Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 864: Chapter 465: The Continuation of the Calvin Clan (Part 3)

“Then organize them. The Empire is shattered, ruins are everywhere. Integrate these people into the post-war reconstruction corps to build roads, erect bridges, clear silt, and mine…”

Louis’s voice was not loud, but each word was clear.

“During the day, they do heavy labor; at night, enroll them in night school to learn literacy, Red Tide laws, and how to survive in a world without God.

Make them sweat, tire them until they have no energy left to pray. When the sweat dries up, the poison in their minds will be cleansed.”

Bradley closed the clipboard and solemnly saluted, “Understood, sir. If there are no other instructions, I’ll proceed with the arrangements.”

Louis nodded, “Go.”

The old butler saluted and turned to leave.

……

The doors closed again. Louis finally found himself alone, beginning to survey this study, one of the legacies left by the old Duke.

This was the first time since his arrival that he truly stepped into the power core of the Calvin Clan, this study.

Unexpectedly, it had not been looted.

On the walls hung portraits of the Calvin Clan’s patriarchs through the ages.

Some wore armor, some wore suits, others had a hand resting on a scepter.

The styles varied, yet their gazes were remarkably similar—sharp and greedy, like a group of merchants calculating profits from behind the frames.

Louis’s footsteps halted before the last painting.

It was the old Duke.

The elder in the painting sat upright, his spine straight, hands folded on the scepter.

His gray hair was meticulously groomed, with an eagle-like gaze seemingly scrutinizing everyone who entered the study.

Louis looked at him for a few seconds, then shifted his gaze, lifted his glass towards the portrait slightly.

“To be honest,” he said softly to himself, “I feel no affection for you.”

No admiration, nor hatred for being exiled to the Northern Territory.

“You wanted to use me as a pawn, a tool to appease the Emperor, but I gained freedom and my own land.

And without the subsequent financial support, I wouldn’t have risen so easily. In that regard, I owe you.”

Louis tilted his head back, downing the wine in his glass, and without looking at the painting again, turned back to the desk.

A sheepskin map was already spread out.

He picked up a red pen, letting its tip wander across the map.

Southeast Province.

He drew a complete red circle around this area.

This is the breadbasket and port of the Empire, also one of the most densely populated regions.

In the past, it supplied blood to the Imperial Capital; now it will provide materials and manpower to keep the Red Tide running.

The Northern Territory’s industrial system is already established, while the agriculture and ports in the South will become its most stable support.

Industrial North and Agricultural South, forming a natural closure under his pen.

With the death of his father and brothers, and the seal ring on his hand, he is now the undisputed sole master of this land.

Louis drew a prominent cross in the center of the map.

“Here, no new Lord is needed,” he said calmly. “Only factories, farms, and the Red Tide administration office are required here.”

Power will no longer be divided but embedded directly into the system.

Following the shipping routes, he connected the north and south waterways on the map.

Once this line is fully opened, the Southeast Province will be wholly integrated into the Red Tide’s military, logistics, and trade loop, never to be isolated again.

As his thoughts were about to continue delving deeper, the door of the study was knocked.

Weir pushed the door open, “Sir.”

Louis didn’t look up, “Speak.”

“That pseudo-emperor, Lampard,” Weir paused, a hint of irrepressible excitement in his voice, “has been intercepted by our patrol boat.”

Louis closed the map, drank the remaining wine in one gulp, and a faintly ambiguous smile curled at the corner of his mouth, “Good.”