Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 435 Headhunting Operation
Sixty miles north of the capital, there is an abandoned mill.

The night was dark and the wind blew from the edge of the wasteland, carrying the scent of snow and hay, stinging my face.

The mill's wooden wing had long since broken, leaving only a shadowy shaft swaying slightly in the wind.

When Varius was brought here by the mysterious man, the first thing he saw was a group of carriages.

They were scattered around the mill, their ruts crisscrossing the frozen ground like a tangled mess, resembling a temporary assembly point.

Varius dismounted and stood still, observing the figures around him by the scattered torchlight.

Maintaining order was a group of knights who looked like mercenaries. They wore variegated armor, their cloaks were different colors, and the weapons at their waists came from various sources.

But Varius could tell that it was just a disguise.

They stood firmly in their positions, spoke briefly, and kept their eyes constantly scanning the entrance and perimeter of the mill.

This is someone who has received systematic training.

What truly made Varius's heart clench was the people gathered in the open space of the mill.

These people don't look like ordinary refugees.

Varius's gaze swept across their faces, recognizing several of them.

Those were people who had appeared in various departments when the previous emperor was still in power.

Some were special investigators from the Treasury, some were auditors from the Armory, and one... had once been in charge of the judicial inspection in the southern border of the Empire.

Now these people were either disheveled or pale-faced, and he knew this was due to the Second Prince's sabotage.

Even so, Varius could still see at a glance the marks of long-term professional training on them.

“The North has quite the appetite,” Varius said in a low voice to Cassian beside him. “So many talented people, not one of them will be left out.”

Cassian merely glanced at the knights' procession at the edge of the mill and remained silent.

His hands remained naturally hanging at his sides, as if ready to respond to any unexpected situation.

Just then, the man who had led them north arrived at the mill.

He changed into a more practical outfit; his gray wool coat was gone, replaced by an ordinary leather jacket.

The firelight illuminated his profile, making his features appear sharp and composed.

“Victor,” someone whispered his name.

Victor stood at the entrance of the mill, holding a thick register in his hand.

The pages were worn from being turned over so many times. They were covered with names, origins, destinations, and several symbols marked in different colors.

He checked each name one by one. As he called out a name, someone would step out from the crowd, nod in response, or simply stand silently in the designated spot.

The whole process was very quiet. Everyone whose name was called was led to a different carriage. It seemed random, but it was obviously arranged.

Varius was soon assigned to an inconspicuous carriage.

When Victor turned to the last page of the roster, he closed the book.

He looked up and glanced at all the carriages around the mill: "Everyone's here. Ready to go."

Several knights who looked like mercenaries immediately sprang into action, untying the reins, adjusting the axle, and urging the horses on in low voices.

…………

Sitting in the car, Vadius wrapped himself in a blanket to warm himself up.

The carriage was small, with rough wooden planks covered with an old felt.

Besides him and Cassian, there were two other people inside.

One of them was a rather rough-looking old man with broad shoulders, calloused hands, and large, somewhat deformed knuckles.

When he sat down, he carefully held his tool bag in his arms, as if protecting something more important than his life.

“Varius,” Varius introduced himself, “a viscount in the Imperial Household Department, formerly working in the Court of Justice. This is my knight, Cassian.”

"Baron," the old man spoke first, his voice low and hoarse, yet carrying a sense of straightforwardness.

“I used to work in a royal factory.” He straightened his back unconsciously as he said this.

“One of the top craftsmen.” He then added, as if afraid of being misunderstood, and hurriedly explained, “He was rewarded when the former emperor was still alive.”

Varius nodded.

He noticed that the other person always deliberately addressed him with the formal "you" when speaking, conveying a sense of respect and hesitation.

“There’s no need for that now,” Varius said calmly. “At this point, we’re all pretty much the same.”

Baron paused for a moment, then scratched his head and gave a slightly awkward smile: "Yes, yes... but rules still need to be followed."

“The Second Prince’s men treat craftsmen like livestock.” Baron lowered his voice. “They don’t care if you’re skilled or not, they only care if you can endure it. If you can’t, they just drag you away.”

