Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports Chapter 436: Varius’s observations

The convoy continued northward.

The wind and snow gradually beca clean and sharp, and a familiar chill filled the air.

When Frost Halberd City appeared on the horizon, Varius subconsciously squinted.

This was once the core of the Northlands.

He had been here a few tis in his youth; the city was battle-worn, its walls repeatedly repaired, and its districts torn open and barely stitched back together like scars.

Everyone was in a hurry, their gazes wary, as if the next horn blast could sound at any mont.

Of course, even then, it could be called a major town in the Northlands, yet it was always a city being dragged forward by war.

But what he saw now was sothing else entirely.

The city walls were higher, yet they didn't look bloated.

The streets were wide and straight, the snow cleared promptly and piled into neat ridges on both sides of the road.

Pedestrians walked with composure, and the shop signs were uniform and restrained, lacking the hysterical luxury of the Imperial Capital.

What surprised him most was the temperature inside the city.

The cold wind was kept out, and pipes along the streets constantly emitted warm air.

Even without being near a hearth, a steady warmth could be felt coming from beneath one's feet.

Varius stood at the street corner, montarily lost in thought.

This city was more magnificent than any of his rembered visits, and more like a truly living capital than the current Imperial Capital.

They weren't allowed to stay long; the next day, they were led to the north of the city.

A massive building, unlike anything seen before, stood there.

Thick concrete walls extended outward, with exposed rebar and no decoration, emphasizing only functionality.

The do was semi-enclosed, as if it existed to house so kind of behemoth.

Varius's gaze fell to his feet.

Two parallel black iron rails stretched into the darkness deep beneath the do.

His brow furrowed slightly. Was this so kind of slide for a giant ballista? Or... a device used to transport an entire castle?

Just then, Baron suddenly rushed out.

The forr Royal Chief Blacksmith practically collapsed to his knees beside the tracks with a thud.

He took off his gloves and, ignoring the cold, stroked the icy steel rail with trembling hands.

Then, he pulled out a small hamr and struck it hard.

"Clang—"

The sound was crisp and long-lasting.

Baron snapped his head around, his eyes bloodshot: "This is top-grade steel, tempered a thousand tis and without a single bubble!

You... you actually laid it on the ground for people to step on? What a waste! This is paving the road with gold coins! Are the mines in the Northlands inexhaustible?"

A staff mber quickly pulled him up, stopping him from jumping down further: "Do you want to die?!"

Victor stood to the side and explained, "This is called a railway, Master Baron. To make that steel beast run, the road must be harder than bone."

Before he could wrap his head around it, the ground beneath his feet suddenly vibrated slightly.

It was a rhythmic thud, low and steady, like a pulse that was waking up.

Imdiately after, the sound arrived first: "Woo—!!!"

An incredibly piercing whistle tore through the wind and snow.

Everyone instinctively covered their ears; the warhorses neighed in fright, their hooves trampling the ground in chaos.

In the darkness, two blinding yellow beams of light suddenly lit up, like a giant beast opening its eyes.

The next mont, steel broke through the mist as the Black Steel charged out from the depths of the tracks.

It was a black locomotive five ters high, its entire body encased in thick, riveted armor.

Huge red connecting rods drove steel wheels half the height of a man, producing a rhythmic and violent tallic clashing sound.

"Clack-clack—clack-clack!"

The chimney on the roof spewed billowing black smoke and white steam; the steam condensed rapidly in the cold air, rolling like clouds and swallowing half the platform.

Seeing such a monster, everyone's expression turned sour, and so even slumped to the ground: "A monster..."

Varius turned pale and gripped the railing beside him tightly.

Even on the battlefield, facing a frontal charge from the Knight Regint, he had never felt such a clear sense of powerlessness.

If the Knight Regint crashed into this thing, he didn't even need to think further.

The train slowly decelerated with a piercing screech of brakes, sparks flying along the tracks.

After a brief hesitation, everyone was guided to board the train.

The mont the doors closed, the wind and snow were completely shut out.

Warmth silently enveloped them.

Herman even froze for a mont, then silently took off his worn-out overcoat.

Inside the carriage, upholstered leather seats were neatly arranged.

The transparent glass windows were clean and bright; such a thing was only fit for a noble's drawing room in the Imperial Capital.

A train attendant pushed a cart past.

"Gentlen, would you like so hot black tea, or today's Red Tide Daily?"

Varius took the teacup and then the well-printed newspaper.

He looked down at the headline; it was a new decree issued by Louis that day.

The tea was warm, and the paper was dry.

His hands tightened slightly; this was not a ans of transportation, it was the blood vessel of a regi.

The train started up again.

Slowly at first, then its speed continued to climb.

