Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 678: Chapter 388: The Red Tide’s Blade

The top floor of the administrative center, Louis’ private office.

The pinewood in the fireplace was burning, creating a warm environment, forming a stark contrast with the cold winds and flying snow outside the window in early autumn.

Louis was not sitting behind the large desk piled with documents; instead, he had changed into casual clothes and was sitting in a single sofa by the fireplace.

He picked up the silver pot and slowly poured the amber liquid into two crystal glasses, pushing one toward the empty seat opposite.

The door was knocked.

"Enter."

Lambert pushed the door open and entered. His cloak was still carrying the lingering chill, and he instinctively wanted to perform a standard knight’s salute.

"Don’t bother with that in private," Louis looked up with a smile, pressing the armrest slightly, "Sit. This is a new brew of golden wheat beer from the Mai Lang Territory, just delivered."

Lambert habitually lowered his head, gave a brief half-bow, and then sat down on the sofa opposite.

As he took the glass, his fingertip touched the cold wall of the glass, and only then did he slowly retreat from the shock of the experiment earlier that day.

Looking at the composed young man in front of him, a surge of indescribable emotion welled up within him.

Just a few years ago, Louis was the discarded child exiled by the Calvin Clan for lack of talent, with a gloomy and confused gaze, abandoned by fate.

At that time, he himself was merely a vow keeper with the title of a high-tier knight but with no promising future.

And now, Louis was the Lord of the North, controlling unprecedented industrial and military power.

And thanks to the resources Louis granted him, he broke through the bottleneck that had troubled him for years and became an Extraordinary Knight, commanding thousands of troops.

In just a few short years, it was as if a lifetime had passed.

Yet the cold touch of the wine in the glass reminded him that it was all reality.

"Sir, this wine is quite strong," Lambert took a sip, "but quite good."

"I find it acceptable, planning to export it," Louis gently swirled the glass, holding it up to the firelight, the amber wine reflecting a layer of dark golden luster.

Lambert recalled the scenes from not long ago and said softly, "That steam war chariot... it’s a monster. The traditional knight phalanx wouldn’t withstand even one charge in front of it."

He was an Extraordinary Knight, his body, his fighting energy, his martial techniques, by the standards of the old era, already stood among the elite few across the continent.

But at the moment of the artillery test fire, he was very clear that even if it were him, standing on that snowfield unprepared, the outcome would be the same.

Louis put down his glass, his voice calming, "It’s not just a monster, it’s the iron wheel of a new era. No matter how brave you are, no matter how thickly armored, in front of such a thing, glory can’t save lives."

He paused, his gaze slightly deepening, "So we must create more of these monsters."

He looked up at Lambert, "Because the time left to us is shorter than I originally thought."

Lambert knew Louis was not referring to the Barbarian Race.

He put the glass on the table, leaning slightly forward, "Has something new happened?"

Louis got straight to the point, "The Regent King’s health has reached its limit."

The wood in the fireplace crackled sharply.

"At most two years, maybe even less," Louis said lightly.

Lambert frowned, "Once His Highness breathes his last..."

"The moment he dies," Louis continued Lambert’s unfinished thought, "the last stone pressing on the Empire’s head will be gone."

He walked to the window, gently tapping the window frame, the wind and snow outside hitting the glass and blurring it into a sheet.

"The princes will start fighting, the nobility will start taking sides, legions will be pulled away, some in the provinces will want to treat the border as their own hedge, the Empire will slowly be torn apart."

Louis’ voice was calm, "Civil war is inevitable."

Lambert was silent for a few moments before speaking, "What stance does the Red Tide Territory plan to take?"

"The Red Tide Territory will not take sides," Louis looked at the snow outside the window, "The Red Tide Territory, along with the North, intends to survive."

He said indifferently, "We need to prepare so that when they’ve almost torn each other apart, we still have the strength to raise our knives.

The Red Tide Territory cannot be a small boat adrift with the waves; it must be an iron ship against the tide. When the Empire descends into chaos, we must not only hold the North but also have the capital to hunt south at any time."

"Expanding the military and making war chariots is a bottomless pit," Lambert voiced his concern, "Didn’t you say last time that the Calvin Family’s business association has already started acting?"

This was his most immediate worry.

Soldiers can be trained, war chariots can be built, but without money, the best blueprints are just paper.

Yet a trace of a smile appeared on Louis’ lips, devoid of warmth, carrying a hint of a distant chill.

"They’re acting too late," Louis said, "Two years ago, such a move could indeed crush us, but now..."

He walked back and casually extracted a financial report from the stack of documents on the table.

"The minerals and industrial products of the Red Tide have already been pressed into the Jade Federation, and the food from the North is sufficient for the entire North’s three-year winter reserve."

Louis looked up at Lambert, "You don’t need to worry about the money. As long as you can train the soldiers, I will find a way to conjure the money."

Looking at him, Lambert suddenly felt that this statement was no boast.

From when they only had a destitute fief to now where the Red Tide warehouses and flags are everywhere on this vast snowfield.

Time and again, Lambert watched this young man conjure food, weapons, workshops, and territories out of thin air.

Lambert took a deep breath, already knowing what Louis wanted to know, and reported the figures at hand, "Sir, the total number of troops is now eight thousand six hundred and fifty people."