Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 98 The New Lord

"Ian?"

Hearing someone call his name, Ian looked up and saw a somewhat familiar man standing at the tent entrance with a bowl of porridge. He waved to him cautiously.

It was Ike, a young man from their village. They weren't very close, but they saw each other often.

To meet someone you recognize in this unfamiliar camp is like meeting an old friend in a foreign land.

"Ian? You survived too!" Ike's tone was much warmer than usual.

He seemed much more energetic than Ian had imagined, and his complexion was better. Although his clothes were a bit torn, he looked more human than Ian did in his disheveled state.

"You're here too?" Ian asked, somewhat surprised.

“I was lucky.” Ike sat down next to him. “I escaped to the mountains a while ago and almost froze to death. If the adults of the Red Tide Territory hadn’t found me, I probably wouldn’t even have bones left by now.”

"The adults of the Red Tide Territory?" Ian looked at him, his eyes full of questions.

“These are the people!” Ike’s eyes lit up, and his voice was practically flying. “Haven’t you heard? We have a new lord now! His name is—Lord Louis Calvin.”

“Calvin…” Ian murmured, repeating the sentence.

“Yes, it’s him!” Ike’s tone was tinged with awe. “I was on the mountain with a few other people, trying to escape.”

They sent people into the mountains to find us, carried us down, fed us porridge, gave us medicine, and even gave me a temporary ID card, saying that as long as I worked, I could receive food.

He spoke with great enthusiasm, as if recounting something extremely glorious, his eyes shining brightly.

"The new lord is not a nobleman like Baron Merrick, who spends his days indulging in debauchery in the castle, eating meat and drinking wine, and picking and choosing concubines."

This Lord Calvin is different. He sent down many doctors, soldiers, and stewards. We have food and drink, and even children and the elderly can stay in tents.

He even said he wanted to build a well and a house… This doesn’t sound like a lord at all, it’s more like a dragon ancestor descended to earth!”

Ian listened quietly, his gaze somewhat unfocused.

He looked at his daughter, whom he had watched over day and night, and then thought of the old nobles who treated refugees like dirt, and his heart felt heavy.

He had never met this young lord named Calvin, and didn't even know what he looked like.

But the people he sent saved Mia, saved him, and saved so many others.

In this already shattered world, he gave people hope again.

"It really seems different now," Ian murmured softly, so softly that even Ike couldn't hear him.

If this sir is truly willing to accept them, if he is willing...

Then I will definitely follow him.

Even if the work he sets for himself is the hardest and most tiring, he will do anything as long as his daughter can live.

Fortunately, his wish was soon fulfilled.

Around noon, an official dressed in the uniform of the Red Tide Territory stepped into the tent.

The man was unarmed and unhurried, asking questions one by one with paper and pen.

He walked up to Ian and nodded slightly: "May I ask your name and village of origin?"

“Ian, from Whitestone Village,” he answered instinctively, his eyes still wary.

"We're currently accepting refugees here and need to register their identities. We can provide food and lodging, but you'll need to work in exchange. What skills do you have?"

Ian hesitated for a moment, "I used to be a carpenter, I could make furniture and repair houses."

Upon hearing this, the official nodded, his tone becoming more serious: "Very good. Those with a skill will be given priority in accommodation arrangements, and can later apply for a residency quota."

He then handed Ian a complete set of supplies:

A number plate painted red, with his new number on it;
A set of gray thermal undershirts, styled like old military ones, handmade but clean and sturdy; a wooden bowl wrapped in coarse linen, and a worn but dried blanket.

He noticed that Ian wasn't wearing shoes. After a few seconds of silence, he took a pair of somewhat dirty old military boots out of his bag and handed them to him: "These will do."

Ian took the boots, his fingertips trembling slightly, his voice a little hoarse: "Thank you."

"You've been assigned to work in shed number three. Go to the assembly point early tomorrow morning and join the craftsmen to build houses."

Don't worry about not having food; three meals a day will be provided.

After the official finished speaking, he turned and moved on to the next refugee, while Ian looked down at the things in his hands, touching each item as if afraid they would suddenly disappear.

That night, as usual, Ian stayed by his daughter's side, feeding her porridge spoonful by spoonful.

At some point, Mia slowly opened her eyes.

“Mia…?” Ian could hardly believe what he was seeing.

The little girl was still very weak, but her eyes had already regained focus.

She looked at her father, tears slowly welling up in her eyes, and reached out her small hand to gently grasp his large hand.

"dad……"

That one sentence finally shattered the heavy burden that had been weighing on Ian's heart for so long.

He lowered his head, burying his face beside his daughter, his voice choked with sobs as if it were being torn apart: "You survived... Thank you, Lord, may the Dragon Ancestor protect you... Thank you..."

A gust of wind swept past the tent, and the red flag hanging high in the wind fluttered like flames in the night.

In the center of the flag, the golden sun shines brightly, as if it were real, like light dispelling the cold winter and warming people.

Ian gazed at the flag, his lips moving slightly as he softly uttered the name he had heard from Ike:

“My lord, Lord Louis Calvin… thank you… thank you…”

Such miracles did not only befall Ian.

In every new territory Louis acquired, he sent out such a team.

A caravan of Red Tide soldiers, knights, doctors, craftsmen, and registrars, carrying food, medicine, and order, ventured deep into the ruined villages and towns.

They set up tents, cooked hot porridge, received refugees, and registered their information.

To provide a chance for those who have lost everything in the war to survive.

As for those refugees who are not in his territory, he will turn a blind eye and take them in as long as they are willing to come and work for him.

Of course, not everyone came with a grateful heart.

After the war, many bandits and thugs did indeed emerge, who robbed, extorted, and even disguised themselves as refugees to infiltrate the camps.

As soon as it was light, long queues formed outside the porridge sheds at the camp, with wisps of smoke rising and pots bubbling away.

Just then, a commotion suddenly broke out behind them.

"Get out of the way! Get the hell out of here if you don't want to die!"

"Grain! Give us all the grain!!"

A group of ragged bandits with ruthless glints in their eyes rushed out of the woods.

There were about thirty of them, carrying broken axes, machetes, and even longswords.

They had been lying in wait nearby, just waiting for the opportunity to cook porridge and serve rice.

(End of this chapter)