The trees outside the window receded rapidly, eventually rging into blurred lines.

In the distance, a squad of cavalry was patrolling the snow; they even waved when they saw the train.

The train overtook them without pause, leaving them behind in the depths of the wind and snow.

"How many miles a day does this thing travel?" Varius asked in a low voice.

The intelligence officer glanced at his pocket watch: "It can reach Red Tide City in three days. This is equivalent to this horse completing a half-month journey for the Knight Regint in a single day."

Varius leaned back in his seat and slowly exhaled.

As soone who had studied war and governance, he instantly understood what this ant.

Delivery of supplies, deploynt of troops, and the efficient reach of governnt orders.

No wonder the Northlands could swallow the Grey Rock Province in such a short ti.

In the face of this steel monster, all old-fashioned theories of war beca a joke.

"The Northlands are cold and bitter?" He looked at the howling wind and snow outside the window and mocked himself quietly... The train slid into the platform in the night.

The mont the door opened, the sll of steam and tal flooded in like a thick mist, clinging to his nostrils.

Everyone got off the train with their luggage; stepping onto the hard ground of the platform, they could still feel the aftershocks coming from the tracks.

They followed the signs toward the exit.

Varius didn't speak the whole way. The sound of that whistle remained in his mind like an unceasing echo.

The mont he stepped out of the station gates, the cold hit his face.

The sky hung very low, deep enough to be almost ink-blue; logically, such a night should have swallowed everything.

But the city before him had no night.

Magic stone streetlamps and gas lamps wove together into a massive web of light, spreading from the main street to the further alleys, illuminating every stretch of snow.

Snowflakes swirled and fell in the light like finely polished crystal fragnts.

In the distance, on the mountain cliff, the Red Tide Main Fortress hung suspended.

It was not a castle in the traditional sense.

A massive do was fixed to the rock face and steel fras; the surface of the do emitted a warm red glow, like a steadily beating heart.

Heat waves slowly overflowed from above, forming a thin layer of white mist in the cold air that slid down the mountain wall.

Varius instinctively raised his hand to press against his chest.

He thought of the Imperial Capital; that city also had lights, but they only belonged to the noble districts. The nights in the commoner districts were like a silent well, so black it made one choke.

But here, even the outermost alleys were lit, and they were lit as a matter of course.

Patrolling knights passed by the street corner, their steps steady, snow falling on their cloaks.

There were workers pushing carts by the roadside, the sound of wheels rolling gently over the hardened road surface.

A child's laughter leaked out from a crack in a door, only to be quickly swallowed by the warmth inside the house.

Varius stood for a mont before realizing he was actually dazing off.

"Please follow ," a gentle voice sounded beside him.

They were led to the station's side hall.

Soone was already waiting there, an old man wearing a crisp black uniform.

His hair was white, but his back was very straight; his gaze wasn't cold, but it carried a just-right sense of distance.

Varius had seen too many similar people in the court.

The difference was that this old man had no air of sycophancy; he simply raised his hand to his ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) chest and gave a crisp salute.

"Bradley," the old man introduced himself, then handed over a neatly bound pamphlet and a sowhat heavy copper key.

The cover of the pamphlet had several clear words: "Arrival Guide."

Varius suppressed the ill-tid stirrings in his heart and spoke urgently: "I want to see Lord Louis Calvin imdiately. I have important suggestions for anding the Code, as well as intelligence regarding the Imperial Capital..."

Bradley smiled slightly: "Excellency, the Lord is currently inspecting the test firing of new artillery at the munitions factory. I'm afraid he won't be back for three days."

Varius frowned.

Bradley, however, didn't give him a chance to continue: "Besides, you have traveled a long way. It would be quite impolite to see the Lord like this.

Please rest in the apartnt for a few days and experience life in Red Tide. You will understand more clearly exactly what kind of people the Code you wish to and is ant to protect."

Varius opened his mouth, instinctively wanting to retort.

The apartnt was not the kind of mansion used to display status in the court, but a standard stone building with few floors and simple outer walls.

Bradley simply pointed the way and no longer accompanied them.

Varius pushed the door open and entered alone; the door closed behind him, shutting out the street noise.

The temperature inside the room made him instinctively halt his steps.

It wasn't the scorching heat of a fireplace, but a uniform warmth seeping out from the floor and walls.

He followed the heat to one side and saw a tal faucet embedded in the wall.

He hesitated for a mont, then reached out and turned it; clear hot water imdiately gushed out.

Varius was stunned.

In the Imperial Capital, a bucket of water like this would require three servants to take turns heating, carrying, and then hauling it upstairs. But here, it was as accessible as air.

He continued further inside; in a white and quiet cubicle, there was a strange white porcelain fixture.

