Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 466 The Continuation of the Calvin Family
Rachel sat on the soft sofa in the study, her hands tightly twisting the handkerchief in her hands.

Her husband, Viscount Ronald, stood beside her, looking extremely awkward.

Ronald's gaze dared not linger on the outside scenery, yet it couldn't help but drift in that direction.

In the direction of the port, the outline of the steel fleet almost obscured the sky, the black hulls appearing and disappearing in the mist like rows of silent behemoths.

Ronald swallowed hard, his calves feeling slightly tight. Even as an elite knight, he couldn't help but feel a little fear of this imposing monster.

Rachel's thoughts, however, were no longer on the window; her memories were swirling in her mind.

In her memory, her younger brother Louis was still a teenager, always with his head down, and hesitating for a long time before speaking.

At the family banquet, he sat in the far corner, yet still made a great effort to maintain proper etiquette.

When she first learned that he had been chosen to go to the North as a pioneering baron, she thought it was all over. She was genuinely worried that her weak younger brother would not even survive his first winter after being exiled to the North.

She begged her husband to give her younger brother more gold coins and some of his own hidden life-saving potions, just to give him a sliver of hope.

But the news coming back from the North was more and more outrageous.

At first, there were only some scattered rumors and humble letters from Louis.

That abandoned son, banished to the wasteland by his family, actually managed to gain a foothold in the North.

He started as a pioneering baron without even a decent territory, survived the frozen ground and insect swarms, and married the daughter of the Duke of Edmund.

Then the message started to become more specific.

Duke Edmund died in battle, and the previously independent border lords were brought together by him in an extremely ruthless and efficient manner, while those alien races that were considered invincible were buried in the frozen ground in large numbers.

Then came the Gray Rock Province, which he annexed in a short period of time.

Finally, he drew his sword against the Papacy and won.

So those scattered names were pieced together by people.

The Northern Sun, the Conqueror of the Graystone, the Destroyer of the Papacy, the Miracle Maker, the Great Calvin…

"Is he still the same Louis?" The thought flashed through Rachel's mind.

She glanced down at the dress she was wearing. It was the most presentable thing she had at the moment. The style wasn't new, and the material wasn't exactly luxurious, but it was all the presentable thing she could offer.

Ronald noticed her silence, walked gently to her side, and whispered to comfort her, "Don't worry too much, my dear. The knights of the Red Tide were very polite to us and didn't neglect us at all. This shows that... Lord Louis still cares about you."

As soon as he said it, he couldn't help but wipe the sweat from his palms again.

The door was then pushed open.

Rachel looked up almost reflexively.

Louis walked in, dressed in clean and neat casual clothes.

He deliberately concealed his aura, suppressing the suffocating pressure to an extremely low level, as if he were just a young lord who had not returned home for a long time.

Even so, Rachel was still stunned.

The younger brother in front of her was much taller than she remembered.

He stood there with his shoulders and back straight, naturally becoming the center of the room.

It wasn't a deliberately displayed authority, but rather an aura that had been cultivated over a long period of issuing commands—quiet yet impossible to ignore.

“He’s changed.” Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. “He’s become like Father…”

She instinctively prepared to stand up and perform a formal aristocratic bow.

Given Louise's current status, there is nothing wrong with her doing this.

Before she could even stand properly, Louis had already strode over and offered a helping hand.

"Sister." His movements were light, yet unusually natural. "These past few years have been tough on you."

His voice was gentle, without a trace of the condescension of someone in a high position.

Even his tone carried that familiar, slightly dependent softness that Rachel Namie knew all too well.

In that instant, all the tension seemed to be gently punctured.

Rachel's eyes welled up with tears.

The little boy who used to hide behind her has not disappeared.

Louis poured her tea himself and casually asked, "Was the knight who came to pick you up impolite? And the children at home... has the little one been acting up lately..."

They didn't discuss the details of the war or the distribution of spoils; they just chatted casually.

Rachel answered while secretly observing his expression.

Louis was smiling and relaxed, but she still sensed something was off through his eyes.

But as long as he still acknowledges her as his older sister, that's enough.

After the pleasantries subsided, Louis turned his gaze to the man beside him: "Viscount Ronald."

He nodded, his tone solemn: "Thank you for taking care of my sister all these years, and when I was exiled to the North, your family was the only one who was willing to lend a hand."

Ronald straightened his back instinctively and answered seriously, "Rachel is my wife, and it's my responsibility to take care of her. As for what happened back then... it was her insistence, and I just did what I was supposed to do."

