Inside the eting hall, there was a deathly silence.
The heavy double doors slowly closed, shutting out the sounds of screaming and dragging.
Those nobles whose nas had been called out earlier, with their cris confird, had been led away one by one.
The remaining two-thirds, however, felt an invisible hand gripping their throats, making them breathe cautiously.
They sat rigidly, even a change of posture seed abrupt.
There was no whispering, and no one dared to look directly at the young, cold figure seated at the head of the table.
Yoen and Willis maintained their usual expressions, the only two who remained composed.
But even so, they did not smile once.
What Louis had just displayed was not rely power, but an undeniable dominance.
Ti seed to stand still in the eting hall.
Suddenly, a faint scraping sound of a chair leg broke the silence.
Everyone looked up almost simultaneously, their hearts tightening.
He had stood up.
The young man's figure was not tall, but the certain oppressive aura he exuded, even in his composure, seed to thin the air.
He walked around the long conference table, his steps unhurried, each one seeming to land on the tip of everyone's heart.
His gaze swept over each person, from the senile Viscount to the impetuous pioneering Baron, and no one dared to et his eyes.
Finally, he stopped behind Viscount Roland.
The old man had already frozen, fine beads of sweat like rain on his forehead, soaking his collar.
"Don't be afraid," Louis's tone was gentle, like a kind junior comforting a startled elder. "They were taken away because they did sothing wrong."
He paused, then leaned closer: "Did you do anything wrong?"
Roland jolted, almost leaping out of his chair, and frantically shook his head like a rattle-drum: "No, no! I, I was just dragged along to listen. I didn't do anything—"
"Hmm," Louis gently patted his shoulder, as if coaxing a child. "That's good then."
Roland felt as if he had been pardoned, almost collapsing on the spot.
Louis straightened up and continued forward.
In the silence, the young lord's figure was like a long sword hanging over the heads of all the old nobles.
No one dared to make a move.
Louis slowly returned to the main seat. He did not rush to sit down, but stood behind the long table, looking down at the entire hall.
Those nobles who had been restless monts ago now all hung their heads and remained silent, as if they had returned to their school days, students awaiting a reprimand.
The air remained oppressive, the fire in the fireplace murmured lowly, as if it too knew to suppress its sound.
"Are you sure you can return to your own territories now?"
Louis spoke, his tone not loud, yet it clearly reached everyone's ears.
He showed no anger, nor was he overtly aggressive; instead, he was like a guiding godfather, his tone so gentle it was almost tender.
But precisely because of this, it was even more chilling.
"Your territories are still yours," he continued. "But if you wish to survive in Red Tide, you must respect Red Tide's rules, one by one."
No one spoke.
He slowly scanned the room, his gaze sweeping across the face of every noble, and no one dared to et his eyes.
Viscount Roland kept his head down, gripping the armrest of his chair tightly. Harris's seat was already empty, even the cushion seed to retain a chill. Siris's empty chair was overturned on the floor, like a tombstone.
"Though the disaster has passed," Louis paused, his eyes darkening, "the Northland is still in ruins. Though the swarm has retreated, winter is coming."
He extended a finger, counting off item by item: "Large numbers of displaced people are stranded, the common folk have no hos, still sleeping in the geothermal shelters.
Food is scarce, the granaries are calculating their final reserves daily. dical resources are insufficient, and plague could break out in the shelters at any ti.
Mountain roads are snowbound, paths are cut off. Can you return? Who will build your bridges? Who will clear your snow? Villages and towns everywhere are destroyed, monstrous beasts roam freely. Do you have knights?"
No one answered.
The nobles seated below the long table, one by one, turned ashen, only daring to whisper their assent. No one dared to propose leaving.
Even those who had just been contemplating whether they should “voluntarily withdraw from Red Tide and rebuild their own livelihoods” now lacked the courage to think another word.
Because they knew very well that such a path simply did not exist.
Their old manors behind them had long since fallen into the sea of insects, the boundary markers of their fiefs turned into piles of bones.
Their knights had perished in the bloody battle of the Hive, leaving only dust-covered family crests with nowhere to hang.
And this lord, barely twenty years old, was all they could rely on now.
Silence spread through the hall, like a thick fog, suffocating everyone.
Louis did not continue speaking, as if waiting for them to speak themselves, waiting for them to utter a word of thanks, a word of regret, a sensible statent.
But there was none.
He finally smiled, the corners of his mouth upturned, yet utterly devoid of warmth.
"You all," his voice was low, like a soliloquy, yet also like a judgnt, "I dragged you out of the insect fog, led you out of the sea of fire, and gave you food, dicine, and beds. I built shelters for you, sent people to patrol for security, built roads and bridges, and distributed charcoal for warmth."
"I toiled tirelessly, unable to sleep a full night, daily reviewing docunts, dispatching people, allocating food—but what were you doing?"
He raised a hand, and with a light wave, said, "Gathering in secret, contacting old subordinates, even inciting riots among the displaced people, wanting to stab in the back."
He paused here, his gaze coldly sweeping over the pale-faced nobles seated below: "Is this your 'gratitude'?"
The air solidified again.
Yoen was no longer jesting, and Willis slowly lowered his head, a hint of coldness in his eyes. They knew Louis was truly angry.
