Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 1: Daily Intelligence System
A piercing gale whistled through, hurling snowflakes that hammered the barren trees along the path.
Louis rode in a jolting wagon, its wheels scraping harshly over the frozen earth with a low groan.
In his grasp lay the Northern Territory Pioneer Certificate bearing the royal emblem, drawing a wry grin from him.
Merely three months prior, a dump truck had struck him, hurling his soul straight into Louis Calvin—the Duke Calvin’s son—in this alternate realm.
Yet prior to savoring even one fine day as a noble heir, he got named Baron of Expansion, charged with carving out a domain in the Northern Territory.
This assignment spelled pure misfortune.
The Northern Territory stayed locked in eternal frost, stark and lifeless, menaced by Glacial Giants from the northern wilds—a realm utterly hostile to humankind.
While the Empire claimed dominion over the Northern Territory on paper, vast swaths lingered under Snow Country holdouts.
Indeed, only two years back, a massive uprising had nearly severed the Northern Territory from imperial grasp, quelled only through heavy sacrifices.
Thus, the Empire grasped that counting solely on Northern Lords wouldn’t secure lasting peace.
The emperor commanded great noble houses to dispatch their kin as Pioneer Lords to the Northern Territory, bartering land for loyalty to fortify the frontiers.
Simultaneously, it diluted certain nobles’ influence, achieving dual gains effortlessly.
Naturally, the great houses weren’t naive; they pierced the emperor’s scheme and dispatched peripheral relatives to fulfill the decree minimally.
Louis fell into that category.
As the most unremarkable among Duke Calvin’s dozen sons, he stood as the prime pick for this exile.
His family handed him the Pioneer Certificate alongside 800 gold coins, several wagons of supplies, three Elite Knights, ten Official Knights, and thirty Apprentice Knights, then pressed him to depart at once.
From this meager outfitting, Duke Calvin plainly held no hopes for his worthless offspring to thrive in the Northern Territory.
Survival en route sufficed; perishing there would fulfill the duty, valuing effort above outcome.
Not a soul trusted Louis could endure the Northern Territory—not even him.
A fresh academy graduate, cast into this frozen deathtrap—how might he persist?
Louis tugged his cloak tighter, yet the invasive cold pierced right through.
He muttered under his breath: "Damn, didn’t they say every transmigrator gets a golden finger? Why do I have nothing!"
No sooner had the complaint escaped than a robotic feminine voice resounded within his thoughts.
"Daily Intelligence System loading..."
Louis froze mid-breath, and ere he could respond, details of the Intelligence System flooded his consciousness.
Daily Intelligence System.
It dispatches a handful of random intel tied to him daily, spanning resource spots, hidden personal truths, and forthcoming incidents...
This golden finger proved the perfect asset for any Pioneer Lord.
The Northern Territory brimmed with unknowns, harboring perils alongside hidden boons.
In this chaotic setting, vital intel from the Daily System let him sidestep threats and seize assets.
It forged a broad highway toward lordly dominance.
Moreover, even in dire straits, daily alerts allowed preemptive flight.
Grasping this, Louis couldn’t contain his elation and let out a quiet laugh.
His grim lordly odyssey at last glimmered with promise!
"Daily Intelligence System loaded!"
With the announcement, a translucent panel materialized before Louis, text lines racing across its face.
[Daily Intelligence Update Complete]
[1: At noon today, the Third Prince of the Ironblood Empire was framed while inspecting the stables and drowned in the manure pit.]
[2: Duke Calvin’s tenth daughter was born with the "Burst" talent in her bloodline.]
[3: At dawn, the Northern Crystal Cod will appear three kilometers west of the Glacial Rift.]
[4: Knight Roy mixed Frost Scorpion venom into your dinner stew.]
...
Thrilled, Louis scanned the intel from start to finish.
The initial pair offered scant aid to his plight, granting mere mental solace in his woes.
Like sneering at the Third Prince’s manure-pit mishap in palace plots.
Or once more admiring his sire’s prodigious vigor and boundless progeny.
But as his eyes hit the third intel, they locked in place.
"At dawn, the Northern Crystal Cod will appear three kilometers west of the Glacial Rift."
Northern Crystal Cod! A scarce prize, avidly pursued.
Prior to his Northern Territory trek, Louis had devoured regional lore to dodge certain death, stumbling upon this fish therein.
They dwelled in frigid depths, their meat not just delectable.
Crucially, their skeletons held a unique compound that cleansed knightly bloodline taints, amplifying might.
This treasure fetched fortunes in trade!
Beyond flavor, it opened doors to coin, allies, and battle prowess!
The system’s timing was impeccable; he’d fretted over rooting in the Northern Territory, and behold, fortune arrived.
Steadying himself, Louis pressed on reading, only for his grin to shatter.
"Knight Roy mixed Frost Scorpion venom into your dinner stew."
Louis swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the knights bustling nearby.
They erected camp near the roaring fire, some raising tents, others freeing packs from steeds.
Cooks among them chopped provisions, dumping them into a vast cauldron as vapors curled into the frigid dusk.
A plain-faced knight hunched over the brew, wielding the ladle.
Roy it was.
Ice flooded Louis’s veins.
A family-sent Official Knight, presumed faithful, schemed his murder in shadows?!
He’d figured these Official Knights, despite their disdain, would obey their lord’s word. But one hastened his demise!
Exile to this hellhole was torment aplenty; who foresaw assassination before arrival.
Curses, vigilance proved elusive.
Thank the heavens for the Daily Intelligence System—sans it, a tomb awaited.
From beyond the wagon, a knight’s shout pierced the wind: "Lord, dinner is ready."
Louis adjusted his attire, then parted the flap and descended steadily.
Flames lit the encampment, stew simmering hot in the pot.
Savory scents clashed with the breeze, stirring insatiable hunger.
The knights ringed the blaze yet held back from the meal.
By custom, the lord must partake first to signal their feast.
Louis’s eyes roamed the group, settling on the cauldron, a sly smile curling his mouth.