Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 4: Useless Nobles Gather in the Northern Territory

Louis crossed his legs in meditation, regulating his breath, while the "Tidal Breathing Technique" smoothly activated inside his body.

"Breathe in, breathe out."

His chest resounded with deep, lingering breaths, surging and receding like ocean tides, drawing in and purifying the vitality from the Northern Crystal Cod.

The "Tidal Breathing Technique" stands as the inherited breathing method of the Calvin Clan.

Centered on bloodline power that ebbs and flows like mighty waves, it focuses on endless cycles, exploding with might at high tide and settling into peace at the ebb.

Bathed in this mild but ferocious energy, Louis sensed his bloodline undergoing a dramatic remolding.

He felt his blood racing faster through his veins, his meridians flowing freer than before, and his bones faintly scorching as though remaking themselves.

At last, with a drawn-out exhale, the inner blaze slowly faded to serenity, and his breakthrough came.

Mid-tier Official Knight.

At his young age, such prowess marks him as a rare genius among mortals, one among millions.

But amidst Duke Calvin’s children, he lingered as a mere lowly failure.

His older brother had already claimed Peak Knight status, with glorious war feats and massive aid to the Empire.

In this realm, knight strength arises from awakening one’s bloodline.

Not all can claim knighthood; only those bearing potent bloodlines ignite the hidden knight force within.

Upon the knight’s path, six core realms await: Apprentice Knight, Official Knight, Elite Knight, Extraordinary Knight, Peak Knight, Legendary Knight, each divided by immense chasms.

Now, Louis harbored no more urgency.

Armed with the Daily Intelligence System, boundless chances lay ahead.

Fully integrating the fish soup’s essence, Louis gradually ceased the Tidal Breathing Technique and unveiled his eyes.

He at once perceived the nearby knights gazing upon him with awe-filled stares.

Instantly after, roaring cheers thundered across the camp: "Long live the Lord!"

Amid those booming acclaims, Louis finally released a heavy breath of ease.

This confirmed his authority’s initial forging, sparing him—for the moment—fears over the knights’ faithfulness.

As cheers faded, Louis turned to Lambert at his side and questioned, "How far are we from Frost Halberd City?"

Lambert answered with deference, "About two hundred kilometers."

"That means a journey of five to six days." Louis gave a faint nod, then issued a firm command, "Accelerate, and strive to arrive by the afternoon three days later."

Lambert replied respectfully, "Understood!"

In usual times, the group could never march at such pace, least of all over this frozen waste.

Yet with knights’ spirits blazing at zenith, hitting that travel target proved utterly achievable.

Frost Halberd City, crown of the Northern Province, reigns as the North’s vital nexus for war and rule.

Louis’s key mission this voyage: claim his frontier domain; the earlier the pick, the vaster the rewards.

But the true fire urging him toward Frost Halberd City stemmed from today’s three system-fresh intel drops:

[1: Three days later, a slave merchant will bring Weir, who has the potential of a Peak Knight, to the black market of Frost Halberd City.]

[2: Three days later, the Alchemy Apprentice Hillco, wanted by the Golden Marrow Guild for stealing a secret formula, will disguise as a slave and be brought to the black market of Frost Halberd City by a slave merchant.]

[3: Duke Edmund is furious as all the noble families send their wastrel heirs to the Northern Territory.]

The opening intel stunned Louis deeply.

A Peak Knight rates as premier T1 combat force in this world, scarce though shy of Legendary Knights’ rarity.

Still, each Peak Knight stands as army chief or kingdom pillar, cherished as bedrock by every force.

Weir remains immature for now, yet Peak Knight potential alone compels Louis to stake on him.

The second intel brimmed with equal treasure.

Here, an "Alchemist" mirrors a master chemist, adept at wielding magic wares, even forging riches from cheap scraps—a prize every great power craves.

The Calvin Clan holds just three true Alchemists.

True, the Alchemy Apprentice lacks full bloom, but such talents stay devilishly rare.

Louis’s scheme stayed straightforward: feign casual purchase of Hillco, then watch from shadows.

Proven talented and harmless, he’d stay to be groomed.

A slave’s tag shouldn’t demand sky-high coin anyway.

As for the third...

Lacking the system, Louis still could’ve guessed it.

With noble houses scrambling to dump dud heirs into the frozen North, Governor Duke Edmund boils in predictable wrath.

Yet to Louis, it needn’t spell doom.

Played shrewdly, it slots into his grand design.

Teeming with chances, Frost Halberd City demands his swift arrival!

...

"Damn it! A bunch of bloodsucking parasites! The Empire sent them here to defend the Northern Territory, not to send a bunch of freeloaders to hinder efforts!"

Thick stacks of reports crashed down upon the Governor’s Mansion office desk.

Sheets flew in chaos, framing Duke Edmund’s seething visage.

Two years back, revolt nearly ripped the full Northern Territory from imperial grasp, foes even shattering Frost Halberd City’s outer ramparts!

Duke Edmund rallied crack legions for a savage three-month clash, scarcely crushing the uprising.

But the price?

Border strongholds razed, silos aflame, half the soldiers gone, his lone son slain.

Order across the North clings unrestored.

Now the Emperor grasps: troops alone can’t hold the peace.

Thus nobles’ youths were summoned north to pioneer and brace frontiers with their might.

But these brainless noble clans!

Do they mean to hazard true heirs in the deadly North?

What nonsense!

Wastrels flood the North, decent ones mere outliers.

In towering fury, Duke Edmund sneered, seized a report, and snapped it wide: "Let’s see what kind of goods have they sent?"

The Elvin Clan’s third son, whispered gambling maniac, owes enough for three Royal Capital manors.

The Grant Clan young master, barely fifteen by repute, haunts every famed imperial den of vice.

Duke Calvin’s eighth son, daily idler scraping Low-tier Official Knight via clan aid, pure trash.

...

"Is this a group of noble offspring? This is a delivery of pleasure-seekers, gamblers, and drunkards!

A bunch of pampered fools! Their ancestors forged the realm with iron and blood, yet now they are only concerned with power struggles, scheming and plotting.

In their eyes, other than their family’s interests, where is there room for the Empire’s safety!"

Wrath uncontained, Duke Edmund pounded the desk, sturdy timber creaking in protest.

The chamber’s air hung suffocatingly thick, aides heads bowed, silent as graves.

Moments later, Edmund drew a deep breath, wrestled down his blaze, slumped into his seat, eyes like glacial steel.

"Forget it. Since these fools have rolled in, let them fend for themselves, the Northern Territory still relies on us."