The heavy velvet curtains kept the howling wind and snow outside, leaving the Frost Halberd City Manor so quiet that one could almost hear the fire breathing.
A faint light flickered in the fireplace, and the dim Magical Lamp divided the room into light and shadow. The only things clearly visible were the high-backed chair and the Young Lord sitting in the shadows.
Louis was casually dressed in a black silk shirt, his collar slightly open, looking as if he had just stepped away from the gentle atmosphere of a family dinner.
A snow-white juvenile Icefield Wolf lay curled up at his feet, dozing with half-closed eyes, yet maintaining the sharpest awareness of its surroundings.
Isaac stood quietly in the corner. The youth held his back straight, like a novice apprentice, his eyes filled with both reverence and nervousness.
Confused footsteps sounded outside the door.
Then, with a creak, Baron Mo'erkan was ushered in by a servant.
He was completely different from the man two days ago who had held a teacup in the tearoom, chin raised, scoffing that "Louis is just a little brat."
Two sleepless nights, coupled with imnse fear and waiting, had completely crushed his spirit.
His velvet formal attire, which was expensive enough to buy a small plot of land, was crumpled, his eyes were dark, and his hair was wind-blown and ssy. He was practically shoved into the room.
That caravan represented nearly a year's worth of output from the Mo'erkan Territory, and it was his sole hope for acquiring winter grain.
Worse still, when he wrote to Greyrock Fortress to inquire, he only received a cold reply: "For this matter, you may consult the opinion of the Red Tide Count." This made him fully realize that he had been used as a bargaining chip in a political struggle.
As soon as Baron Mo'erkan stepped through the door, he collapsed onto the ground, his voice trembling: "Co... Count Sir... please save ..."
Louis lifted his eyes and unhurriedly stroked the soft tip of the Icefield Wolf's ear. The wolf pup let out a contented whimper.
Mo'erkan mistook this for a sign of impatience. He quickly crawled forward a step, his voice laced with sobs:
"Ackerman... he doesn't follow the rules, he doesn't adhere to the Way of Nobles... Sir, I am willing to pay. That shipnt is worth ten thousand Gold Coins! I—I am willing to give you thirty percent of the profit, as long as you help get the goods back!"
Louis's hand suddenly stopped. The Icefield Wolf raised its head and let out a low, dissatisfied whine.
Louis sighed softly, but his tone was as cold as the winter chill of the North: "Mo'erkan, what exactly have I done to make you disrespect so?"
Mo'erkan abruptly raised his head, his face filled with confusion and terror.
Louis stood up, hands clasped behind his back, and slowly paced in the dim firelight: "If you had been willing to join the Red Tide half a year ago... your caravan would fly my banner wherever it went. That wouldn't be decoration; it would be a shield."
He turned back, his gaze like a knife: "But you didn't. You said you didn't need the Red Tide, you said you understood the rules between nobles, you said your own connections were enough to make you rich. What is the result?"
Mo'erkan's face was deathly pale, his lips trembling: "I... at that ti..."
"Now that you've lost your goods and lost your knights, you finally rember that you have a reliable friend like in the North." Louis sneered, "Yet you still treat like a rcenary you can haggle with."
Mo'erkan's voice was already flat and toneless: "Sir, I... I just want to survive, I just want my family to survive... I don't dare hope for revenge, I only ask for the goods... I am willing to pay, whatever the cost..."
Louis turned around, gazing at the flickering flas in the fireplace, his tone as flat as a statent of fact: "Your cousin had his limbs broken and was frozen alive in the snowy mud. Your knight was cut in half. You are kneeling here now, yet you only care about how much your caravan of goods is worth.
You are not even willing to address as Count Calvin."
Mo'erkan trembled all over and finally burst into tears.
At this point, Louis still turned back, his gaze falling upon him again: "But I am a reasonable person. The Mo'erkan Family is, after all, a part of the North."
Upon hearing this, Mo'erkan grasped at it like a life raft: "S-Sir... you are willing to help ?"
