Duke Edmund promoted Louis not just because he fought well, but also due to deeper considerations.
In this campaign, too many pioneering nobles sent from the South had died, which had already caused dissatisfaction among the Southern aristocratic families.
Although everyone knew that those pampered scions ca to the Northern Realm just to fulfill a task and get a fief.
However, a large number of deaths at once was difficult to explain and inevitably led to suspicions that the Northern Realm nobles were deliberately “using a borrowed knife to kill.”
Promoting Louis, a pioneering baron from the South, was the best response.
It wasn’t that the Northern Realm was exclusionary, but that they were too useless.
If you had half his capability, you would have survived and earned rit long ago.
Louis, instead, benefited from this loophole.
Just like that, Louis calmly walked down the high platform.
His steps were unhurried, as if what he had just received was not an eagerly sought-after dal and honor among nobles, but an inconsequential daily ritual.
Yet, as he passed, the nobles one by one looked at him, their eyes filled with undisguised envy.
No one dared to underestimate this nineteen-year-old baron anymore.
The awards continued.
The nas of the honored nobles rang out one by one, but they were all nas Louis didn't recognize.
They were basically all old nobles from the Northern Realm; there were very few pioneering nobles from the South.
Until the Military Affairs Officer's voice rang out again: “Baron Yoen Tahavi, Second-Class Military rit.”
Yoen, sitting in the back row, nearly jumped out of his chair, instantly wide awake, his face filled with “I got so too!?”
“Awarded two thousand gold coins, an additional hundred square kiloters of fief...”
Yoen patted his thigh, tears of emotion welling up in his eyes, “Clinging to the boss’s thigh was indeed the most correct decision in my life!”
Although he basically just followed along, hiding at the tail of the team as a cheerleader, he didn't really get involved in the actual battlefield.
But his knights had truly contributed in the Battle of Qingyu Ridge.
Yet, he was actually able to piggyback on military rit and get such a large reward.
He felt as if he had casually bought a lottery ticket and won the grand prize.
Yoen gave himself a ntal thumbs-up, “As expected of , I truly have the vision to choose the right thigh.”
After reading the long page of comndation nas, the Military Affairs Officer turned over the parchnt in his hand, his tone suddenly turning cold:
“Comndations concluded. Next, is the announcent of those who failed in military rit.”
The hall instantly fell silent, even the nobles who had been whispering to each other closed their mouths.
Armored knights slowly walked in, escorting several officers in noble military uniforms from the back door.
Their faces were pale, still debating in low voices, their eyes darting around in terror.
One of them Louis recognized: golden-brown curly hair, looking disheveled—it was Zachary Diaz.
Many pioneering nobles from the South exchanged glances, a mix of surprise and subtle schadenfreude flashing in their eyes.
anwhile, Yoen, sitting in the back row, was already grinning from ear to ear, muttering, “Still trying to contend with the boss? Now one is in heaven and the other in hell. He liked to play mind gas, and now retribution has co.”
He had thought Zachary would only be fined, never imagining it would reach the point of being on the disciplinary list.
The Military Affairs Officer was expressionless, coldly announcing:
“Zachary Diaz, forr commander of the Snow Eagle City Western Front Defense Zone. On the day the war broke out, he deserted in battle and abandoned the city to flee. After joint verification by the Military Discipline Departnt, it has been confird as true. His cri is unforgivable, and he is sentenced to death.”
As soon as the words fell, Zachary struggled violently, retreating repeatedly, his eyes filled with fear and despair.
“No! I didn’t flee! I was... tactical retreating! My father is Duke Diaz! I am a son of the Eight Great Families! You can’t kill ! I’m willing to pay the fine... I’m willing to...”
Before he could finish speaking, a heavy slap landed on his face, knocking him to the ground, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
The people below sneered in low voices:
“Do you think this is still the South? That trick won’t work here.”
“Eight Great Families? In the Northern Realm, it’s nothing.”
“A deserter... dying will save his family face.”
Zachary continued to wail and cry as he was dragged away, his voice filled with utter collapse.
His once arrogant, handso face was now twisted like a stray dog's, completely devoid of any noble dignity.
But Louis, in the front row, just quietly watched the scene.
He sat ramrod straight, the Northern Realm Shield dal, symbolizing honor, pinned to his chest.
Two pioneering noble scions from the Eight Great Noble Families of Snowpeak County.
One was escorted to the execution ground, crying and begging for rcy.
The other was personally awarded a dal and crowned with glory.
A world of difference.
Finally, Duke Edmund stood on the high platform: “I’ll just say a few more words. In this campaign, we did very well.
Next year, we will advance further, no longer defending passively. The Northern Realm will actively attack the Snowsworn’s base.”
His voice was not loud, but it was incredibly firm: “The Snowsworn must be completely annihilated!
Your military rits, I have noted. Next ti, I want to see more nas written in the ledger of rits.”
As his words fell, the entire hall erupted in an enthusiastic response.
The post-war celebration ceremony officially concluded.
Louis did not imdiately leave Frost Halberd City, as there was still a dinner party in the evening.
Networking with other nobles was also sothing he needed to do; his foundation in the Northern Realm was too weak, and he needed to seize this opportunity to connect with more useful nobles.
And for a young noble who had just achieved great rit, this evening was destined not to be too quiet.
Sure enough, as soon as the dinner party began, before Louis even had a chance to pick up his wine glass, he was already surrounded.
The first to approach was a middle-aged noble dressed impeccably, with neatly trimd sideburns.
From his accent, it was clear he was a pioneering noble from the southwest of the Empire.
He said with a hint of familiarity, “As expected of Duke Calvin’s son, a tiger begets no dog. To achieve such military rit in the Northern Realm is truly admirable.”
He then introduced himself, saying he was a pioneering baron from a small noble family in the southwest.
Like Louis, he was among the first batch of noble scions to respond to the pioneering decree and co to the Northern Realm.
“To be honest, those of us from the South don’t have it easy here,” he lowered his voice, “If you, sir, would be willing to guide your brethren, everyone will certainly not let you down.”
That phrase “guide your brethren” sounded almost like begging, with a hint of eagerness and even flattery in his tone.
Louis remained impassive on the surface, but his heart stirred slightly.
He wasn't oblivious; everything the baron said implied: we Southerners need to stick together for warmth, and Louis should be the leader.
To be honest, the idea was sowhat tempting.
But he had just found his footing; if he ford factions too early, it would easily arouse jealousy.
Not to ntion, he knew nothing about the true financial standing of the baron’s family, or the baron’s own strength and character.
“You speak too highly. The war in the Northern Realm has not ceased; we are all in the sa boat,” Louis raised his glass with a slight smile, responding flawlessly, “If there is an opportunity, I will certainly work with all of you for mutual developnt.”
It sounded very warm, but in reality, it contained no promises whatsoever.
The middle-aged baron wanted to say more, but just as he opened his mouth, his wine glass still unsteady in his hand,
Other nobles continuously surged forward.
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