A barely perceptible hint of approval flashed in Louis's eyes.

He may be mediocre in ability, but he is sincere enough.

He reached out and picked up a pre-prepared document from the table, casually pushing it aside.

"The Southeast Province is now in dire need of reconstruction. Several manors that originally belonged to the Selton family, as well as the trade monopoly around Whitestone Harbor, are now just sitting empty."

His tone was as indifferent as if he were talking about a vacant piece of land.

"I plan to integrate that area into a new earldom. Would you like to manage it for me?"

Ronald's hand visibly trembled.

He knew all too well what a count's territory and a trade monopoly meant.

In a fleeting moment, wealth, status, and the future of his family all exploded in his mind.

He took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing his surging emotions, and bowed solemnly: "It is my honor to serve you, sir."

Louis simply waved his hand: "They won't be working for me, and Red Tide officials will assist you as well."

After the meeting, attendants led Rachel and her husband away.

Just before leaving, Rachel couldn't help but look back one last time.

Louis had already sat back down at his desk and was looking down at a piece of intelligence.

The gentle smile vanished from his face, replaced by an unfamiliar calm and focus.

…………

After Rachel left, the deliberately maintained gentle aura dissipated.

Bradley, the old butler who had been waiting in the corner, finally stepped forward: "Master."

Louis didn't look up, but simply gave a soft "hmm".

Bradley placed the document on the table; the cover bore the inscription "Status of Calvin Family Members".

His voice was a few decibels lower, but still clear: "The statistics are finished. Apart from Miss Rachel, all her direct blood relatives have... passed away."

The remaining survivors were mostly from distant collateral branches, neglected by the family and hiding in rural wineries or on the outskirts of old territories, thus avoiding the purge.

Louis's gaze lingered on the red crosses for a moment, his expression unchanged: "Provide the surviving collateral relatives with basic food, shelter, and medical care, just enough to keep them from starving."

"But without a title, without an annuity, and without any inheritance privileges, I do not live off others."

Bradley paused slightly with his pen, then continued writing.

Louis looked up at him and said, "If you want a good life, go take the exam for the Red Tide civil service system, or become a knight. The rules are the same as for outsiders."

Bradley bowed his head and replied, "Yes, sir. I will not grant you any special treatment."

He looked at Louis, who sat behind his desk, and superimposed his image on that of another Duke of Calvin. He recalled many years ago when he was in the Southeast Province, when the Calvin family was the most prominent family in the province.

The banquet was brightly lit, and the hall was packed with relatives and accomplices, who vied to chat, afraid of being ignored.

The young master, sitting in the corner, always watched all of this quietly.

No one could have imagined that the family would decline so rapidly and that almost everyone would die.

But it was this most unassuming child who planted Calvin's flag at the highest point in the world.

Just as he was lost in his memories, Louis got up and walked to the huge world map on the side wall of the study.

The metal map, illuminated by the light, appeared cold and clear, with mountains, waterways, and territorial boundaries precisely depicted, like a chessboard.

His finger tapped lightly twice on the map, stopping at the area that had just been marked as occupied.

The Avalonian Islands, formerly the main territory of the Golden Feather Flower Theocracy, are now entirely marked with dark gray symbols signifying the completion of the purge.

“This land is ruined.” Louis’s tone was not an exaggeration.

Bradley stood to the side, fully aware of the meaning of those words.

Although the theocracy was completely destroyed, its centuries-long parasitic influence had already permeated every aspect of this land.

Irreversible alterations have occurred in the microbial structures of soil, groundwater, and even the air.

In the initial post-war reconnaissance, the engineers reported that fleshy fungi were constantly growing on the ground, some vegetation was showing skeletal characteristics, and even insects were showing signs of mutation.

This is not a place that can be washed and then lived in.

“Send in the engineers,” Louis continued, his eyes never leaving the map. “Flamethrowers, steam bulldozers, white phosphorus bombs—use them all.”

"Plow through the entire area three meters below the surface."

Bradley paused slightly, but did not raise any objections. He simply jotted down the instructions on his personal notebook.

Louis paused, then added, "After the cleanup, establish a maritime blockade. Designate it as an absolute no-go zone; no one should live here for a hundred years."

Bradley bowed his head: "Understood, sir."

Louis's finger then moved north.

Beyond the archipelago, it lands on the vast map of the southeastern province. The area is not uniformly colored; most towns are marked as "mildly infected zones."

