Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 438 Contracts and Law

All of Varius's education, as well as his instinctive legal intuition, resisted this whole set of reasoning.

In the classics he studied, order came from the bestowal of superiors, and authority came from the endorsement of divinity.

If power can be lent out or taken back, then the law will lose its foundation, loyalty will become a transaction, and the whole world will be left with nothing but naked calculation.

This is fallacy, at least it has always been so throughout his life.

Varius forced himself to calm down, suppressing his emotions as he had done in the Imperial Court.

He quickly sifted through the familiar arguments in his mind, trying to find a flaw that could break down the system.

A few breaths later, his thoughts suddenly stopped.

It wasn't because he completely agreed, but because he had finally found a loophole to refute it.

Varius then raised his head, took a deep breath, and spoke again: "My lord, in the capital, I have also seen countless commoners who are starving."

They were slaughtered by the knights, yet they still obeyed, if the weak had no power to resist the strong.

Why would a powerful person care about this contract?

Louis smiled upon hearing this.

The light from the window cast a cold edge on his silhouette.

“You’re right. In this extraordinary world, commoners really can’t kill the emperor. Even if they massacre an entire city, the strong will still sit on the throne.”

He walked back to the map and pointed to the location of the capital city.

"But resistance is not limited to drawing a sword. In this world, when contracts are broken, the weak cannot kill the strong."

So they will choose another path; they will stop giving more than they need to survive for this country.

He raised his hand and pointed to the farmland markings on the map.

Farmers no longer cultivate their fields deeply. For an extra bushel of grain will not bring lower taxes, but only heavier levies.

They only sowed enough seeds on their own land to feed their families through the winter and barely cover their taxes; any extra harvest was neither retained nor preserved.

Louis pointed to the workshop area on the other side.

"The same goes for craftsmen. They need time, effort, and materials to hone their skills and create durable tools."

But these efforts will not bring any additional rewards.

What they hand over will only be subject to price gouging by nobles, withholding by knights, or even forcibly requisitioned.

So they simply followed the allotted quotas; the tools worked, but they didn't last long.

Finally, his gaze fell on the areas marked with the Legion name.

"As for the knights, when they discover that charging ahead will not bring honor, but only being used as expendable fodder time and time again."

When compensation was delayed, fiefdoms were constantly being reduced, and even their families could not be guaranteed protection after they died in battle, they stopped dying for their lords.

They began to calculate: How much money would this battle offer? Was it worth getting hurt? Was it worth risking their lives?

Louis lowered his hand: "Order is bleeding from within. It's not a riot, but the entire nation is withering away silently."

The red pen was heavily stuck into the map, marking the capital city.

"The empire has now reached this point: the strong cannot be killed, but they will be slowly starved to death."

When the foundation is completely rotten, even without external enemies, a gust of wind will cause this behemoth to collapse on its own.

Louis drew a simple circle on the map.

"When order is established, excessive exploitation leads to a breakdown of trust, a decline in national power, collapse and destruction, and the emergence of a new strongman to establish a new order."

This is a cycle of death that has continued on this continent for thousands of years, and we are now standing at the darkest end of this cycle.

Varius remained silent for a long time.

Those words unfolded layer by layer in his mind, like old files being re-examined.

He recalled the rise and fall of empires, and the familiar scenes of successive emperors: increased taxes, military corruption, workshop shutdowns, and border rebellions.

When these fragments are placed within the same logical framework, they fit together perfectly.

It was neither accidental nor a result of moral depravity, but rather an inevitable outcome.

Varius's lips moved as if he wanted to refute, but in the end he said nothing.

Louis turned to Varius, his eyes devoid of pity: "So I never intended to be a stronger emperor from the beginning; that would only be the beginning of the next cycle."

He raised his hand and pointed to the city outside the window, where lights and steam intertwined: "What I want to establish is a system... In the Red Tide Contract, it is a two-way street."

I gave them dignity and opportunities for advancement, and they gave me creativity and loyalty, not by whipping them, but by letting them know that there really is a path forward.

