Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

The heavy airtight door on the side hull closed behind them.

The metal latch locked section by section, emitting a low and short muffled sound.

The outside sea breeze, wave sounds, and noisy voices were completely isolated by steel in this instant.

The passageway was narrow and low, with cold gray steel plates on both sides, without an inch of extra decoration. Rows of rivet heads nailed to the wall were neat and dense, like some kind of giant beast’s exposed joints.

Every few steps, an explosion-proof glass lamp was lit.

The lamp cover, slightly yellowed from long-term exposure to high temperatures, shimmered, casting the shadows of several people fragmented and broken.

Orland walked in front, his steps steady as if he were not an old man.

He stopped in front of an especially heavy watertight door and raised his hand to pat the solid brass knob on the side of the door, the metallic sound crisp and solid.

“The entire ship has been segmented into forty independent watertight compartments.” The old man’s tone carried unabashed pride as he turned the knob, indicating for Louis to observe the complex locking structure.

“Even if hit by a torpedo or the hull punctured by pirates, as long as the door is shut tight, it will float like a cork. Here, comfort is superfluous; survival is paramount.”

Louis reached out and touched the steel plate.

The sensation of cold roughness transmitted to his fingertips, providing a reassurance unlike any expensive silk.

“You’re right, Orland,” Louis retracted his hand and said approvingly, “At sea, survival is the only elegance. Even if we’re to die, it should be in the charge forward, not drowned in a leaking coffin.”

Orland paused for a moment, then nodded heavily.

They continued downward; the more they descended towards the lower compartments, the hotter the air, and the more noticeable the vibrations beneath their feet.

Even if the machinery hadn’t fully powered up, the entire ship seemed to suppress some emerging force.

The moment the soundproof door of the engine room was pushed open, immense roars and heat waves almost rushed in.

The space suddenly widened, with four giant vertical steam engines occupying the entirety of the core compartment.

Thick connecting rods, crankshafts, and cylinders layered, resembling internal organs made of steel, glistening with cold metallic sheen.

Beside it was a massive coal-fired boiler, half-open furnace door, with firelight casting the dimly lit compartment into a blood-red hue.

A few shirtless coal shovelers were busy moving back and forth before the furnace.

Sweat gathered into streams on their dark backs, flung onto the scorching iron plates along with their muscle contractions, emitting sizzling sounds.

Seeing the compartment door open, these lower-level workers instinctively paused their actions.

They gazed at Louis in his coat, eyes filled with a hint of bewildered respect.

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

“What are you all staring at!” Orland stepped forward, his voice like a resonant bell, echoing within the enclosed space: “Standing before you is the one who breathed life into this ship, the ruler of the Red Tide Territory, Lord Louis Calvin!”

The coal shovelers’ pupils constricted sharply, scrambling to kneel.

Louis said, “Pay no attention to me, keep going.”

In the next instant, the sound of coal shoveling intensified rapidly.

If the previous sounds were mere labor, now, they contained a kind of frenetic rhythm.

Iron shovels colliding with coal heaps, the coal thrown into the furnace, movements much faster and fiercer than before.

They dared not meet the great Lord’s eyes, yet poured all their gratitude into the furnace.

Flames licked wildly inside the furnace, with the needle on the pressure gauge trembling slightly.

Louis watched all this, nodding faintly, “Good, very spirited.”

Then the old man led Louis to the engine room’s center, pointing at the thick transmission shaft running through the ship’s body: “The one-piece casting process of the steam factory. From here, directly connected to the twin propellers at the stern.”

He reached out and patted the shaft, as if calming a temperamental yet obedient warhorse.

“As long as the boiler burns fiercely, it can drive this seven-thousand-ton block of iron until it flies,” the old man’s mouth slightly upturned, eyes gleaming with fervor.

Having examined the steam core, the two slowly descended on the hydraulic elevator.

Heavy steel cables tightened in the tracks, emitting a deep, rhythmic humming.

As the altitude decreased bit by bit, the internal vibrations of the ship became increasingly distinct, seemingly penetrating along bones and veins, delving into the most dangerous belly of a steel beast.

This place could no longer simply be termed a ship compartment. It was more like a museum of violence sealed in steel.

The first layer of the main gun deck, space deliberately elevated, unusually broad.

Along the central axis, two massive turrets stood side by side, like two slumbering iron hills, firmly anchoring the ship’s center of gravity.

With just one glance, Louis confirmed the specifications of the actual objects.

Black, long cannon barrels extending forward, cooling and reinforcing rings layered; even stationary, the chilly aura from the muzzle was enough to evoke an instinctive sense of suffocation.

Orland stood beside the turret, reaching out to pat the cold riveted armor: “This main gun layout was entirely executed according to your requirements.”

The old man’s eyes carried a hint of reverence.

In the initial plan, he had tried to use a more economical medium caliber but was flatly vetoed by Louis.

“In those years serving the Southeast Province, I’ve seen too many flamboyant warships, beautiful in parameters, but turning into floating coffins after the first broadside.”

Orland’s voice echoed across the spacious deck, “But you said the first volley must be heavy enough, brutal enough. To shatter their bones even before they realize the pain.”