Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence - Chapter 430 - 277: Frost Halberd’s Predicament (Part 2)
Chapter 430: Chapter 277: Frost Halberd’s Predicament (Part 2)
“This year’s autumn harvest wasn’t ideal,” he said briefly, but it was clear enough, “Too little land cleared, too severe land wastage. Those who can farm have either died or are recovering from injuries. Farmers who can work can’t even gather enough plows.”
The chamber fell silent.
“…Additionally, from the Red Tide Territory—Viscount Calvin sent five thousand tons of green wheat. It was moved into storage yesterday via the West Shore Corridor.”
The people in the chamber were stunned.
“Five thousand tons?”
“At this time, who else can spare five thousand tons of surplus grain?” Count Haigel frowned, his voice incredulous.
“Is it ’sent’?” someone asked softly, “Not traded, not loaned?”
Kavier nodded, his voice calm, “Indeed, it’s a supply. No price is marked. The letter states that Louis ’voluntarily gifted’ it.”
Everyone simultaneously turned their gaze toward Duke Edmund sitting at the head seat.
The Duke merely nodded silently, his face showing no clear emotion, but his eyes slightly narrowed, as if suppressing some complex feelings.
He certainly knew about this matter, even earlier than everyone present.
The night before the grain carts set off, Louis had personally sent him a letter, saying this year had yielded a bountiful harvest and he was sending some grain.
Less than three days after that letter, his youngest daughter, Emily, also sent a family letter from the Red Tide Territory.
The content was still understated: “Father, this year’s yield is much better than expected. I agreed with Louis that we won’t take part in the empire’s resource allocation this time; we can even send some over.”
And the so-called “some” was five thousand tons of green wheat.
Duke Edmund shook his head, a barely perceptible smile touched his lips, like a long-missed consolation amid the endless winter snow.
“…Perhaps the one good news amidst all the bad news recently,” he thought.
Seeing him not expressing any stance, the meeting continued.
“What about coal?” a noble vassal in the corner asked softly.
Kavier nodded in acknowledgment, continued to read aloud, “Current coal stock is less than forty percent. Priority distributions will go to the sentinel posts guarding the city, command hall, noble district, and key shelters. Most ordinary residents rely on rotten wood for warmth.”
He turned to the next page, his tone deepening further: “Regarding medicine, storage is also critically low, with reports of small-scale epidemics spreading from multiple areas.
Imperial aid medicine is about to run out. Therefore, we must… prepare for the overlapping challenges of severe cold and disease.”
No one spoke immediately.
The big figures lowered their heads, faces weary and resigned.
And on the high seat, Duke Edmund merely closed his eyes briefly.
These situations, he had long been aware of.
On his desk was a stack of even more reports, each page with brittle corners from frost and dried cracks from pen marks.
“…Indeed, there’s no better method.” Kavier finally spoke.
He scanned the room, presenting his proposal: “My suggestion is to formally implement the personnel aggregation plan before the first snowfall this winter.”
He opened a new chart, pointing to several marked areas: “Transfer the citizens as much as possible to the ’core shelter areas,’ centralize heating, and concentrate coal distribution.
Maintain tier-three food ration standards, prioritizing military and government, limiting civilians to soup; it’s all we can do at this stage.”
He closed the booklet, looking at the high-seated person, “At least… we can avoid widespread deaths from cold and hunger.”
After his statement, the hall remained silent.
Because everyone knew this truly was the most reliable way to survive at present.
Edmund did not respond immediately, he merely exhaled deeply as if releasing the cold accumulated in his chest throughout the winter: “Proceed accordingly.”
Once Kavier settled back into his seat, the meeting fell into a momentary quietude.
Then, a gray-haired noble by the north side of the round table spoke somberly, “How many people can we muster now?”
His tone lacked provocation, just dryly voiced out the question on everyone’s mind but none wished to utter.
Kavier hesitated briefly, finally flipping to a document:
“…Originally sixty-three Northern Territory vassals,” he said softly, “As of this winter, only twenty-three can muster effective military force.”
“The others fell victim to the insect plague, lost contact directly… or simply pledged allegiance to other powers.”
Various expressions changed among the crowd, many furrowed their brows tightly.
