Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 455 Before the Military Parade Begins
The early summer sun pierced through the thin morning mist in the North.

From a high vantage point, the viewing platform surrounding the Red Tide Territory's first parade ground was completely submerged by crowds.

It wasn't a chaotic and noisy refugee settlement, but rather a slowly undulating sea of ​​people.

Large swaths of dark cotton-padded coats swayed gently in the wind, stretching endlessly like the tides, reaching as far as the eye could see.

Even the distant hillsides, exposed rock ridges, and tree branches were covered with human figures.

In order to secure a spot with a clear view of the entire parade, some people set up camp three days in advance, carrying their bedding.

But there was no sour or rotten smell in the air. Instead, there was the aroma of roasted potatoes being heated by charcoal, the subtle sizzling sound of butter melting on a hot plate, and the unique sweetness of maltose, all wafting faintly in the morning breeze.

The vendors weaved through the crowd, carrying wooden boxes on their shoulders. As soon as the lids were opened, the children immediately surrounded them.

Almost everyone was wearing thick, clean cotton-padded clothes.

The dark cotton coat, though not particularly fancy in its cut, was crisp and well-fitting.

Those were standard goods woven in batches by the Red Tide Textile Factory, which ordinary people in the southern provinces couldn't afford, but here they were just ordinary everyday items.

The patched, greasy linen of the old days has long been relegated to the past.

But the more obvious change was written on their faces.

Those were rosy, full faces, with no longer sunken eyes or prominent cheekbones.

The physical strength gained from long-term consumption of meat and oil allows them to stand with their shoulders and back naturally relaxed and their waists straight.

That's an attitude only someone who doesn't worry about tomorrow would have.

A burly father lifted his daughter onto his neck.

The little girl grabbed his neatly cut hair, waved a small flag with a sun symbol in her other hand, and had red stickers on her cheeks, screaming excitedly.

The father tilted his head back, letting the child sway back and forth on his shoulder, his face filled with undisguised pride.

In a corner of the crowd, the family of three appeared unusually quiet.

It was a family of artisans from the Limestone Province who had moved to the Red Tide Territory two years ago.

My father once improved the steam piston in the limestone workshop, and was later recruited to Red Tide, where he is now a full-fledged citizen.

The child clutched a bunch of candied berries in his hand, something he had only ever heard of in aristocratic banquets.

The man's hand unconsciously touched the brand-new cotton coat he was wearing, his fingertips repeatedly tracing the texture of the fabric, as if afraid that if he let go, it would all disappear.

The woman's eyes were slightly red. She didn't look at the center of the parade ground, but instead looked towards the distant castle, clasped her hands together, and whispered a prayer.

A few years ago, they were still worried about the heavy taxes levied on the Raymond family, and even secretly discussed whether they should hang themselves together.

Now they stand in the sunlight, their bellies stuffed with white bread, and the children's lips still have sugar stains on them.

To them, Louis was not an abstract title of lord; he was a savior who provided them with food and clothing.

Among the crowd, you can also see quite a few outsiders.

Merchants from the North, wandering knights from other lands, and even some minor nobles from the South.

They also dressed themselves up neatly and tried to imitate the clothing and behavior of the Red Tide people, just so that one day in the future they could be accepted by this land.

The murmurs echoed softly in the air.

The people of the Red Tide are not ignorant.

The prevalence of night school and literacy rates has made them exceptionally sensitive to events happening in the outside world.

"Have you heard? The tin can factory has already produced the third generation of steam-powered war machines."

"You mean that kind of iron contraption that can run on its own and breathe fire?"

"Shh! My second uncle works at the factory... but I can't say."

The topic quickly shifted to the South.

"Those Papacy bastards in the south actually dared to cut off our supply lines?"

A retired knight, missing an arm, stood in the crowd, his remaining hand clenched into a fist: "My life was given to me by the lord. Anyone who dares to touch him, I'll fight them to the death!"

No one is afraid of war.

On the contrary, the air was filled with an almost burning anticipation.

They knew better than anyone else who had given them this dreamlike life.

But since they had only truly enjoyed a good life for a decade, they feared being dragged back into a hell of hunger, cold, and being at the mercy of others.

…………

Countless eyes turned to the center of the parade ground.

Gray stood on the command platform in the center of the parade ground.

He was dressed in a new style of pure black general's uniform, with a clean cut and no superfluous decorations.

