Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 678 - 388: The Red Tide’s Blade

On the uppermost floor of the administrative center lay Louis’s private office.

Pine logs blazed in the fireplace, filling the space with cozy warmth that sharply contrasted the biting autumn winds and swirling snow visible through the window.

Louis avoided the grand desk buried under paperwork; dressed in relaxed attire, he lounged instead on the armchair near the hearth.

Grasping the silver pitcher, he carefully filled two crystal goblets with the golden-hued liquid, sliding one toward the vacant spot across from him.

The door received a knock.

"Enter."

Lambert opened the door and stepped in. Chill still clung to his cloak, prompting an automatic urge for the formal knight’s salute.

"Don’t bother with that in private," Louis glanced up smiling, tapping the armrest lightly, "Sit. This is a new brew of golden wheat beer from the Mai Lang Territory, just delivered."

Lambert instinctively bowed his head halfway out of habit before taking the seat opposite on the sofa.

His finger brushed the glass’s icy surface as he grasped it, allowing the day’s earlier experiment shock to gradually recede.

Gazing upon the steady young man before him, an unnameable wave of feelings rose inside Lambert.

Only a few years prior, Louis had been the talentless reject cast out by the Calvin Clan, his eyes shadowed by despair and bewilderment, forsaken by destiny.

Back then, Lambert was nothing more than a sworn oathbound with a high-tier knight title yet no hopeful path ahead.

Today, Louis reigned as the North’s Lord, grasping vast industrial and martial might never seen before.

Through resources bestowed by Louis, Lambert had smashed the years-long barrier, rising to Extraordinary Knight and leading thousands in battle.

Such a brief span of years felt like an entire era had elapsed.

However, the glass’s chilled wine touch affirmed this was stark reality.

"Sir, this wine is quite strong," Lambert sipped, "but quite good."

"I find it acceptable, planning to export it," Louis swirled the glass gently, raising it to the flames where the amber brew shimmered with deep golden glow.

Scenes from recent times flashed in Lambert’s mind as he whispered, "That steam war chariot... it’s a monster. The traditional knight phalanx wouldn’t withstand even one charge in front of it."

As an Extraordinary Knight, his physique, fighting energy, and martial prowess ranked him among the old era’s rarest elites on the continent.

Yet during that artillery test firing, he knew plainly that even he, exposed on the snowfield without readiness, would suffer the identical doom.

Louis set his glass down, voice steadying, "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."

Pausing briefly, his eyes grew more intense, "So we must create more of these monsters."

He raised his gaze to Lambert, "Because the time left to us is shorter than I originally thought."

Lambert realized Louis meant not the Barbarian Race.

Placing his glass on the table, he leaned forward a bit, "Has something new happened?"

Louis spoke bluntly, "The Regent King’s health has reached its limit."

Firewood in the hearth snapped loudly.

"At most two years, maybe even less," Louis stated calmly.

Lambert’s brow creased, "Once His Highness breathes his last..."

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

Approaching the window, he tapped the frame softly while outer winds and snow pelted the glass, turning it into a hazy veil.

"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’s tone remained even, "Civil war is inevitable."

Silent for moments, Lambert then asked, "What stance does the Red Tide Territory plan to take?"

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

He continued flatly, "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 expressed his worry, "Didn’t you say last time that the Calvin Family’s business association has already started acting?"

This concern weighed on him heaviest.

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

A cold smile without warmth touched Louis’s lips, hinting at far-off frost.

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

Returning to the desk, he drew out a financial report amid the document heap casually.

"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 met Lambert’s eyes, "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."

Observing him, Lambert abruptly realized the words rang true, no empty claim.

From a poor fiefdom’s start to Red Tide’s storehouses and banners spanning the boundless snow plains now.

Over and over, Lambert had witnessed this youth summon provisions, arms, factories, and lands from nothingness.

Lambert drew a deep breath, anticipating the question, and shared the numbers, "Sir, the total number of troops is now eight thousand six hundred and fifty people."