Varius felt a chill creep up his spine.

He dedicated his life to upholding the dignity of imperial power, firmly believing that as long as the emperor was strong enough, the country would not collapse.

But Louis's words seemed to negate all of that from the very beginning.

What is most terrifying is never the rebels' knives, but the silence of the compliant people.

That silent decay was more despairing than a legionary rebellion.

Varius finally understood that the old empire was beyond saving.

His legs went weak, and he slumped heavily into the chair, as if all his strength had been drained away.

“I see…” Varius was now covered in sweat. “That’s why no matter how many knights the capital had, they couldn’t stop the decline, because the root… was dead.”

Lewis's previous set of reasoning was too unconventional for him, yet it was calm, rigorous, and without any obvious logical flaws.

This gave him a long-lost sense of unease, forcing him to rethink things in the area he knew best.

He raised his hand to wipe his forehead with his sleeve, took a deep breath, and finally posed his last core question as a jurist and a survivor of the old imperial bureaucracy:
"Sir, if, as you say, the state itself is a contract, then what role should the law play?"

He carefully considered every word he said.

"Is it merely a means for you to ensure that contracts are fulfilled? Or, ultimately, is it still a sword hanging over the heads of those who breach contracts, used for deterrence and punishment?"

That was his most instinctive understanding: law was equivalent to punishment, equivalent to another form of violence.

After listening, Louis shook his head: "Weapons? No. Weapons are for fighting, suppressing, and dealing with enemies. The law is for something else."

Then Louis asked a question: "What does this city remind you of?"

Without waiting for Varius's reply, he continued, "Like a giant machine. Bakers, blacksmiths, farmers, soldiers... everyone is a cog in it."

When gears mesh together, friction, jamming, and other problems are inevitable.

The law is both the instruction manual and the lubricant for this machine.

Louis held up one finger: "Its purpose is not to kill, but to reduce friction."

Why is private property mandated? It's to let the baker know that this bag of flour belongs to him and no one can take it away at will.

That way he could bake bread in peace, instead of spending all day holding a knife and guarding the warehouse door.

"Why emphasize the contract? It's to convince the blacksmith that as long as he makes the tools according to the contract, the other party must pay him."

That way he can focus on forging iron, instead of constantly worrying about being cheated out of his money.” Louis lowered his finger and looked at Varius: “In the end, the law is really just doing two things.”

First, clarify whose property it is and who should bear the responsibility.

Second, when conflicts of interest arise, tell everyone what rules should be followed to resolve them, instead of resorting to fists and swords.

What the law really does is draw a line.

Tell everyone which part is yours, which step you can take, and which step you cannot cross.

As long as one stays within this line, one can work with peace of mind and move freely; only by crossing this line will one have to pay the price.

Louis paused, then added, "In the old empire, you carved the law on stone tablets and made people kneel in worship, but the Red Tide people are the majority, and the law is just a tool."

Since the subject is human beings, and human beings are alive and changeable, then the law cannot be immutable.

It will create new modes of production, but it will also encounter new problems that the old rules cannot cover.

If the law remains stagnant while people continue to move forward, only the order itself will be torn apart.

Varius stood frozen in place, and at that moment, the sacred aura of the law in his eyes was slowly fading away.

Louis seemed oblivious to the change in Varius's eyes and continued:

"The old empire's legal code has been used for three hundred years, with almost no room for change. But in those three hundred years, the land has changed hands, the population has multiplied several times, and the methods of warfare have changed... but the law has remained unchanged."

If reality has progressed a hundred steps, while the law remains stagnant, then it is no longer part of the order, but an obstacle.

He looked up at Varius.

"So what I need you to do is not to guard a set of laws left by our ancestors and treat them as untouchable sacred objects."

Like repairing a running machine, you adjust the gears when the structure changes, replace the parts when the load changes, and rewrite the rules when they no longer apply.

The law must always be applicable, clear, and reliable, rather than becoming a burden that slows down the entire red tide.

Lewis finished his discourse on the nature of the law and turned his gaze to the map, lost in thought.