Next to it was a brief set of instructions; it was a toilet. He followed the instructions and pressed the tal button, and the water swirled down, washing everything away cleanly.

By the window was a wide pane of double-glazed glass; the cold wind was blocked outside, but the night and the lights were preserved perfectly.

In the early spring of the Northlands, the snow was still falling, and the city's web of light spread out quietly in the distance.

That night, he slept very soundly.

The next morning, Varius walked out onto the street alone.

Crowds gathered on the main street, but it wasn't noisy.

Workers pushing carts, children carrying schoolbags, and won with baskets all moved along their designated paths.

A newspaper boy stopped in his tracks; he was about thirteen years old, wearing a thick cotton jacket and carrying a bulging cloth bag.

The boy pulled a newspaper from the bag, skillfully checked the house number, and made a mark with a charcoal pencil on a list he carried with him.

Varius's pace slowed down.

He watched that series of actions and finally couldn't help but take a step forward.

"Child," his voice was very low, as if afraid of disturbing sothing, "you can read the words on there?"

The boy looked up and glanced at him.

There was no awe or wariness in that gaze, only simple confusion.

"Of course I can, old gentleman." He pointed at the house number and read: "Number 22 Baker Street, Fisher Bakery."

The boy thought for a mont and added as if it were a matter of course, "This is a required course for second grade in primary school. If I couldn't read, how would I deliver newspapers to earn money?"

Varius stood in place, not responding imdiately.

In the Imperial Capital, literacy was the privilege of the clergy and the nobility.

Knowledge was strictly enclosed within high walls; commoners were not only ignorant but were deliberately prevented from coming into contact with writing.

As a result, the lower classes were driven by instinct and fear like wild beasts.

But here, a newspaper boy could read, write, and even exchange those skills for compensation.

This was what truly shocked Varius.

Not far away, a few people were gathered in front of a bakery.

A custor was quietly questioning the weight of the bread. The shopkeeper didn't raise his voice but simply placed the bread on a scale at the door.

Beside the scale stood a wooden sign—Fair Scale.

The shopkeeper pointed to the notice on the wall, the Red Tide Business Code.

"Short an ounce, pay back tenfold," he said calmly. "Lord Louis set the rule: Red Tide people don't cheat Red Tide people."

The custor nodded, took the bread, and that was the end of it.

Varius sat down on the side of the street.

It was an unremarkable bench; the wooden surface was worn smooth, but it wasn't cold to sit on.

Heat slowly seeped out from beneath the seat, creeping up his spine; geothermal pipes were buried underneath.

Not long after he sat down, soone joined him.

It was a young worker who had just finished his shift, his cotton jacket open, sweat still on his forehead.

He placed his tool bag at his feet and let out a long breath, but he had a smile on his face.

Varius turned his head, his tone deliberately gentle: "Is the work here tiring?"

The young man was taken aback for a mont, then laughed, revealing a row of white teeth.

"Tiring!" he said bluntly. "The Lord is very strict with deadlines; if you're slow, points get deducted."

Changing the subject, his tone beca light again: "But it's worth the exhaustion. Last month I got the perfect attendance bonus; tonight my family can have stewed mutton."

He turned his head and glanced at Varius: "Old gentleman, you're from out of town, aren't you? In Red Tide, as long as you're willing to work, the Lord won't let you go hungry."

The young man patted his knees, as if confirming his solid gains: "Two years ago, I was still a slave in a mine. How could I not be satisfied now?"

Having said this, he stood up, picked up his tool bag, and naturally rged back into the crowd.

Varius remained seated; the administrative center's plaza was not far away.

In the center of the plaza, a massive red tide banner was hoisted high.

The yellow sun emblem flapped loudly in the cold wind, as if to cast both light and heat into the night sky.

Beneath the flag was a whole row of bulletin boards.

Technical improvent awards, hygiene competition results, new bill public notices—one notice after another was posted neatly. So people stopped to look, so discussed in low voices, and then quickly dispersed.

Varius stood up and walked under the flag.

He looked at the Red Tide people coming and going around him, hurried yet focused, and finally understood.

This was not an order built on plunder; it had grown bit by bit from the ruins.

Just then, a slight commotion ca from the street corner.

The crowd spontaneously made way.

Bradley walked over, accompanied by several attendants; as his gaze swept across the plaza, it suddenly stopped on Varius for a mont.

The old man showed an almost imperceptible smile: "Excellency Varius, how has your stroll been these past few days?"

Varius turned around, his gaze burning with an almost impolite intensity: "Please, you must tell . When will Lord Louis return?"

He paused, as if restraining sothing: "I have too many questions. I must see him, right now!"