"I will give you a letter," Louis said. "The attendant Gray will deliver it in half an hour."
Mo'erkan raised his head, a glimr of hope appearing in his eyes.
"You take that letter," Louis continued, "and personally ride to Greyrock Fortress to hand the letter to Ackerman."
Mo'erkan looked as if he had been struck by lightning, his face instantly turning deathly pale: "Sir, Ackerman... that lunatic will kill !"
"If you send a servant with the letter," Louis said lightly, "then he will kill you."
Louis bent down, eting Mo'erkan's gaze, his tone gentle: "You only need to appear sufficiently humble... sufficiently sincere... For my sake, he will return a portion of the goods to you.
That's better than losing everything, isn't it?"
Mo'erkan trembled all over, but finally kowtowed, slamming his forehead hard against the cold floor tiles: "Yes, Sir! Count Sir... for the sake of the family, I will go!"
Yet, deep down, he remained stubborn, even ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) sinister.
He did not kneel out of respect for Louis.
He knelt because he was desperate, and because Ackerman was more likely to kill him imdiately than Louis was.
His mind raced: as long as he could get the goods back, losing a bit of money was fine; as long as the family was saved, he could forgo his dignity.
As long as Louis was willing to intervene for now, Mo'erkan would remain an independent noble, without having to truly grovel before the Red Tide.
Even though the fear had just pressed down on him, making it almost impossible to breathe, he was still gritting his teeth inwardly.
Once he got through this hurdle, he would never bow down. He would not be the Red Tide's dog, nor would he truly submit.
When he raised his head, his eyes were red and his lips trembled, but the trace of unwillingness and calculation remained hidden in his eyes, refusing to fade.
The door slowly closed amidst Mo'erkan's stumbling footsteps.
Isaac finally couldn't help himself: "Brother-in-law... a man like Ackerman won't spit out at once it's in his mouth. Sending Mo'erkan... isn't that sending him to his death?"
Louis picked up his Quill and wrote sothing on the Red Tide Crest stationery, his expression calm to the point of indifference: "Isaac, the first thing you must learn is not to place your hope in the rcy of your enemy.
I am sending Mo'erkan, but not for him to retrieve the goods."
He stopped writing, allowing the ink to slightly diffuse in the air.
"Those goods were gone the mont they were seized."
Isaac froze.
Louis looked up, his pupils deep like the night of the North's deep winter: "What I truly want is a reason."
Then he turned and instructed: "Sako, go call Lambert over."
The Barbarian Youth nodded and left.
Isaac slightly raised his head, appearing curious, yet not daring to ask more.
He could feel the atmosphere changing, shifting from instruction to a silent will to fight.
A mont later, Lambert strode in, his armor lightly frosted by the wind and snow, yet still worn perfectly straight.
He stopped half a step in front of Louis, cupped his fist, and bowed: "Sir."
Louis asked straightforwardly: "How many knights are currently in Frost Halberd City?"
Lambert's eyes narrowed; he imdiately understood Louis's intent.
He didn't question or hesitate: "Two thousand one hundred Red Tide Knights, six hundred Silver Fang Knights, plus the knights who arrived with the various noble families, totaling about eleven hundred.
If fully integrated, three thousand seven hundred cavalry can be deployed. Also, the weapons have arrived."
Louis smiled slightly, a chilling implication hidden within his expression.
"That is enough."
The Icefield Wolf let out a soft growl at that mont, as if sensing the approaching storm over the Snow Plains... The War Conference Room on the top floor of Greyrock Fortress.
The massive Map of the North on the wall was fragnted by red lines, resembling a dissected behemoth.
Ackerman stood before the map, his figure massive, like an upright Brown Bear.
His finger lightly tapped a Parchnt Scroll, which was the "North Joint Defense Draft" he had personally written.
The firelight reflected on half of his face, making his eyes look gloomy and greedy.
Empire, Prince, Noble... these words were less real in his heart than Hereditary Duke.