It wasn't a kingdom that had completely degenerated into a monster-infested land, but it was just as dilapidated.

Millions of ordinary people, who had long ingested the pollen of the Golden Feather Flower over the years, were either forced or voluntarily connected to that divine network.

Even though the internet has been cut off, the aftereffects remain clearly visible in them: lethargy, slowed reactions, and physical degeneration...

Like a group of addicts whose addiction has been suddenly removed.

Bradley hesitated for a moment before speaking, "Sir, the state of this population... is very unstable. If we don't appease them, there may be large-scale riots, or even self-harm and suicide."

Louis's lips twitched slightly after hearing this: "Appease?"

Bradley was taken aback.

Louis's gaze remained fixed on the map, but his tone hardened: "They're not out of their minds because they eat too little. They're out of their minds because they think too much and do too little."

“Then let them not have time to think about it.” He raised his hand and pointed to several severely affected areas: “Use Frost Leaf Sedative to carry out forced withdrawal first. Cut off all remaining sources of poison.”

"Then they were organized. The empire was shattered, ruins everywhere. All these people were incorporated into the post-war reconstruction corps to build roads, bridges, dredge silt, and mine..."

Louis's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.

“During the day, I did heavy physical labor, and at night I went to night school to learn to read, learn the Red Tide Law, and learn how to live in a world without God.”

Let them sweat, until they're so exhausted they don't even have the strength to pray. Once the sweat has dried, the toxins in their brains will be cleared away.

Bradley closed the recorder and bowed respectfully: "Understood, sir. If there are no further instructions, I will make the arrangements immediately."

Louis nodded. "Go ahead."

The old butler bowed, turned, and left.

…………

The door closed again, and Louis was finally alone to begin observing the study, one of the Duke's legacies.

This was the first time since he transmigrated that he had truly stepped into the study at the heart of the Calvin family's power.

Surprisingly, the place was not looted.

Oil paintings of successive Calvin family patriarchs hang on the walls.

Some were clad in armor, some in formal attire, and others had their hands on scepters.

Their painting styles are all different, but their eyes are surprisingly consistent, showing shrewdness and greed, like a group of businessmen still calculating profits even through the frame of a painting.

Louis stopped in front of the last painting.

That's the old duke.

The old man in the painting sits upright with his back straight and his hands folded on his scepter.

His gray hair was meticulously combed, and his hawk-like gaze seemed to be peering through a canvas at everyone who entered his study.

Louis looked at him for a few seconds, then looked away, picked up his glass, and raised it slightly towards the portrait.

“To be honest,” he muttered to himself, “I have no feelings for you.”

There was no filial piety, nor resentment at being exiled to the north.

"You want to use me as a pawn, as a tool to appease the emperor, while I have gained freedom and my own territory."

Furthermore, without subsequent financial support, I couldn't have risen to prominence so easily; for that, I owe you a debt of gratitude.

Louis tilted his head back and downed the wine in his glass in one gulp. He didn't look at the portrait again, but turned and walked back to his desk.

The sheepskin map has been laid out.

He picked up a red pen and traced its tip across the map.

Southeast Province.

He drew a complete red circle around the area.

This area is the empire's granary and port, as well as one of its most densely populated regions.

In the past, it supplied blood to the capital; now it will provide raw materials and manpower for the operation of the red tide.

The industrial system in the North has already taken shape, while agriculture and ports in the South will become its most stable pillars.

The line between "northern industrialists and southern agriculturalists" naturally closes in the author's pen.

With the deaths of his father and brother, and the seal ring on his hand, he is now the undisputed sole owner of this land.

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

“We don’t need a new lord here,” he said calmly. “We only need factories, farms, and the Red Tide Administrative Office.”

Power is no longer divided, but is directly embedded in the system.

He followed the shipping routes and connected the north and south waterways on the map.

Once this line is fully established, the Southeast Province will be completely integrated into the Red Tide's military, logistics, and trade cycle, and will no longer be able to be separated from it.

Just as my thoughts were about to sink further into oblivion, there was a knock on the study door.

Weil pushed open the door and entered: "Sir."

Louis didn't look up: "Speak."

“That fake emperor, Lampard,” Wel paused, a hint of barely suppressed excitement in his voice, “was intercepted by our patrol boats.”

Louis closed the map, downed his drink in one gulp, and a cryptic smile played on his lips: "Very good."

(End of this chapter)