Varius didn't speak immediately either, standing still with his gaze passing over Louis and landing on the huge glass wall outside.

The city is still functioning.

On the street, night shift workers pushed their carts forward, patrol riders changed shifts at intersections, and white steam billowed from distant factory buildings, only to be torn apart by the cold wind.

Then a long silence fell over the room.

The feeling was like a storm had just passed, uprooting old ideas that had been entrenched in one's mind, but without any new beliefs to fill the void, leaving only a clean but unsettling empty space.

Varius suddenly realized that everything Louis had just said was not a denial of the law.

On the contrary, it is pulling the law down from its pedestal and putting it back on earth.

This is precisely what he wanted to do his whole life, but was never able to achieve.

During his years in the capital, he participated in revising the Charter of the New Empire, making countless attempts to add footnotes, interpretations, and flexible clauses to the rigid old laws.

But each time, it was met with the same response: "The Imperial Code cannot be altered lightly."

The law has been treated as a symbol of authority rather than a means of solving problems.

He had vaguely sensed something was wrong, but no one had ever dissected and explained the problem as thoroughly as Louis.

More importantly, Louis did not just talk about theory; he had Red Tide City and even the two major provinces of the North and Grayrock as evidence.

Written in the streets, workshops, mining areas, and the daily lives of countless ordinary people.

Varius slowly exhaled, wondering why these words resonated with him so deeply, because deep down, he had already accepted them.

In the past, he lacked the power and the environment to acknowledge it.

Throughout his life, Varius searched for a moral sage-king, hoping that a person of high moral character and wisdom could correct the world's deviations through personal virtue.

He once thought that person would be the fourth prince, but reality shattered that belief. In Red Tide City, in this great city, he once thought that he had finally found the answer.

Only now has he finally realized that what he truly needed was never a perfect person.

Rather, it is a system that can continue to function without relying on sages.

But Varius was left with a sense of emptiness after being persuaded, because the old had collapsed and the new had not yet been built.

Louis broke the silence. He walked to the table and picked up the repeatedly revised draft.

“Your Excellency Varius,” he began, “the old empires decayed not because they had no laws, but because their laws were like a fog.”

The power of interpretation always rests with the nobles and priests, but the Red Tide is different…

He tapped the draft gently. “The foundation here is the contract, but the contract cannot be vague. It must be clearly written down and fixed.”

Louis turned around and looked directly at the old man: "Perhaps I understand how power works, but I lack a pen that is precise enough."

What I need you to do is write down those abstract concepts in the most rigorous and clear language.

"Let it become a measuring stick, measuring the emperor above and the common people below."

Louis pulled a fountain pen from the pen holder; it was a product of the Red Tide Workshop, with a simple body and no unnecessary decorations.

He handed the pen and the draft to Varius: "The old empire's code of law has been burned along with your fire."

Louis looked at him: "Now here is a blank sheet of paper. Would you like to pick up this pen and write the first line of rules for this newborn land?"

Varius's gaze fell on the pen, its black barrel gleaming coldly under the light.

He knew very well what accepting it meant.

That means he will lay the foundation for a new set of rules, and it also means he will bury the old rules to which he has served his entire life.

His hands trembled slightly.

I no longer need to argue, nor do I need to search for profound meanings in the old files.

The true principles of law are right before our eyes.

Varius did not reach out immediately. He took a deep breath, took half a step back, and straightened his already worn collar.

Then, he solemnly knelt down on both knees.

“Your Lordship,” his voice was hoarse, yet more resolute than ever before, “I am willing to accept this pen.”

Varius raised both hands above his head and took the pen.

Louis didn't make him kneel for long.

He stepped forward, firmly supported the old man's arm, and helped him up: "Get up. From today onwards, you are the legislator of the Red Tide."

The two walked side by side to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

The night has not yet completely faded, but deep within the city, a new wave of lights is being lit.

A deep, long train whistle could be heard from afar.

The voice pierced the darkness, announcing the initiation of a new order.

(End of this chapter)