Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 442 The Current Situation of Dawn Harbor

At Chichao's train station, a pitch-black railway track cuts through the snowfield like a giant black serpent lying on the ground, stretching along the terrain and disappearing into the distant gray sky.

The steam train parked next to the platform is Louis's private steam train.

Louis was dressed in dark clothing, with a long, warm cloak buttoned up neatly.

The two ladies stood on either side of the platform to see him off.

Sif was wrapped in a thick polar bear fur coat, and her breath turned into white mist in front of her.

She leaned closer and said in a voice only the three of them could hear, "You're in such a hurry to run away because you're afraid of tonight, aren't you?"

Louis paused for a moment, his ears burning almost imperceptibly. He turned his head and coughed, as if he hadn't heard clearly, or as if he was too lazy to respond.

Sif, seeing this, smiled even more broadly and added, "Come back soon. Otherwise, I'll go to the port to catch you."

Louis glanced at her this time, his tone lower: "I really have something to do."

After saying that, he realized he had explained too much, so he stopped there.

On the other side, Emily straightened Louis's collar and fastened the top button: "Ignore her. It's windy at the harbor, remember not to catch a cold, and... don't overwork yourself. Some things can be left to the people below."

Louis nodded: "I'll keep an eye on things. And remember to take good care of yourselves while you're in the city."

At that moment, the whistle sounded, and white steam spewed from the valves, surging above the platform and instantly obscuring the view.

Louis waved his hand, turned around, and stepped into the carriage.

The connecting rod began to move, and a low, rhythmic clanging sound came from between the steel.

The steel behemoth slowly started up, carrying a steady force as it sped off into the distance.

…………

Before the train had come to a complete stop, the wind from the edge of the platform had already started to blow in.

Elliott stood at the very front of the platform, his face calm, but only he knew that his Adam's apple was bobbing uncontrollably.

A simple yet weighty Sun Medal was pinned to his collar, a symbol of the highest administrative power in the Red Tide.

A delicate pocket watch lay quietly in his left hand, while his right hand meticulously adjusted his tie and cuffs again and again.

The train finally came to a stop, and the door was positioned perfectly aligned with the white safety line at his feet.

The air pressure valve emitted a short, low hiss, and the heavy cast iron doors slid open to the sides.

A pair of black boots stepped onto the platform.

Elliott took a deep breath, suppressing all the emotions surging in his chest, and stepped forward.

He stopped three steps away from Louis.

Elliott straightened his body, clenched his right fist, and pressed it heavily on his left chest where his heart was. He then stepped his left foot back slightly and lowered his head, his movements clean and restrained.

This is a standard knightly salute.

“My lord…” his voice was a little hoarse, “Dawn Harbor has been waiting for you.”

Louis looked at him; he now had a few strands of white hair, and his aura was becoming increasingly calm and composed, standing there like a ballast stone.

He reached out and brushed a snowflake off Elliot's shoulder.

“It’s been two years,” Louis said softly, with a hint of amusement. “You’re more like a governor than ever before, Elliott.”

He paused, then added, "No need to be so tense. We're not here to inspect the battlefield."

It's just such a simple action.

Elliott's eyes involuntarily reddened.

He blinked quickly, suppressing his emotions, straightened his back, and regained his calm and capable demeanor.

But the excitement in his voice was impossible to hide: "My lord, Dawn Harbor has changed a lot, and there are some things... I really want you to see them with your own eyes."

Louis raised his hand and gently patted Elliott's shoulder. "Come on. Show me what you've done to this port."

An open-top steam carriage departs from the station.

The wheels landed on the road surface without the bumpy, shaking sensation of the past; instead, they provided a steady rolling feel.

The heartbeat of the steam engine was hidden at the rear of the carriage, deep and rhythmic, like the breathing of some tamed wild beast.

Louis sat by the window, the administrative report that had just been handed to him spread out on his lap.

The paper was thin, the handwriting was dense, and the format was neat.

He only needed to glance at the conclusion to find that the crime rate was below 2%.

This is a pretty good number, but Louis has seen far too many similar numbers.

He looked away from the paper and gazed out the window.

He wanted to see for himself what kind of port city this system, which he designed himself and which countless people refined through daily practice, had shaped.

The Southeast Province dock in the original owner's memories was already recognized as one of the best docks in the world.

There are always three things: the stench of fermenting fish entrails, the overflowing black sewage, and the streets full of drunken thugs.

The prosperity there is like a deliberately painted exterior, but underneath are already rotten wooden planks.

The slums cling to the shadow of mansions, like a malignant tumor that refuses to fall off.

If you take the wrong alley at night, you might be pulled out of the water the next day.

And now, Dawn Harbor unfolds outside the window.

The streets are straight and wide, and the curb stones on both sides of the road are painted with neat black and yellow warning paint, the lines are so clean that they look like they have been measured with a ruler.