“The Northern Territory’s noble system is fragmenting,” Kavier added, “We can no longer organize defenses and allocate resources through hierarchical orders as before.”
“And this, can still be counted as ’nobility’?” a young general couldn’t help but mockingly snort.
Just then, General Barrett spoke up: “Moreover, after the insect plague was quelled, the Empire’s Military Affairs Department forcibly stationed three temporary knight orders under the guise of ’security patrol,’ taking control of several key points on the old south line.”
“They’re entrenched in Old Iron Fort, Selan Pass, and Silver Pine Ridge, nominally under command, yet… acting independently,” he spoke slowly but each sentence hit like a hammer, “Soldiers have clashed with them at the border.”
He concluded coldly: “They’re not here to guard the Northern Territory, they’re here to seize power and land.”
The air in the chamber seemed to freeze.
Then Edmund finally spoke slowly: “These are minor issues, the most crucial is the external barbarian forces, recently, none of the five scout riders returned; I have a very bad feeling.”
He turned to Barrett, “From tomorrow, deploy thirty elite knights, in six routes. Directly investigate the Barbarian Territory.”
“Tell them,” he instructed, “Even if only one remains… bring the news back.”
His voice wasn’t loud, yet sent shivers through everyone in the hall.
No one spoke again.
Because they all understood, should the barbarians seize the chance to march south, the already fragile Northern Empire would plunge into an unprecedented crisis.
Later in the meeting, several secondary topics were discussed, such as a recent letter from the Ministry of Finance proposing that the Imperial Capital appoint commissioners to oversee the next round of disaster relief grain distribution, causing dissatisfaction among several noble representatives.
Additionally, multiple new noble troops from the south settled in the Northern Territory, frequently clashing with local old nobles over station allocation and resource distribution, with tensions gradually rising.
And other relatively less significant topics.
These topics sparked some disputes, but Duke Edmund continued to stay silent, just listening quietly until the meeting officially concluded.
By the end of the meeting, night had fully fallen.
On the command tower of New Frost Halberd City, one lamp after another was lit, snowstorm blew past the temporary wooden eaves, swirling cold air along the stone-paved streets.
Everyone gradually left their seats, some whispered softly, others had complex expressions.
Yet Duke Edmund just stood up from his high-back chair, nodded in acknowledgment, and left slowly.
The meeting indeed resolved some pressing issues, distribution plans were finalized, patrol plans advanced, even some vassal troop deployments received principled agreement.
But these felt like patching up a leaking ship, and how long it could float no one knew.
And he himself, more than anyone, understood the bottom of that ship was long riddled with cracks.
Duke Edmund returned to the back residence of the Governor’s Mansion.
He didn’t go to his study first, nor change out of his heavy armor, but directly pushed open the door of the warming room on the west side.
Inside, Duchess Alina was sitting on a low couch, gently soothing the baby she held.
She heard the footsteps and looked up, revealing a faint smile, “Back early.”
Edmund didn’t reply, went over to sit beside her, reaching an arm to take the swaddled child.
The child slept soundly, there’s even some dried milk around his lips, small fists curled in front of his chest, soft like a ball of cotton.
Edmund lowered his head to gaze at him, roughened fingers lightly tapped the child’s forehead.
He smiled, a rare gentle expression.
But the smile lasted only a moment, silently fading into the deep gray in his eyes.
Alina leaned against him, sitting down: “You left with your back straight today… and now it’s slumped again.”
He didn’t respond, just exhaled slowly.
The final battle of the Nest War, those creatures almost took his life, combined with his old injuries, he knew his time was limited.
Maybe a few years, maybe less.
But he couldn’t bear to fall.
He looked at the child in his arms, that little life oblivious to the world’s dangers, his flesh and blood, the next generation of the family.
And saw Alina’s weary yet still gentle eyes.
And the unfinished city in the snowstorm, tens of thousands of shattered yet unyielding residents, pervasive cold winds, ruins, and wailing…
He couldn’t collapse yet.
Even if by dragging himself forward step by step.
“Let’s hold on for a few more years,” he spoke softly, as if talking to himself, “If I’m not here, what will become of them.”
