Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports Chapter 235: Solving the problem

After finishing the plan for the food problem, the tip of the pen dropped again, making a soft sound.

“Insufficient housing,” Lord Louis whispered, the pen tip drawing four heavy characters on the parchnt.

He leaned back in his chair, his forehead a little tight.

Red Tide Territory originally had 13,000 people, and was planned to accommodate nearly 30,000.

The city plan, ticulously designed by Lord Louis, was based on precise calculations—roads, water supply, housing, sewage, warm current pipelines, and even the direction of every wisp of cooking smoke were all within controllable limits.

But now...

“Fifty-seven thousand,” Bradley said across from him, opening the latest population statistics book.

His voice was not loud, but it was like a dull knife slowly cutting through reality.

“This is the updated number from this morning, and as you instructed, the refugee camp at the North Gate is still registering.”

“Too many people,” Lord Louis rubbed his brow.

“The current displaced people are still crowded in temporary warm shelters outside the residential area.”

Bradley opened the ledger in his hand, his brows slightly furrowed.

“The residual heat from the geothermal veins can still support the dayti temperature, but for winter—it obviously won’t hold up.”

Lord Louis did ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) not answer imdiately.

He stood by the window, looking at the distant fields gradually covered in white frost.

Red Tide Territory, shrouded in mist, was still peaceful, but it could not hide a subtly approaching crisis.

“We need to build houses,” he said.

“It’s not about just holding on, but truly enduring a winter.”

He turned around, his gaze falling on the massive tabletop covered with a map of the Northern Territory.

“We’ll use the thod we first used to build: semi-underground collective dwellings.

They’re simple, sturdy, don’t require specific materials, and can keep warm.”

Bradley nodded, a hint of appreciative smile appearing.

“You an the original semi-underground buildings of Red Tide City?”

“Yes, buried one-third into the permafrost at the bottom, with a double-layer structural enclosure, timber-fra and mud walls.

One can be erected in as little as three days.”

“I’ll go gather the artisans, and those idle displaced people,” Bradley closed the book, his eyes showing more certainty.

“They’re either worrying about the temperature or about food every day; working will actually help them sleep more soundly.”

“Don’t forget to train so people in batches,” Lord Louis wrote down.

“This ti, the artisan team cannot rely solely on veterans; we need to get the displaced people themselves involved.”

Then he wrote down another item: “Private accommodation.”

“Issue a call: original residents willing to accommodate refugees will be prioritized for food rations and heated beds,” he said calmly.

But at the end, he added, “Set up clerical registration, clearly define rewards and punishnts, no coercion allowed.”

Bradley pondered for a mont, then asked, “Do you think they will accept?”

“They will,” Lord Louis’s voice was low but firm.

“In the past two years, our people of Red Tide Territory have lived good lives not by divine grace, but by building it brick by brick.

They know what disaster ans, and they know how much has been shielded from them.

Though there will still be complaints.”

“Then let them see personally sign this docunt.

Those willing to overco this difficulty together should receive compensation and respect.”

His tone, however, was not like giving an order.

After a mont of silence, Bradley softly said, “They will trust you, Lord, because you have never disappointed them.”

Lord Louis ignored Bradley’s flattery.

He rely bowed his head and continued to write down, categorize, and sort out the urgent problems before him, like stitching up and bandaging this battered Northern Territory.

“Heating problem,” he murmured.

“The Fireback Turtle system continues to be promoted.

Thirty dosticated individuals have been achieved, each capable of maintaining indoor heating for 3-5 days in an affiliated territory, rotating back to the main Red Tide Territory for recharging...”

Bradley nodded in confirmation: “As you arranged before, they have been distributed to Canglu Territory, Ice Ridge Territory, Snowfield Territory, Han Shan Territory, and other sub-territories, six to each.

The geothermal supply pool built at Red Rock Warehouse has been activated, and the small turtle-back heating array has also been successfully tested.

As long as the operation chanism is stable, no one will freeze to death this winter.”

“Very good,” Lord Louis drew a symbol, then turned the page, his brow slightly furrowed.

“dical system.”

“Over three thousand casualties from the insect plague still remain,” he read briefly.

“Save those who can be saved to the end, and don’t just discard those who can’t be saved—uniform placent, cremation, purification of corpse areas, to prevent epidemics.”

“Three simple clinics have been set up in the camps, but doctors are severely insufficient,” Bradley added, flipping through the booklet.

“I’ve already found doctors from other noble refugees to join, but it’s still far from enough.”

Lord Louis wrote: “Expand the dical team, assign suitable won to assist; establish standard procedures—cleaning, isolation, ventilation, disinfection.”

He paused, put down his pen, and his voice deepened: “Now we have over fifty thousand people; if disease spreads, it’s not just a few losses, the entire Snowpeak County could be destroyed.”

“I understand,” the old butler replied ticulously.

“Add one more point: psychological counseling.

Arrange for Dragon Ancestor priests to visit weekly, hold prayer etings, and soul-comforting rituals.

Let them know they are not lonely ghosts.”

Bradley nodded: “Yes, Lord Louis.”

Lord Louis put down the pen in his hand, rubbed his brow, and turned to a new page: “Transportation.”