The road surface has a slight incline, so rain and snow will flow to the sides and will not form mud in the middle.

Louis's gaze fell on the cast-iron storm drains that were spaced ten meters apart along the roadside.

He knew what was down there: a vast underground pipe network.

While people on this continent were still dumping their chamber pots everywhere, the Red Tide territory had already implemented sewage separation.

Dirty water and rainwater go their separate ways, and the treatment ponds in the dock area operate day and night, even suppressing the most unpleasant odors underground.

There was no smell of urine or decay in the air, only the saltiness of the sea breeze and a very faint carbolic acid scent, which was not pleasant but reassuring.

Louis didn't speak, but Elliott, sitting opposite him, noticed his gaze.

The governor of Dawn Harbor remained seated upright, his folder resting steadily on his lap: "Sir, it's not because they're naturally clean, it's because of the Red Tide Code."

Louis raised his eyes slightly.

Elliott continued, “In other ports, dockworkers live in pigsties and are paid daily wages. Whether they can get a hot meal tomorrow depends on the boss’s mood. In Red Tide, we provide allocated housing and a monthly salary.”

Correspondingly, there are harsh contracts. Those who defecate indiscriminately will have three days' wages forfeited, and those who cause trouble while intoxicated will be stripped of their housing eligibility and deported.

When people can earn dignity and money, no one wants to go back to being treated like livestock.

Elliott spoke with barely concealed fervor: “It is your system that has transformed them from beasts into citizens.”

The carriage slowly drove along the main road of the residential area.

It was shift change time, and a gray torrent surged through the streets.

The workers wore uniform canvas overalls that were provided to them. The overalls were thick and durable, with reinforcement at the cuffs and knees.

Their faces were covered in coal dust, and their fingernails weren't exactly clean either.

But their hair was cut short. Not for appearance, but to prevent lice, heat rash, and those diseases that were impossible to get rid of in the shacks in the past.

More importantly, their eyes were clear; their gaze swept across the street, over the military police on duty, and over the roadside bulletin boards, without flinching or becoming numb.

As the steam carriage bearing the governor's flag passed by, the crowd on the street spontaneously stopped to pay their respects.

Fortunately, they didn't recognize Louis, otherwise they would have surrounded the carriage completely.

Louis watched this scene in silence for a moment, then tapped the paper lightly with his fingers.

“This is what I want to see.” His voice was soft but firm. “Even the lowest-level porters have straight spines.”

The carriage continued forward, the heartbeat of the steam engine echoing behind it, the geometric lines of the street stretching out in the snow and mist.

Louis watched all this and finally let out a slow breath: "Order... is indeed the most expensive luxury for mankind."

The carriage didn't stop; it rounded a gentle slope, and the edge of the residential area was quickly left behind. The next moment, the view opened up abruptly, and the tranquility was brutally shattered.

The roaring sound pressed in from all directions, like a whole dark thundercloud rolling along the ground.

The air suddenly became murky, the temperature rose, and coal smoke mixed with heat waves hit our faces.

This is the port-adjacent industrial zone.

Louis's gaze swept across the street and landed on the elevated steam conveyor belt that spanned half of the factory area.

Driven by a set of gears, the black belt whirred at high speed, emitting a teeth-grinding grinding sound. Coal and ore unloaded from the rails were brutally swallowed by it, turning into a black waterfall that poured continuously into the depths of the dock.

In other ports, this scene means a different picture.

Thousands of shirtless slaves, carrying heavy baskets of ore, crawled like ants along the narrow walkway.

Some people slipped and fell, some collapsed, and those who died from exhaustion were simply kicked into the sea without even a pause.

Here, flesh and blood retreated to the rear, while steel stood at the forefront.

Louis's mind flashed back to a line on the report: Mechanization replacement rate, fifty percent.

Only when that steel dragon was spewing out supplies did the number truly gain weight—a conveyor belt.

Liberation was achieved by countless laborers.

The water cup in the carriage suddenly shook, followed by an even heavier tremor.

The sound drowned out the waves, and even the ground beneath their feet seemed to echo it.

It is a hundred-ton steam forging hammer; with each impact, it reshapes the steel.

Flames flickered deep within the factory area, molten iron splashed, and was quickly pulled away, cooled, and shaped.

This is the true main theme of this city.

Elliott stood on the side of the carriage, following Louis's gaze, and his voice unconsciously rose a little.

"This is limestone. Through the Dawn Linkage Mechanism, the ore from the limestone province is transported directly here by rail and processed in this factory area."

He raised his hand and pointed to the area engulfed by black smoke and flames, his tone carrying an almost proud certainty.

"My lord, the resource allocation system you designed is truly amazing. Without the layers of exploitation by nobles, every piece of iron ore is precisely sent to where it should go, and finally becomes the armor of the empire."

“Other lords…” Louis began slowly, “are still whipping slaves, while we have learned to use systems to harness steam.”

