But the next mont, that clarity dissipated again.
Baron lowered his voice and continued, "The Second Prince forced him to conduct human experints. While they were alive."
"He refused, but he had no choice, and later he beca like this, lucid at tis, confused at others. It was the people from the Red Tide who secretly brought him out."
The carriage gently rocked and began to move forward.
Varius leaned against the carriage compartnt and closed his eyes.
He finally understood that this was not an ordinary transfer but an effort by the Red Tide to slowly extract the frawork of the Imperial Capital.
This action was not a spur-of-the-mont decision.
It was an order from the North.
The Lord of the North was not in a hurry to seize land nor interested in imdiately intervening in the burning city.
Because, in Louis’s view, territory could be reclaid with an army, but once truly talented individuals were exhausted, even the vastest lands would beco nothing more than an empty shell.
And now, with the Northern Territory expanded by so much, this kind of professional talent was precisely what was needed.
Craftsn, judges, alchemists, auditors... These are not knights and do not decide the outco of a battle, but they determine whether a land can continue to function.
It is precisely because of this that the hands of the Red Tide would reach the crumbling edges of the Empire.
They do not seize the burning city or touch the already established powers; they only extract the remaining frawork, not yet thoroughly crushed, from the crevices of disintegrating order.
......
The carriage traveled on the bumpy dirt road for more than two months.
At first, it was muddy. The black soil churned up after the rain clung to the wheels, requiring frequent stops to scrape off the mud.
Later it was gravel, with loose stones bouncing around under the wheels, making the carriage sway until one felt queasy...
Until one morning, the carriage suddenly stabilized, and the bumping vanished without warning.
Varius opened his eyes and instinctively reached out to steady himself, only to find the carriage was no longer shaking.
He lifted the curtain; the road beneath was no longer the familiar earthen color.
It was a wide and straight gray-white hardened surface extending forward, showing almost no signs of rainwater damage.
The carriage’s speed began to increase, and there was no need to urge the horses, which picked up the pace on their own.
"We’ve reached Gray Rock Province; it’s Red Tide territory now. Everyone can co out and get so fresh air."
The knight disguised as a rcenary shouted from the front, his tone noticeably excited.
Baron directly jumped off the carriage.
He squatted by the roadside, disregarding his status, and scratched the road with his coarse fingers.
"This isn’t stone," his voice tense, "and it doesn’t feel like brick either."
He lifted his head, eyes wide open, as if seeing sothing defying common sense for the first ti: "This is man-made, right?"
No one answered imdiately.
Victor ca from behind, glanced at the road, then looked at the shocked Baron.
"They say it’s Red Tide graystone," he said calmly. "I don’t know exactly how it’s made, but it should be man-made."
Baron was at a loss for words, pressing his palm against the road surface as if to confirm the texture.
"To think there’s such a thing..." he mumbled.
Varius did not get off the carriage.
His gaze followed the straight road ahead, looking at the distant rolling terrain.
In such muddy ground, what is the point of building such a straight road?
And how could it be done so quickly?
Gray Rock Province was captured less than a year ago.
And this road doesn’t look like the result of rushed construction.
Victor seed to notice his doubt, "When you get to the Red Tide, you can ask the craftsn yourself; they know more than I do."
The convoy reorganized, no longer holding back the speed of the carriages, which started to move freely.
On this gray-white road, they could finally speed north without hesitation.
.......
This was already Red Tide territory.
The convoy moved forward for a while longer without pressing on through the night.
By the roadside, they stopped at a uniformly styled building.
The outer walls were painted a light gray with no family crest, only a simple wooden sign by the door.
This was Gray Rock Province’s supply station.
After entering the province, such buildings would appear at regular intervals.
The carriages stopped in turn, and soldiers and rcenaries began guiding the people to rest.
As soon as Varius got off the carriage, he slled a faint spicy scent.
In the center of the courtyard stood a large copper tea barrel, its walls polished to shine, with a small stove beneath to maintain temperature.
Soone turned the valve, amber liquid flowed out of the copper spout, and steam rose.
"Ginger tea, it’s free." The soldier in charge of guarding spoke in a casual tone, as if repeating sothing commonplace.
Varius took the wooden cup, feeling the warmth on his fingertips.
He noticed that the people around him did not rush but lined up voluntarily.
After drinking, they would return the cups to the designated place.
Notices written in neat handwriting were posted on the walls of the supply station.
The contents of the "Sanitary Convention" were not complicated but were enforced: wash hands, centralized toileting, daily cleaning.
What surprised Varius even more was the absence of the pungent stench of filth in the air.
In this era, even in the Imperial Capital, the streets inevitably slled of waste, whereas here, there was only the scent of hearth, hot tea, and moist earth.
He couldn’t help but take a few more glances.
This order did not require constant oversight.
The convoy would rest here for two days.
After the first night, Varius found himself unable to stay in place.
At dawn, he left the supply station alone.
The Red Tide official at the door rely glanced at him without stopping or assigning anyone to follow.
Not far away was a mining area.
It was lunchti, and from deep within the mines, a bell tolled.
The sound was deep and clear, projecting far in the cold air.
Varius had ntally prepared himself.
In his mind, miners always stooped over, covered in gri, like mice crawling underground.
But as he got closer, he was taken aback.
Erging from the mine were brawny n in uniform gray cotton coats.
Their faces had coal dust, but they walked steadily and even laughed as they talked.
No one wielded a whip; they lined up of their own accord, waiting patiently for als before a makeshift cafeteria.
The queue was orderly and quiet.
As Varius watched, he suddenly noticed a detail.
A young man reached out to receive food but was lightly tapped on the hand by a fellow worker beside him.
"Go wash your hands." The man motioned to one side, "The health team is watching; if you don’t want points deducted, hurry up."
The young man cursed playfully but still ran to the sink, carefully scrubbing his hands with soap, before returning to the back of the line.
The whole process had no disputes, let alone coercion.
Varius stood where he was, feeling as if sothing lightly touched his chest.
It was sothing dreamlike for him.
He hailed from the Empire’s legal system.
In the past few decades, all governance thods he had witnessed rested on a single premise.
They were inert, shortsighted, relying on violence, fear, or privilege to operate.
Laws on paper could be intricate and precise, but once separated from the noble’s seal or the knight’s whip, few truly believed they would be enforced.
Yet the miners before him voluntarily adhered to rules, reminded each other, and even actively maintained order, without any threats.
This was what shocked him the most.
It wasn’t based on suppression by status, nor intimidation by force, but a clear, continuous, and predictable chanism.
The further north they went, the more composed the people near the Northern Territory appeared.
Walking formations would yield the way, vendors priced their goods clearly, patrolling knights skirted around crops when passing fields.
Until one day, he saw a knight’s horse ruin a field ridge with his own eyes.
The knight dismounted and spoke with the farr briefly, then took out his purse and handed over compensation.
The farr accepted the money and even gave a bow.
Varius stood by the roadside, not moving forward.
At this mont, the last hard part in his heart silently crumbled.
In Red Tide territory, class did not supersede the law.
Wasn’t this the ideal he had ticulously debated in charters but couldn’t realize?
The wind from the Northern Territory blew, bringing a deeper chill.
Varius felt that perhaps this land was worth observing seriously.
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