Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 561: Chapter 338: Tolan’s Choice

The snowfall gradually slows down, but the border remains oppressive.

At the gates of seventy-three Border Guard Villages, similar teams appear almost simultaneously.

Members of the Knight Order clad in long cloaks with the Red Tide emblem, followed by officials carrying document boxes.

“Everyone must attend.”

The voice is not loud, but no one dares resist.

……

In front of the abandoned totem stone at the village entrance, the interpreter unfurls a sheepskin scroll and reads aloud.

“Administrative Decree No. 765 of Red Tide Territory: ’Barbarian Autonomy Trial Clauses·Initial Revision,’ effective immediately.”

He reads each clause aloud: “First, military household status confirmation, assimilated under the unified registration number of the Barbarian Race, signing military household pledges, abolishment of hereditary system, replaced with functional system, annual assessment, three-year merit evaluation, promotion, or demotion based on performance.

Second, promotion system openness, anyone with military achievements, scholarly qualifications, or artistic talents can participate in the selection examinations for Red Tide officials, without limitation on background, not divided by clan.

Third, autonomy council trials, each village establishes an autonomous council group, can dispatch members to attend Red Tide border military and political meetings, raise inquiries and complaints.

Fourth, in Red Tide, establish mixed teaching camps, taught jointly by Red Tide Knights and veteran Barbarian Army, select youths to enter Red Tide military school for trials, those who excel can be classified into guards, engineering, command directions…”

The official reads quickly, seemingly not allowing villagers to slowly react.

Yet after he finishes, he pauses for a moment, changes his tone, and slowly adds a segment: “The Lord said, Red Tide does not differentiate backgrounds, only recognizes loyalty.

Punishment is for traitors, rewards for law-abiders.

You are no longer exiled barbarians, you are the shield of Red Tide, the protectors of this snowy land.”

After the reading ends, the knights leave behind a wooden plaque with seven clauses written on it, erected at the village entrance: “Villages must have literate individuals explain the details of the clauses, within three days all villagers must comprehend.”

The literate Barbarian adult is the village chief, formerly a tribal noble.

He accepts the duplicate, sweat seeping from his forehead, with three knights still behind him, he knows how he should explain.

“What’s written here…is a good thing.” He surveys the villagers’ faces, “As long as we work honestly, life will become more stable.”

“Remember, we aren’t meant to be forever military households, those who perform well can be promoted. In the future, if a child from the village gets picked for military school, it’s a matter of bringing honor to the ancestors.”

“Hooray! Hooray!” The crowd applauds.

Most people actually couldn’t quite understand, only catching onto a few key terms.

“The murderer was hanged.”

“We aren’t implicated.”

“The Lord even handed out winter clothes.”

By the fire pit, a burly man mutters softly: “As long as they don’t drag the whole village to be buried together…that’s good.”

Another pats his shoulder: “Better to behave, Imperial People…aren’t unreasonable.”

They don’t like these clauses, even feeling they’re all nonsense.

But compared to the previous fear of the whole village losing their heads, they now find it bearable.

The women gather around the fire, draped in sheepskin jackets given by Red Tide, with their fingers showing the cracks left by washing clothes.

They react faster than the men, perhaps it’s not a bad thing.

“Can we really get food?” An oldest grandmother squints and asks.

“Heard from the village chief, dry rations, winter clothes, and something about registration…” Someone beside nods.

“You say, if my boy could go to the barracks, does he never have to return to this village?”

No one answers, but someone quietly replies: “Able not to be a barbarian, who would still want to be a barbarian.”

“Having food to eat, clothes to wear, a job can trade for salt and grain, isn’t it better than before?”

They have no sense of clan honor and don’t consider if those hanged deserved it.

For them, as long as they don’t starve and the children have somewhere to go, it’s better than anything else.

“Village chief says, obedient children can become officials in the future, similar to the old tribal chieftains.”

“Really?” Someone’s eyes light up.

“I can’t manage anything else, but if my child can go, I’ll send him first.”

Few literate barbarians, but there are always some in each village.

They copy the content, return to their own homes, livestock pens, or small spaces behind kitchens, reading bit by bit, conferring with companions from old tribal backgrounds.

The conversation belongs not to villagers, but to the old Barbarian Race nobles.

Literate barbarians were mostly once tribal nobility, speaking in alliances, sharing blood and meat at feasts, leading entry into imperial estates post-siege battles.

Now their offspring must enlist, wives must queue for food, and they themselves must live under the gaze of Red Tide people.

Identity is grounded, voices lowered.

Their attitudes toward the ’Barbarian Autonomy Trial Clauses’ vary.

Someone says: “This is captivity.”

Another grits his teeth and says: “At least it’s better than freezing to death in the snow.”

More remain silent, fingers rubbed against the edge of copy pages, eyes linger in one spot for long.

It’s not that they don’t understand, it’s that they understand too well.

These clauses aren’t written harshly, even hinting at opportunity.

Service can earn military merit, military merit can change identity, children can be sent to Red Tide military school, arguably a way out.

But they know well, the Barbarian Race system based on bloodline is truly to be buried deep in the snow by these few Red Tide words written on the wooden plaque.

They are not fools, just transitioning from tribal rulers to Red Tide villagers, some accepted quickly, some still stuck in between.

Thus reactions vary, some see the paper as humiliation, feeling it’s an iron plaque of taming, nailed on their forehead.