Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence - Chapter 533 - 325: Bradley’s Day
Chapter 533: Chapter 325: Bradley’s Day
In the harsh winter of the Northern Territory, inside the domed houses of Red Tide City, it is as warm as spring.
Bradley sat up, slowly moving his shoulders, emitting faint “click” sounds.
“Ugh… these bones are becoming more and more disobedient,” he muttered, picking up a robe from the side of the bed and putting it on, then leisurely made himself a cup of warm tea.
Maintaining one’s health has become a routine, not for longevity, but to handle affairs more clearly each day.
This elder, who has crossed into his sixties, was once the elder steward of the Calvin Clan in the Southeast Province, his life intertwined with the nobility.
He was supposed to have prepared for retirement four years ago, then enjoy a peaceful life within the Calvin Clan.
However, due to a command from Duke Calvin, he embarked on a journey to the Northern Territory to investigate the Demon Marrow Ore.
Upon arriving in Louis’ territory, Bradley found that this previously insignificant young master was indeed doing a good job, but there remained several gaps and chaos in the area.
Louis personally requested him to stay and assist in developing the Red Tide Territory.
Bradley originally planned to help the young boy for a year or two until he found his footing, then return to the Southeast to retire.
But once he stayed, it turned into four years.
He witnessed with his own eyes the young man, Louis, single-handedly supporting the precarious situation amid heavy snow, plague, and riots.
How he transformed a group of refugees, slaves, and defeated soldiers into the orderly city it is today.
How in just a few years, he evolved from a Baron of Expansion to a Count, and indeed the de facto ruler of the Northern Territory.
Unwittingly, Bradley himself became the Chief Steward of Red Tide City, his position in the city second only to the Lord and his two wives.
“Ah, the impermanence of the world is truly remarkable.”
Bradley finished his tea, massaged his still-stiff waist, and opened the door to step out of his room.
The Northern Territory was still blanketed in snow and the cold was biting, but Red Tide City was different.
Geothermal pipelines running underground, combined with the Fire-backed Turtle’s greenhouse, kept the district’s temperatures above the winter standard line.
While it couldn’t be said to be spring-like with blooming flowers, at least it was not cold enough to make people shiver.
Bradley walked out onto the street, where two young knights from the Red Tide Knight Order were already waiting at the door, holding his horse and paving the way for him, saluting and saying, “Lord Bradley, the carriage is ready. What’s today’s schedule?”
A slight smile appeared on his lips: “Hmm, first go to the storage area to take a look at the main granary and the stock of salt meat, and incidentally confirm if the third batch of coal has been authorized for release.
Then swing by the medical facility to see if the newly received refugees have stabilized.
Afterwards, head to the heating center; recently, there’s been an instability in the geothermal pipeline in the East District. Someone reported it yesterday, and the heat isn’t reaching the farthest greenhouse.
Oh, remember to reserve the small conference room at the Council Hall before noon to launch the spring plowing scheme and start preparing for the Spring Festival.”
Bradley tugged at his cloak and made a small joke: “That’s it, let’s go. The roads are slippery in the cold; tell the driver to take it slow as I’d like to live a few more years.”
The carriage arrived at the central street, where each household’s windows were adorned with wish candles, likely having been lit for a long time, with only the last few lingering flames remaining.
The first stop was the storage area, a row of semi-underground granaries not far from the inner city.
Bradley walked into the dispatch room with familiar ease, where a few officials on duty were sorting last night’s distribution slips.
He didn’t need to say much; as soon as he extended his hand, someone handed him the inventory.
The coal distribution rate reached ninety-four percent, the quotas for each district remained stable, and the remaining reserves were adequate.
Standing in front of the central long table in the storage area, his cloak still on, Bradley let his fingertips glide across a parchment scroll:
“This emergency winter adjustment form can be streamlined a bit, by removing repeated distributions and duplicate records.”
He pointed to a line of data at the bottom of the table and said blandly, “Recently, there’s been new settlers in the outskirts of the Southeast District; allocate ten barrels of coal as a backup before anyone asks.”
The scribe in charge immediately nodded affirmatively, afraid that his pen might linger a moment too long.
Bradley then turned his gaze to the neatly stacked grain bricks, dried meat, and coal briquettes in the warehouse.
The entire storage area was methodically organized, with no signs of panic, clearly marked with the sources and destinations, a situation that didn’t happen by chance.
Just half a month ago, a warehouse manager was caught by Bradley selling high-energy coal bricks under the table.
The man was one of the first veterans to follow Louis to Red Tide City, and in a lapse of judgement, committed this foolish act.
He pleaded and argued, begging for mercy at the council hall overnight.
But by the next morning, his body hung from an iron hook outside the warehouse door, with a notice listing his crimes.
After that, no one dared to reach out for more.
Bradley is not a bloodthirsty person, but on this piece of land in the Northern Territory, without harsh punishments, it’s hard to curb corruption, after all, people here have been impoverished for too long.
Now, warehouse managers dare not take an extra block of coal, and scribes will proactively report corrections for even one erroneous line.
The rules have been etched into everyone’s bones.
Bradley nodded with satisfaction and stepped out of the storage area.
As he left the storage area, the sky had become slightly brighter, but the misty snow still hung low.
Bradley draped on a thick cloak, stepped up onto the carriage, and slowly headed to the medical facility with his escort, the tracks left by patrol knights visible along the way.
Inside the carriage, Bradley was engrossed in reading through his records when suddenly he heard children’s voices, “Good morning, Lord Bradley!”
Looking out the window, he saw two children crouched under the eaves roasting potatoes, their cheeks rosy, and one little girl stood up and waved to him.
Bradley looked up, his eyes crinkled as he raised his hand in return, “Morning.”
A small scene, more meaningful than a thousand words.
If it weren’t for the implemented system and stabilized heating, how could children be seen laughing on the winter streets?
