Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Some things, once used properly, can directly leverage the entire construction line.

This piece of intelligence is one of them; it can directly turn into walls and roads.

[3: Eduardo Calvin has been completely locked by the Golden Thorn Feather Crown, entering an irreversible synchronization state on the consciousness level, and will serve as its next-generation execution vessel.]

Louis’s fingers paused in mid-air.

He stared at the line, exhaling slowly after two breaths.

Eduardo.

What first emerged in his mind was not the chess game of his family, nor the authority of the Imperial Capital.

But someone who was very comfortable to be around.

At the first meeting, the impression he gave Louis was very good.

On the surface, he seemed gentle, spoke softly, yet always grasped the appropriate measure perfectly.

Moreover, in the Nest investigation, he chose to confess his abilities. It was at that moment Louis truly confirmed that this was a person with principles, who was willing to take risks for others.

But now, such a person has been chosen, become a puppet, and Louis’s heart is very conflicted.

As for the Golden Thorn Feather Crown, he is actually unfamiliar with it; this is the first time he has seen such a thing on the Daily Intelligence System.

But just from this intelligence, he could also deduce some things.

That crown is not a symbol; the person who sits on it will have their will replaced and judgment covered, leaving only the function of execution.

The Pope is one of the most powerful people on the continent, and can even be said to be one of the strongest beings in the world.

If even such a person can only exist as a puppet, then what controls all this must be far above the Empire and Church Court.

This thought sent a chill through Louis’s heart.

He traced this line back, inferring a thought that made him break out in a cold sweat.

Nest, Burning Pain Vine Court, dragon relics…

Perhaps this Golden Thorn Feather Crown shares the same origin with them.

They are distributed throughout the continent, differing in form and function, yet all sharing a common trait: the ability to bear, amplify, and transmit certain will.

Over the years, he has combed through numerous history books, from the Empire’s founding records to secret manuscripts of various Churches, even including pages judged as false history and collections of legends, yet has never found records of these existences nor the memory fragments they have instilled in him.

They seem to have been intentionally erased, or were born in an era unrecorded.

Perhaps there exists a fracture here, a history forgotten by the entire world.

And the Primordial Heart within him might very well be a thing of the same origin, possibly even its core component.

This thought brought rare powerlessness to Louis.

He wishes to investigate but has no starting point; for now, he can only rely on the Daily Intelligence System.

Give me some strength, system dad…

Louis remained silent for a moment, finally writing two lines on the intelligence book, the only thing he could do now.

“Dispatch two fake merchant lines, enter the Golden Feather Flower port. Establish three layers of scrutiny: dock, academy, grain market. Only investigate abnormalities, do not seek core contact.”

He closed the book, and the interface dissipated, leaving only the coldness of the unlit stove in the room.

A barely audible inhale sounded behind him.

Sif awakened, did not immediately sit up, but buried her face in the pillow, her voice a bit hoarse: “You stood by the window for quite a while just now.”

“Just pondering some things.” Louis tightened his outer robe, looking back at her.

Sif opened her eyes, her gaze still somewhat hazy, yet she spoke clearly: “There’s a mobilization meeting this morning. Troops stationed in Black Iron territory, workshop teams, and newly formed provincial night patrol teams will all be present. Don’t forget.”

Louis smirked: “Would I forget such a thing?”

“You would.” Sif glanced sideways at him, her tone deliberately certain, “and usually right after I reminded you, no idea what fills your mind.”

Louis raised an eyebrow: “This means your reminder isn’t formal enough.”

Sif snorted lightly, yet there was a subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth: “I see, then next time I’ll make sure several times.”

“That’s unnecessary.” Louis chuckled, walked back to the bedside, raised a hand to tuck a strand of white hair behind her ear, “If you really stared at me all the time, I’d be less at ease sleeping.”

Sif looked up at him, her gaze clear: “Then remember better.”

She sat up, pulled the blanket to her shoulders, her tone shifted to business-like yet retained some warmth: “That’s why I came with you, to prevent you from overloading your schedule.”

Footsteps outside grew denser.

A horn sounded briefly in the distance, as if reminding the entire city that dawn had arrived.

Since Sif arrived yesterday, Louis got up somewhat late today; there are matters to attend to later, so morning cultivation rest can only be skipped for a day.

Louis picked up the sword belt, and headed out the door.

……

The entrance of Black Iron Castle in the morning is where cold wind sweeps up from below the stone steps, tightening the neck.

But the crowd in front of the door was like water in a kettle set to boil, with heat waves surging.

Over five hundred officials were queuing to enter.

Pete tightened the deep blue Red Tide uniform coat he wore, being pushed forward by the crowd.

The inner lining of the coat was already wet with sweat, sticking to his back, but there was no time to worry.

The surrounding accents were all familiar.

All Northern Territory dialect, speaking fast, with firm intonation.

All were bottom-level cadre chosen from the Red Tide system.

On the other side, over two hundred people wore thick outer robes, brighter in color, forming a stark contrast with the darker Red Tide uniform.

They stood straight, yet couldn’t hide the tension in their expressions, with their gaze drifting constantly around.

They were old bureaucrats left from Black Iron Province, retained temporarily due to their experience after a preliminary screening.

Pete glanced at them briefly without dwelling; these people will become colleagues later, yet will eventually be filtered out gradually.

Gray Rock Province now resembles a gigantic refugee camp propped up. Food, shelter, healthcare, order—any one issue enough to crush people.

Only executors capable of holding the situation under resource shortage and personnel chaos are needed, this being the reason for Louis constantly sending people here.

Pete who had been filtered out layer by layer.

He had done the dirtiest, and the easiest work to be criticized for, forcibly suppressing death rates in a collapsing Northern Territory realm to single digits.

When the transfer order arrived, he scanned it several times.

Position upgrade, double salary.

More importantly, the appointment reason column bore the signature of Louis Calvin.

This was what truly excited Pete,

being remembered by Lord Louis means that he genuinely looked at your results and approves of your working style.

The work he previously did was not in vain.

The crowd moved forward a bit, and Pete followed into the hall.

This place was originally where the Count held balls. The ceiling was high, with a crystal chandelier still hanging centrally, though the lights weren’t fully on.

To accommodate nearly six hundred people, all sofas, tea tables, and decorative small tables were cleared, leaving only dense rows of hardwood folding chairs.

Chair beside chair, shoulder against shoulder.

Despite the cold weather, the collective breath of hundreds caused the air to quickly become dull and hot.

Pete felt the collar of his uniform being soaked with sweat, yet he still stood straight.

He found his seat in the second row, off to the side.

As soon as he sat, a pungent scent wafted by.

Perfume mixed with sweat.

Pete turned his head, seeing an official of Black Iron Province origin, not young, looking pale, fingers constantly rubbing his sleeve.

The person was clearly not accustomed to such a scene, their gaze wandered among the backs of Red Tide officials in the front row, and their Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“A bunch of lunatics…” Although the person’s lips moved, they didn’t make a sound.

Pete saw it clearly, didn’t respond, just took out a charcoal pencil and a hardbound booklet from his pocket, and opened it on his lap.

There wasn’t even a table to write on here, so notes had to be supported by the leg.

He had seen quite a few people like this before; initially, they often brought impurities, some could be worn away, some would inevitably fall off.

The once noisy murmuring in the hall suddenly paused.

As if pressed down by some invisible force.

Pete instinctively looked up.

A figure appeared at the door, Louis had arrived.

Without announcement, yet the entire hall fell silent.