His chest was covered with heavy medals, the marks left by four years of fighting. The most conspicuous among them were the Gray Rock Conquest Medal and the First Class Red Tide Sun Medal, which represented the highest achievement of the Red Tide campaign.

Her hair was combed meticulously, and her hairline was so close together it looked as if it had been measured with a ruler.

It's hard to find any trace of youthful naiveté on that still-young face.

The authority he had developed over the years, like an invisible armor, calmly covered his brows and eyes.

Only he knew that this composure was not entirely genuine.

He was repeatedly adjusting the position of his collar, and then subconsciously tugged at the edge of his white gloves to make sure that every crease was neat and tidy.

The left hand, resting on the sword, was still trembling almost imperceptibly.

As the commander-in-chief of this military parade, he knew better than anyone what was behind him.

That was neither a hastily assembled mercenary force nor a knightly order supported by noble bloodlines.

It was an army shaped by discipline, industry, and ruthless calculation—the first truly fully industrialized army in human history.

His thoughts drifted uncontrollably backward, his earliest memory being of an orphanage.

Like many children, he was abandoned by disaster at that time. In other territories, orphan meant slavery, mining, and a short life.

But in the Red Tide Territory, Louis gave them milk, meat, and the right to cultivate battle qi.

That wasn't pity; it was more like a calm and direct investment.

Later, he was selected for the Lord's Guard, standing behind Louis, holding a longsword and shield, acting as an iron wall to block hidden arrows.

Until that day, Louis took the shield that had been with him for many years from his hands and instead handed him a command sword.

“Your swordsmanship is good, but in Red Tide Territory, I want you to learn to protect Red Tide with your brain.”

The next five years felt like an inescapable, forceful indoctrination.

Ballistics, trench construction, logistics coordination, multi-service cooperation...

All the war knowledge that didn't exist in the old era was crammed into his mind.

And these are not just things on paper.

During the conquest of the Gray Rock Province, Louis handed over full command of the front lines to him for the first time.

How did steam-powered chariots clear the way, and when were cavalry deployed to reap the rewards...?

What followed was the purge of the remaining aristocratic forces, the hunting down of mountain bandits, and the repeated suppression and restoration of the old aristocratic forces.

The repeated low-intensity but long and dirty battles honed him into a true commander capable of controlling the situation.

He honed his skills through repeated practice in blueprint simulations and real battlefields, and was essentially molded into a general by Louis.

Now he looked back and saw an endless steel dragon stretching as far as the eye could see.

The steam tanks, covered by canvas, breathed heavily, like a pack of beasts lying in wait. The heavy smell of metal, engine oil, and steam filled the air.

"No bloodline, no family background. Yet the master entrusted me with an army capable of crushing the world."

Grey knew very well that those sitting in the stands included old nobles from the North and great figures whom he had never even been worthy of looking up to.

But today, the person standing here is him.

“I want them to understand that the people chosen by the Crimson Tide Territory are ten thousand times stronger than those noble knights who rely on bloodlines.”

In the distance, the low sound of a ship's horn rose.

The countdown to the military parade has begun.

Gray closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The air, mixed with the smell of engine oil, was a unique scent of the Red Tide Territory.

When he opened his eyes again, all his distracting thoughts were suppressed and buried deep in his heart.

He wore white gloves and gripped the sword at his waist tightly; his hands no longer trembled.

…………

Nico changed into a clean set of casual clothes.

That wasn't a military uniform, nor a dress uniform; it was just a well-tailored dark coat.

His face still looked pale, and the weakness left by exhaustion had not completely subsided.

If it weren't for his years of training, he probably wouldn't have recovered so quickly.

As the representative of the Calvin family, he was seated to the side of the main seat, surrounded by Red Tide executives and Northern nobles.
Sitting next to him was Bradley.

The old butler had changed out of his usual butler's uniform and was now only wearing a formal suit. His back remained straight, and his hands rested naturally on his knees.

If it weren't for the few gray hairs at his temples, he would look almost exactly the same as he did twenty years ago when he stood behind Duke Calvin.

Nico spoke first, his voice low and hoarse, yet carrying a long-lost sense of relaxation: "Old buddy, you've gotten old."

As he said this, his gaze lingered on Bradley's eyes, as if he were reconfirming something.

“However,” Nico paused, then nodded slightly, “your energy and spirit are even better than when you were in the Southeast.”

Bradley smiled slightly and poured Nico a cup of hot tea. White steam rose slowly from the rim of the cup, dispelling some of the chill of the northern morning.