As he said this, his throat moved slightly: "I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran away. Later, I almost starved to death in the forest, but I was hit by the Red Tide people, and that's how I survived."

Varius did not press further.

His gaze shifted to the other corner of the carriage, where a third person was sitting.

The man's hair was disheveled, and his eyes were sometimes cloudy and sometimes clear.

He muttered something under his breath, his fingers moving in the air as if silently writing a formula, or as if driving away something that didn't exist.

Baron followed his gaze and sighed.

“Master Hermann. From the Royal Alchemy Institute.”

He spoke slowly, as if he were piecing together the person's identity piece by piece.

"He's really skilled, but... his mental state isn't very stable."

Herman suddenly looked up, his eyes clearing for a moment: "I'm fine..."

But the next moment, that clarity dissipated.

Baron lowered his voice and continued, "The Second Prince forced him to conduct human experiments. Live ones."

"He refused, but he had no choice. That's how people became like this, sometimes lucid, sometimes confused. It was the Red Tide people who secretly took him out."

The carriage swayed slightly and began to move forward.

Varius leaned against the carriage and closed his eyes.

He finally understood that this was not an ordinary transfer, but rather the Red Tide slowly ripping away the skeleton of the capital.

This action was not a spur-of-the-moment decision.

This is an order from the north.

The northern lord was in no hurry to seize land, nor was he interested in immediately intervening in the burning city.

Because in Louis's view, land can be reclaimed by the army, but once the real talent is exhausted, even the most vast territory will only become an empty shell.

Now that the North has expanded its territory so much, it needs this kind of professional talent.

Craftsmen, judges, alchemists, auditors... these are not knights, and they cannot determine the outcome of a battle, but they can decide whether a piece of land can continue to function.

That is why the Red Tide reached out to the brink of the empire's collapse.

They don't seize burning cities, nor do they touch established powers; instead, they extract the remaining skeletons, one by one, from the cracks in the disintegration of order.

…………

The horse-drawn carriage traveled for more than two months on the bumpy dirt road.

At first, it was muddy. The black soil turned up after the rain stuck to the wheels, and we had to stop every now and then to scrape off the mud.

Then came gravel; loose stones bounced around under the wheels, making the carriage sway so violently that it made everyone's stomachs churn...

One morning, the carriage suddenly became stable, and the bumps disappeared without warning.

Varius opened his eyes and instinctively reached out to steady himself, only to find that the carriage was no longer shaking.

He lifted the curtain, and the road beneath his feet was no longer the familiar earthy color.

It was a wide and straight gray-white paved road that stretched forward, with almost no trace of damage from rain.

The carriage began to pick up speed, and the horses quickened their pace on their own without needing to be urged.

"We've arrived in Grayrock Province, Red Tide's territory. Everyone can come out for some fresh air," a knight disguised as a mercenary shouted from the front, his tone clearly excited.

Barron, on the other hand, jumped off the carriage.

He squatted by the roadside, disregarding his status, and scratched at the pavement with his rough fingers.

“This isn’t stone,” he said, his voice strained. “It doesn’t look like brick either.”

He looked up, his eyes wide open, as if seeing something that defied common sense for the first time: "This is man-made, isn't it?"

No one answered immediately.

Victor walked up from behind, glanced at the road, and then at Barron, whose face was full of shock.

“They say it’s red tide limestone,” he said calmly. “I don’t know exactly how it was made, but it must be man-made.”

Barron was speechless for a moment, pressing his palm against the ground as if to confirm the feel.

"There's actually such a thing..." he murmured.

Varius did not get off the train.

His gaze followed the straight road forward, looking towards the undulating terrain in the distance.

What's the point of building such a straight road in this muddy ground?
And how could it be so fast?
The Limestone Province was taken over in less than a year.

This road doesn't look like a product of hasty construction.

Victor seemed to see through his doubts: "When you get to the Red Tide, you can ask the craftsmen yourselves; they know more about it than I do."

The caravan regrouped, and the carriages no longer slowed down but moved at a faster pace.

On this gray road, they could finally head north at full speed without any worries.

…….……

This area is now part of the red tide's territory.

The convoy continued on for a while longer, but did not continue its journey through the night.