“Three sections of the Northern Territory’s main road are interrupted, Bridge No. 2 is completely destroyed, and the southern route through the Frost Ridge Mountain section is interrupted by an avalanche.”

“Urgently repair Road No. 3 as the main winter route,” he said as he wrote.

“Don’t talk about full recovery yet; just ensure the southern supply route remains open for winter, otherwise everything will fail.”

Bradley: “I have already dispatched a hundred-man team for repairs, and simultaneously established three temporary relay stations, which can be used for human relay and rest if heavy snow blocks the mountains.”

Lord Louis nodded, looking again at the headings on his paper.

Heating, dical care, transportation, epidemics, psychological counseling.

Candlelight flickered, reflecting on the pages densely covered with writing on the long table.

“Although these solutions are not the optimal ones, the initial plans I could think of are all here.”

Lord Louis put down his quill, let out a soft sigh, leaned back in the high-backed chair, and looked up at the old butler opposite him.

“Is there anything else I missed?”

Bradley closed the ledger, his tone as respectful and steady as ever: “Lord, you have considered everything very thoroughly.

But I have still found two small issues.”

“Speak.”

“Firstly,” Bradley hesitated slightly, then said in a low voice, “Not all of the displaced people are good-hearted.”

“Naturally,” Lord Louis nodded, “In a flood of over forty thousand people, there will certainly be turbid waters.”

“The other day, there were several conflicts.

So outsiders tried to seize food and water, leading to brawls, and even so injuries to the original residents.”

Lord Louis’s brow twitched: “Didn’t I tell you to send knights to patrol and suppress them?

Those causing trouble, behead them directly.”

“We did send knights to suppress and arrested a few ringleaders.

But with so many people, we can’t catch them all, and we can’t kill them all—they just get a new leader, and in a few days, they cause trouble again.”

Bradley smiled bitterly, “We can’t just surround a group of people and beat them up every ti.”

“The thod is wrong,” Lord Louis narrowed his eyes, his voice a few degrees colder.

He put down his quill and stood up from the table, his tone calm, yet carrying the chill of a northern wind: “If you’re going to kill, you must kill in a way that makes people dare not act again.”

“Arrest all those who caused trouble and prepare for a public trial,” he said softly, his eyes, however, gleaming with a blade-like coldness.

“In front of everyone, list his cris in detail, from how he gathered the crowd, incited displaced people, instigated violence, stole military rations, to how he caused a wounded soldier’s infection to worsen, and two children to be trampled to death while fighting for food—write it all down for .”

“The more detailed, the better.

The more evil, the better,” he enunciated each word.

“Judge minor offenses severely, and major offenses—direct beheading.”

Bradley was stunned: “Beheading?”

“In Red Tide Square, set up a wooden platform, and ring the bell to summon the crowd,” Lord Louis’s tone was unruffled.

“Not only the residents but also the displaced people must see it.

They need to know that this is Red Tide, not a swamp for them to cause chaos.

If necessary, you can call over.”

Lord Louis added: “This is not my preferred thod.

But until order is re-established, fear is far more effective than kindness.

Only thunderous asures can suppress the post-war chaos.”

Bradley hesitated for a mont, then finally bowed his head and assented: “Understood, Lord.”

Bradley turned over the last page of the record in his hand, cleared his throat lightly, and added: “...There’s one more thing.”

“Speak,” Lord Louis rubbed his brow, his tone slightly weary.

“It’s those ‘nobles’,” Bradley used a nearly mocking emphasis.

“As you know, many minor nobles, broken families, and exiled descendants from Snowpeak County and its surroundings have co to seek refuge in Red Tide.

They claim to be seeking refuge, but in reality, they all have ulterior motives.”

Lord Louis said nothing, rely glanced sideways, signaling him to continue.

“So of them have been discussing intensely in private recently.

They say ‘Red Tide’s treatnt is too cold,’ and ‘making nobles eat the sa food and live in the sa shelters as commoners is an insult to nobles.’”

“And so people—,” Bradley whispered, “—have ntioned military power.

They say, ‘They were originally our family knights,’ and ‘Lord Louis rely took advantage of the chaos.’

They also say that you, Lord, ‘do not understand noble rules.’”

“They want to go back?

Let them go back one by one to face the worm-infested ground cracks then,” Lord Louis sneered, his tone scornful.

“If it weren’t for my ‘unconventional’ thods, they would have died so thoroughly that not even their ashes could be found.”

He stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, his gaze passing through the morning light streaming in, falling on the wooden houses in the distance within Red Tide City where many “self-proclaid noble” refugees lived.

“The war has just ended, the bodies are not yet cold, and they are already thinking about ‘face,’ ‘territory,’ and ‘who is nobler than whom,’” Lord Louis said softly.

“But they forget, this is not their manor, not their ancient castle.”

He turned around, his gaze falling back on Bradley, “This is Red Tide Territory.”

Bradley nodded slightly: “How do you want to arrange it?”

Lord Louis’s voice was calm, each word like a nail: “Gather them in the Red Tide City Council Hall; gather all the nobles currently seeking refuge in Red Tide.

It’s ti to teach them a lesson.”

Bradley smiled: “Understood, Lord.”

He bowed slightly and exited the room.