He looked away and turned to Elliott: "Let's go, take me to the dock."

…………

The dry dock's dome resembles a hollowed-out mountain.

The steel beams crisscross, with hundreds of alchemical spotlights hanging above them, illuminating the area below in a stark white light.

The light falls on the steel surface, which is then coated with a cold, hard sheen by the machine oil, making even the shadows appear sharp.

The air was filled with the acrid smell of burning metal, the sweet scent of high-quality lubricating oil, and the lingering warmth of steam, all pressing heavily on my lungs.

This is the deepest part of Dawn Harbor, the Dawn Harbor Dock.

This place is not open to any workers; the passageways are blocked off layer by layer, and the ground is cleaned almost deliberately, so that even the sound of footsteps is amplified.

Louis stopped in his tracks. His gaze didn't immediately fall on the bottom of the dock, but was drawn to the figure on the scaffolding.

He was an old man who didn't fit in at all.

He stood on the steel frame in mid-air, with his back to the entrance. He was not tall, but his posture was unusually upright.

He wore a pair of linen work pants that were stained black with engine oil, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his calloused wrists.

What clashed terribly with his outfit was the meticulously knotted, slightly yellowed silk scarf at his collar.

The gray hair was carefully combed back, even with hair wax applied, giving it a subtle shine under the light.

He didn't have a wrench in his hand, but a piece of chalk.

A blackboard stood beside the steel frame, covered with densely packed lines. It wasn't a diagram of the external shape, but a complex structural illustration of stress points that was enough to make one's scalp crawl.

“The angle of this rib is wrong. You can’t see it in still water, but when it’s fully loaded, with cross waves and headwinds, it will crack first. Shipbuilding is not like piling up wood.”

He emphasized the drawing with chalk: "It's about giving sailors a living home amidst raging waves and heavy loads. Even if the rivets break, the structure must not fall apart, understand, boys?"

Several engineers stood below, holding blueprints in their hands, sweat beading on their foreheads, but dared not refute, and could only nod repeatedly.

At that moment, he didn't seem like a craftsman, but more like a master who was passing on the fire.

Elliott whispered a message.

The old man then turned around.

When he saw Louis, he was not alarmed, nor did he rush to remove the product from the shelves.

He took off his reading glasses, slowly wiped away the chalk dust with a handkerchief, and then reached out to straighten the blackened badge on his chest.

It was an old Calvin family crest, oxidized to the point that its original luster was almost gone, but it had been wiped very clean.

Then, he stood still on the swaying scaffolding.

At that moment, his back was ramrod straight, as if he were raising up his last shred of dignity.

He performed a perfectly standard old imperial court gesture of touching his chest.

This is his tribute, as a shipbuilder, to someone who truly understands ships, craftsmen, and this era.

The old man's back was very straight, but you could still see a moment of tension in his posture.

He was restraining his emotions, as if trying hard not to appear out of control.

“Lord Louis.” His voice was lower than before, but more steady. “If it weren’t for you, these hands of mine would have been taken away long ago.”

He paused for a moment, his gaze briefly sweeping over the surrounding steel beams, scaffolding, and the young engineers standing there holding their breath.

"It is you who allowed me to stand in the dock and made these children willing to listen to an old man. To me, this is the greatest kindness."

Having said that, he finally stopped explaining.

I just took a deep breath, as if to push back everything that was pressing on my chest, and then quickly adjusted my emotions.

Then, he stepped aside, pointed towards the depths of the dock, and for the first time, his tone revealed an urgent urgency.

"please."

The spotlights lit up one after another, and the shadows were peeled away layer by layer.

Two steel behemoths lay silently at the bottom of the dried-up dock.

There are no streamlined lines, no decorations.

It looks like a black fortress that has been forcibly pressed onto the surface of the water.

On the bow armor of the ship on the left, the name "Fernando" is prominently displayed in brass.

Louis's gaze lingered on the words for a moment: "I never break my word, Orland. Your surname will be engraved on the flagship of the Red Tide Navy."

The old shipwright's Adam's apple visibly bobbed.

He didn't answer, but just stared intently at the ship, as if to confirm that it still existed.

This ship belongs to a completely different era.

The ship is wide and has a high freeboard, giving it a suffocating sense of oppression.

It was completely black, with not a single wooden board exposed; it was entirely encased in thick, surface-hardened steel plates.

The hull consists of two rows of cold gun emplacements, silently opening like firing ports of a fortress.

At the center of the ship, two huge funnels tilt backward.

Even if they were to shut down now, one could still imagine the sight of them spewing black smoke and obscuring the sky.

Orland's voice echoed in the empty dock, filled with an almost maniacal pride: "It is neither beautiful nor gentle, my lord, it was born to end this era."

He looked at the ship as if it were his most prized child.

Louis stood in the shadow of the steel, reaching out to press his hand on the cold armor: "No, Orland, this is the most beautiful work of art of this era."

(End of this chapter)