“Because there is hope here.” He pushed the teacup toward Nico, his tone calm and resolute: “The young master has created too many miracles here.”

Nico picked up his teacup and looked down towards the viewing platform.

The formation below was already in place, the black ranks like steel plates embedded in the wasteland, their spacing precise and their formation stable. Even before they began to move, they exuded a chilling sense of oppression.

Nico said in a low voice, "I know that the Grayrock Province and the Northern Province are not made of paper. We can take them over and stabilize the situation..."

He let out a soft breath: "Although I don't want to admit it, young master has already surpassed the old duke."

His judgment was not flattery, but rather the instinctive assessment of a seasoned knight.

Before he arrived, he had already mentally envisioned the scene for this military parade.

A disciplined order of knights, dozens of extraordinary knights, and some new equipment—this is enough to make it a formidable army.

But when he actually sat there and looked at those silent steel formations with his own eyes, he realized that his expectations were still too conservative.

Nico's fingers unconsciously tightened around the teacup.

"Let me see." His voice was very soft, almost as if he were talking to himself.

"If we're going south for revenge, then we need to have teeth." His gaze was fixed on the formation below that was about to be activated, and a long-lost sharpness reappeared in his eyes. "I hope the young master's teeth... are hard enough."

10:00 AM sharp.

The giant steam clock tower in the center of the parade ground emitted a deep and heavy mechanical echo, and the hands steadily returned to their positions amidst the billowing white steam.

"Woo——!!"

The sound of horns suddenly tore through the air.

That was no ordinary bugle call, but a low-frequency sound wave amplified by an alchemical amplifier array, deep and resonant, as if striking directly at one's heart.

The audience, which had been surging like a tsunami, was suddenly silenced the moment the bugle sounded.

Dead silence.

Tens of thousands of people simultaneously fell silent, their movements so synchronized it was chilling.

At the same time, everyone's eyes were raised and focused on the lord's reviewing stand at the highest point of the parade ground.

The unspoken, innate obedience sent chills down the spines of the nobles on the viewing platform. This was not a spectacle; it was an order that had been thoroughly domesticated.

In the shadows of the reviewing stand, a figure slowly moved forward.

Louis Calvin came out.

He did not wear elaborate and bulky aristocratic robes, nor did he don the heavy plate armor of a traditional knight.

It was a sleek, dark black marshal's uniform, a style unique to the Red Tide Collar.

The golden sun epaulettes were cold and restrained in the sunlight, while the scarlet cloak behind him fluttered in the north wind like a silent, burning battle flag.

The early summer sunlight fell on him, but it seemed to be completely swallowed up by the black fabric.

Young, excessively young.

This was the thought of all the nobles. Although they all knew Louis's age, every time they saw Louis in person, they couldn't help but be surprised by the youthful appearance of this powerful man who held sway over two provinces.

But beneath that cold, stern face, his eyes were terrifyingly calm.

In the VIP section, Nico instinctively held his breath.

He couldn't fathom the young lord's true nature, nor could he sense any traditional pressure from his fighting spirit. Instead, he exuded absolute confidence, as if the world were in his hands.

Louis walked up to the railing, simply took off his gloves, and casually waved downwards.

"boom--!!"

The silence that had been suppressed for so long was completely ignited in the next instant.

Countless people roared the same name, some with tears streaming down their faces, some knelt down on the spot, their foreheads hitting the ground heavily.

"Lord Louis!!"

To them, the young man on the stage was not an abstract lord, nor a distant nobleman, but a savior who had pulled them out of hunger, cold, and humiliation.

He allowed them to live, to live with dignity, and that was enough.

Then Louis raised his hand, palm down, and made a very simple suppression gesture.

Three seconds, just three seconds.

The roar that was powerful enough to topple city walls was as if it had been pressed back to the ground by an invisible giant hand.

The cheers abruptly ceased, leaving only the sound of the wind and the low breathing of the steam engine.

This effortless control was even more chilling than the earlier fervor.

Louis didn't say anything; he simply reached out and slowly drew the cold iron longsword from his waist.

The moment the sword was drawn, a crisp, cold metallic clang rang out in the air.

The sword's edge pointed straight to the sky, reflecting a dazzling, cold light in the sunlight, like a line of judgment stretching across the heavens and earth.

The loudspeaker array broadcast his voice to every corner of the parade ground.

"The sharp blade of the Red Tide is unsheathed."

(End of this chapter)