A building with a uniform design stopped beside the road.

The exterior walls were painted light gray, and there were no family crests, only a simple wooden sign at the entrance.

This is a supply depot in the Limestone Province.

Once you enter a province, you'll see these kinds of buildings at regular intervals.

The carriages stopped one by one, and soldiers and mercenaries began to guide the group to rest.

As soon as Varius got out of the car, he smelled a faint pungent odor.

In the center of the courtyard stood a huge bronze tea barrel, its walls polished to a shine, with a small stove underneath that kept the temperature constant.

Someone turned on the valve, and amber liquid flowed out from the copper nozzle, steam rising.

"Ginger tea, free of charge." The soldier on duty said casually, as if repeating something utterly ordinary.

Varius took the wooden cup and immediately felt its warmth on his fingertips.

He noticed that the people around him did not scramble for the food; instead, they lined up in an orderly fashion.

After finishing their drinks, people will put the cups back in the designated spot.

Several neatly written notices were posted on the wall of the supply station.

The content of the Sanitation Convention is not complicated, but it is mandatory: wash hands, use toilets in designated areas, and clean daily.

To Varius’s surprise, there was no pungent, foul smell in the air.

In this era, even in the capital city, the stench of excrement permeated the streets, but here, there was only the aroma of a fireplace, hot tea, and damp earth.

He couldn't help but take a few more glances.

This kind of order doesn't need anyone watching over it.

The team will rest here for two days.

After the first night, Varius couldn't stay still.

As soon as it was light, he walked out of the supply station alone.

The Chichao official guarding the door merely glanced at him, neither stopping him nor sending anyone to follow him.

Not far away is a mining area.

It was lunchtime, and deep within the mining area, a bell rang.

The voice was deep and clear, carrying far through the cold air.

Varius had already prepared himself mentally.

In his memory, miners were always hunched over, covered in filth, crawling underground like rats.

But when he got closer, he was stunned.

Emerging from the mine tunnel was a group of burly men dressed in matching gray cotton-padded coats.

His face was indeed covered in coal dust, but his steps were steady, and he could even laugh out loud when he spoke.

No one waved a whip; they lined up voluntarily and waited in front of the makeshift canteen for their meals.

The line was orderly and quiet.

As Varius was looking around, he suddenly noticed a detail.

A young man reached out to collect his meal, but his coworker slapped his hand.

"Go wash your hands." The man gestured to the side, "The sanitation team is watching, so hurry up if you don't want to lose work points."

The young man laughed and cursed, but still turned around and ran to the sink, carefully scrubbing his hands with soap before returning to the back of the line.

There were no arguments or coercion throughout the entire process.

Varius stood there, feeling something gently bump against his chest.

Rather, it came from something that, to him, was something from his dreams.

He came from the imperial legal system.

In the past few decades, almost all the governance methods he has seen have been based on one premise.

It is inert, short-sighted, and must rely on violence, fear, or privilege to drive it.

Laws may be exquisite and rigorous on paper, but once they leave the seals of nobles and the whips of knights, few people truly believe they will be enforced.

These miners, however, spontaneously followed the rules, reminded each other, and even took the initiative to maintain order, all without any threat whatsoever.

This was what shocked him the most.

This is not based on identity suppression or violent intimidation, but on a clear, continuous, and predictable mechanism.

The further north you go, the more relaxed the people become, as they get closer to the northern border.

When the procession moves, they will give way to each other; vendors will clearly mark their prices; and patrolling knights will deliberately avoid crops when passing through farmland.

Until one day, he witnessed a knight's horse trampling the paddy field ridge.

The knight dismounted, spoke a few words with the farmer, and then took out his money bag and handed the compensation to the farmer.

The farmer accepted the money and bowed.

Varius stood by the roadside and did not go any further.

At that moment, the last solid thing in his heart quietly crumbled.

In the territory of the Red Tide, class does not supersede the law.

Isn't this the ideal he repeatedly pondered in the charter, yet was never able to bring to fruition?

The wind blew in from the north, making the chill even more intense.

Varius felt that this land might be worth observing carefully.

(End of this chapter)