”

Mike stood there, stunned, his eyes widening in an instant.

He had worked as a craftsman his whole life, seen steel and alchemical alloys, but he had never heard of this special kind of clay that, when fired, could be harder than stone.

But looking at Louis's expression, that familiar certainty reappeared.

Within the Red Tide, this is no longer a secret.

Lord Louis sometimes seems to know the answer in advance, pointing directly to the result.

No one knows the reason, and no one will ask. All that is known is that these judgments will eventually be verified by the facts.

Mike didn't respond immediately. He stared at the marked red soil slope, then looked down at the still-dry charcoal lines on the sketch, as if mentally recalculating all the possible mistakes.

Then he looked up at Louis. “One month, give me one month, and I’ll bring the alchemy team and get the formula right.”

“If this stuff is really as hard as you say,” he grinned, his voice brimming with barely suppressed excitement, “I’ll personally pave the roads of the Gray Rock Province for you.”

Mike sat down, and Sergeant from the Department of Health finally looked up.

She closed the notebook, tapping her fingertip on the cover as if confirming something: "I'm full, but I still have to live."

Her tone was calm to the point of being stern, without any emotional fluctuations, yet it made people instinctively take her seriously.

“The sanitation here is catastrophic,” Cyril continued. “Dead rats, open latrines, coal dust everywhere. If this isn’t dealt with, half the workers at Lord Mike’s factory will be sick with diarrhea within three days of it starting operations.”

"I don't need any high technology; I want to implement the 'Mandatory Sanitation Law' that existed before the red tide."

A public bathhouse was built, using the waste heat from the steelmaking furnace to heat the water. All workers were required to shower after work, or they would have their work points deducted.

Form a rat extermination team; one rat for one egg.

No one laughed at the conference table.

“Granted.” Louis nodded, his tone unwavering. “Ceril, your authority here is equivalent to that of the Inspectorate. Anyone who dares to dump garbage into the river, anyone who dares to set up a latrine, you arrest them.”

Green then chimed in, "Then I'll take care of compiling the list."

These hundreds of thousands of people were pulled from the estates and mines of the old aristocracy and incorporated into factories and farms. Each person was issued a "red tide ID card," which served as proof of their ability to receive food, bathe, and work.

The problem doesn't end there.

Someone mentioned that mineral transportation could be brought to a standstill by a single blizzard.

Some people mentioned the security situation, saying that the deserters and miners had mixed together and were starting to loot food.

……

The problems were presented one by one, without complaints or shirking responsibility, simply laid out calmly on the table.

Louis didn't interrupt; he let everyone finish speaking before taking over one by one.

The transportation lines were split up, with heavy goods transported by water and light goods by land, prioritizing grain transport before mining.

Security was jointly taken over by the Knights and the Mining Bureau. Defeated soldiers were incorporated into the local forces, and those who disobeyed were directly expelled from the mining area.

……

These decisions were not sophisticated, but they were pragmatic enough.

When the last question was refuted, no one spoke at the table anymore.

Louis stood up and looked at the elites who had already found their seats at the table: "If there are no problems, then go for it. Plant the Red Tide flag in every territory."

No unnecessary nonsense.

The group began to organize their blueprints and notes, their solemn expressions replaced by a focused eagerness—the kind of expression only experts show when facing highly challenging projects.

The meeting ended, the heavy oak door reopened, and then closed behind us again.

The strategic meeting room quickly fell silent, leaving only the slowly settling dust in the air.

Except Green didn't leave immediately.

He carefully organized the drawings on the table one by one, and then meticulously put the heavy black ledger into his briefcase. His movements were tired, but he was exceptionally serious.

Louis walked to Green's side and, just like back in Wheatfield, personally poured him a glass of water and handed it to him: "From a knight to a provincial governor who controls the lives and deaths of hundreds of thousands of people. Is that a big leap? Are you afraid?"

Green took the water and gave a wry smile: "I was scared. My hands were shaking when I was flipping through the ledgers last night. I've never been this scared, not even when facing the Cavaliers' charge."

He raised his head, his eyes unusually clear.

“But I remember you said something on the snowy plains of the North: ‘Roads are made by people walking.’ As long as you point out the direction, I will pave the road even if I have to kneel down.”

Louis reached out and patted his slightly hunched shoulder: "Go ahead and manage it. In this province, you don't need to bow to anyone except the Red Tide Code."

Green took a deep breath, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes slowly smoothed out.

That fear vanished, replaced by the composure befitting a high-ranking official.

He took a step back, bowed deeply, and performed a standard knightly salute: "I will not fail you, Lord Louis."

(End of this chapter)