He was not loyal to the Second Prince; the Second Prince was rely a stepping stone he could temporarily utilize.
He intended to replace Duke Edmund.
All he lacked was a reason to ignite the conflict.
The Mo'erkan goods that were "requisitioned" were both bait and a test.
If Louis remained silent, it would prove the Red Tide was nothing but a Paper Tiger.
If he dared to step forward... there would be reason to pin the major charge of interfering with military affairs and hoarding troops for personal gain on him.
Ackerman curled his lip into a cold sneer.
Just as he was about to continue studying the map, rapid footsteps sounded at the door.
The atmosphere in the Greyrock Fortress Hall suddenly tightened.
Two soldiers pushed in a trembling man—the Baron of the Mo'erkan Family.
Ignoring the frost on the ground, he dropped to his knees before Ackerman with a thump. His body was hunched like a frozen stray dog, yet he forced out a fawning smile.
"Your Excellency the Legion Commander... my Mo'erkan people were not thorough enough and disturbed your esteed army. I am foolish and do not understand the profound aning of your military deploynt... I have specifically co to confess my fault and accept punishnt."
As Mo'erkan spoke, he deliberately kept his voice low and soft, mimicking the pleading tone of nobles in the Southern Court, with even the end of his sentences carrying flattery.
"I hope Your Excellency will see reason... My small caravan is but a grain of sand in the North, insignificant compared to the military prestige of your esteed army, truly insignificant..."
He quickly crawled forward again, pulled out a bag of Gems from his bosom, and raised them high with both hands, allowing the gems to display their brightest refraction in the firelight, as if he were willing to offer himself along with them if Ackerman would just nod.
"Please accept this small gift, Your Excellency. The brothers work hard in training and patrol day and night; this little one holds them in deep admiration. If you could allow the goods... uh... a symbolic portion to be returned, not for the quantity, but just so I have an explanation to give back ho... Should Your Excellency have any need for service in the future, the entire Mo'erkan House will surely not dare to slack off!"
His choice of words was utterly flattering and complintary, praising Ackerman as if he were the co-ruler of half the North, with every sentence including "Your Excellency's wisdom" and "Your Excellency's prestige." Even his tone sounded like he was licking boot tips.
Ackerman looked down at the bag of gems on the ground, and his brow twitched slightly.
He was not a man entirely without desire.
This type of noble, who humbled himself to the dust yet knew exactly how to use rhetoric to please him, certainly suited his taste.
Ordinarily, if Mo'erkan had been a little smarter and more cautious, perhaps Ackerman would have truly dismissed him with a few aningless words.
After all, keeping such a talkative fat sheep alive was more profitable than killing him.
However, this ti he was not after such petty gains.
"The previous goods... if two tenths could be returned... No, no, one tenth is enough, Your Excellency! This little one is content! I will surely praise Your Excellency as the true Guardian of the North from now on..." But Mo'erkan, unaware of Ackerman's true purpose, continued to babble.
Ackerman kicked the bag of gems away; it hit a stone pillar, and the Jewels scattered and rolled, creating a series of crisp clinking sounds.
"Misunderstanding?" Ackerman looked down at him, his tone like the clanging of Cold Iron: "Are you implying that I stole your goods?"
Cold sweat instantly broke out on Mo'erkan. He slumped even lower, his head almost buried in the ground: "No, no, no! Absolutely not! It was requisition! It was an honor! This little one... this little one is here to ask Your Excellency for guidance..."
Ackerman impatiently waved his hand, already prepared to have the soldiers drag this eyesore of an insect out.
Mo'erkan hastily pulled out his last card, his voice almost trembling, yet desperately maintaining the decorum expected of a noble:
"Lord Ackerman... the Red Tide Lord, Lord Louis Calvin, entrusted to present a personal letter to you. If Your Excellency would be kind enough to review it, you will naturally grasp its profound aning."
Ackerman's brow twitched. It seed Louis wasn't so stupid after all.