"Lord Louis, a misunderstanding—a misunderstanding!" a minor noble stamred, clutching the edge of his chair with both hands. "I have never, never dared to harbor any disrespect!"
"Yes, how could we dare!" another person shouted, following suit. "We—we were just deceived, misled—"
"Thanks to your Lordship's wisdom, you saw through the treachery early!"
"If not for Red Tide's protection, we would have—we would have died in the insect tide long ago—"
"My whole family, old and young, owe their lives to your Lordship's grace—"
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the hall seed to shift. The nobles who had just looked as if they had lost their parents.
Now all stood up and bowed, their voices rising and falling, filled with words of "gratitude," "loyalty," "repentance," and "allegiance."
One older noble even burst into tears, choking out, "My—my two ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) grandsons, you saved them, you saved them, my Lord! How could we dare to be ungrateful!"
Viscount Roland finally caught his breath, stood up and bowed, his voice trembling: "My Lord, this old man was foolish—it's all a misunderstanding,
A misunderstanding! Your Lordship is wise and mighty, the hope of the Northland reborn, who would dare to defy you—"
Louis watched them quietly, without a word.
He did not stop them, nor did he nod in approval; he rely allowed them to continue their "expressions of loyalty" and "expressions of regret" before him.
It was not until more than half of the hall was bent over in bows that he slowly sat back in his main seat.
Then Louis's tone shifted, finally gaining a touch of "leniency."
"But those who perform well, I will not treat unfairly."
"The land of Snowpeak is vast enough. If you help stabilize the people and maintain order, I will naturally let go. Red Tide will establish a reconstruction system.
Based on contributions, order, public opinion, and cooperation, the order of post-war reconstruction will be determined, as well as the allocation of support. Whoever does more, receives more, and whoever sses around... well, don't bla for settling accounts."
"Those who perform well will be prioritized for land grants after winter, returning to their families' old territories and restoring their military ranks."
As soon as his words fell, a collective sigh of relief swept through the hall.
The nobles, like prisoners suddenly pardoned, each showed expressions of imnse relief.
"We obey the Lord's command!"
"We will certainly fulfill our duties faithfully!"
They all stood up and bowed in assent, their tones eager, their postures respectful.
With trembling emotion, they declared their willingness to fight for Red Tide, as if they had never participated in any of the previous conspiracies.
Viscount Roland also quickly bowed, adding in a trembling voice: "It's all a misunderstanding, Lord Louis is wise!"
Louis ignored him, rely smiling slightly as if he had heard nothing but the wind.
"Alright," he said calmly, resting his hands on the edge of the conference table. "Since we've discussed this, let's talk about the problem of winter."
The nobles all sat up straight, listening attentively to the arrangents.
"Although Red Tide's food supply is tight, I have already dispatched people to the southern counties to purchase dried food and charcoal.
Each region must re-count the number of displaced people and resettle them at designated locations; there shall be no private withholding, private selling, or false reporting.
Three new dical stations will be added, with a focus on controlling respiratory infectious diseases during winter.
Temporary road repairs, charcoal distribution, snow clearance after snowfall—these tasks, those of you with labor in your territories, must contribute."
He spoke concisely and powerfully, without wasted words, like listing items on a checklist, each one falling onto the head of every noble.
"Of course," he said, his tone softening slightly here, "I won't use your labor for free."
"Whoever provides people, whoever contributes effort, will receive preferential treatnt in budget allocations after the new year, with charcoal, food, and reconstruction funds all tilted in their favor."
A noble quietly responded, "We are willing to contribute funds, to do our small part."
Others also chid in, "Red Tide is in trouble, we should all bear the burden."
"We will definitely contribute money and effort, and not hold back."
Soone even raised a hand to volunteer, "If your Lordship trusts , I can organize laborers to assist with transportation!"
Louis listened to all of this, expressionless, only nodding.
Just then, Bradley leaned over and whispered a few words into his ear.
He listened attentively, gave an imperceptible nod, and then stood up.
"I have so other matters to attend to, so I'll take my leave first," he said, tapping the table. "After you've finished your discussion, you can give the group division list to Bradley.
But rember, if you want to survive, cooperate with . If you want to live well, let your achievents speak for themselves."
With that, he said no more, turning and leaving with his attendants.
The nobles imdiately stood up in unison, bowing their heads: "Farewell, Lord Louis!"
"Lord Louis, you've worked hard!"
"May Red Tide prosper forever, and Snowpeak be rebuilt with hope!"
Louis did not look back, rely waved his hand, and slowly walked out of the eting hall amidst the watchful gazes of the crowd.
It was not until his silhouette disappeared behind the door that the nobles in the hall collectively breathed a sigh of relief.
So wiped sweat from their foreheads, so sat back down without a word, while others imdiately turned to Bradley, beginning to discuss "how to arrange the groups," "I'm willing to repair the west road," "our family still has dozens of people who can be dispatched."
In this eting, from purging and warning to asserting authority, and then to clear rewards and punishnts, enticent, and promises, Louis left no room for lucky.
And these forr nobles, now refugees, finally understood one thing:
If they wanted to survive in this Northland, they could only obey Louis.
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