The envelope was ripped open, and he began reading it word by word.
The firelight from the fireplace flickered, casting shadows on his increasingly gloomy face.
Ackerman scanned the first line, and the veins on his forehead imdiately bulged.
"To the 17th Legion—Custodian Ackerman."
Custodian—it was neither "Your Excellency the Legion Commander" nor "Your Excellency."
Instead, it was a temporary, dismissive title rarely used even in Imperial official docunts.
Ackerman's cold laughter was deep and dangerous.
He continued reading. Almost every sentence in the letter crossed the line of humiliation that nobles could least tolerate:
"I was shocked to hear that your subordinates have recently acted outrageously, like uncultivated wild dogs of the wasteland, actually plundering a noble caravan and sullying the honor of Imperial Soldiers.
This behavior constitutes treason. Considering your humble origins and lack of manners, I specially dispatched Baron Mo'erkan to teach you the rules.
You are required to return all materials within three days and travel to Frost Halberd City to kneel and receive thirty lashes. I might then consider not impeaching your dog head at the Dragon Throne Council."
The signature was written as if proclaiming a form of rule: Red Tide Count, Acting Governor-General of the North—Louis Calvin.
While he read the letter, the room was deathly silent.
Suddenly Ackerman burst into loud laughter, his laugh coarse and wild, like iron chains dragging across the ground: "Hahahaha... Louis! Louis! You genius!"
He laughed until tears almost ca out, but his smile hid intense killing intent.
Mo'erkan saw him laughing and thought things had taken a turn for the better, so he quickly forced a dry laugh: "The Lord Legion Commander is absolutely right, Lord Louis's words are always... very reasonable... then my goods..."
The laughter stopped abruptly.
Ackerman's eyes instantly turned cold as if frozen: "Teach rules? You brought this letter here to humiliate ?"
"Wh-what...?" Mo'erkan's face turned white; he didn't have ti to react.
Ackerman drew his sword as fast as lightning.
A cold flash, and blood sprayed onto the "North Joint Defense Draft."
Mo'erkan's head rolled onto the ground, the face still holding its fawning smile, as if expecting a non-existent rcy before death.
Ackerman looked at the tragicomic head and muttered: "This is the sincerity you offered ."
He kicked the head away sharply: "Very well, I accept it. I will use your life to open my Path to becoming Duke."
...Ackerman strode out of the Private Room, carrying his bloody sword.
The outer room was packed with his Trusted Officers
Seeing the blood on him, they all held their breath simultaneously.
Ackerman slamd the letter down onto the table, his voice booming like a War Drum:
"Look closely, all of you! Red Tide Lord Louis Calvin is colluding with Smugglers, threatening Imperial Stationed Troops, and attempting to split the North! This is a provocation against the Empire, a provocation against all our legions!"
The Trusted Officers exchanged glances. No one dared to question him, but everyone understood Ackerman's intentions.
Ackerman raised his sword, the bloody light reflecting on his face, making him look mad and excited: "This letter is his Declaration of War! It is also our ticket into the circle of nobility!
Imdiately send letters to Iron Wall Saul of the 14th Legion and Mad Dog Balt of the 7th Legion! Tell them... Louis has made his move!"
Let them choose for themselves whether to remain watchdogs or co share this at feast!"
The officers were roused to excitent and departed to carry out their orders.
Finally, only Ackerman remained standing before the window.
The wind and snow struck the thick glass, sounding like whispers from afar.
He looked up toward the North, toward Frost Halberd City, which gathered all the nobles of the North.
The light of a Predator burned in his eyes.
"A godsend opportunity! Once I take Frost Halberd City, I'll seize the chance to capture all those eting nobles in one fell swoop... Heh... No matter who becos Emperor in the Imperial Capital, they will have to beg to grant the title of Hereditary Duke!"
Behind him, two soldiers dragged Mo'erkan's Headless Corpse across the floor. The bloodstain was glaring, like a crimson road extending toward Frost Halberd City.
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