Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 680: Chapter 388: Red Tide’s Blade (Part 3)

"I need you to ensure that when it’s our turn to strike, the blade will cut precisely."

Lambert stood up, preparing to leave. He took one last glance at the young silhouette by the window.

The once frail boy thrown into the Northern Territory now stood atop the snowfield, as if speaking to the entire continent.

Lambert didn’t say much, simply walked to the table, lightly pressed his right fist against his chest, and performed a standard, almost rigid, chest salute.

"Lord." His voice was low and steady, "No matter where you point your sword, the Red Tide Legion will not disappoint you. I’ll arrange it now."

Louis glanced at him sideways and nodded, saying nothing more.

When the door closed, the sound of the wind pressed through the crack, and the room suddenly fell silent.

Only the fire in the fireplace continued to burn, alongside the map of the entire Empire on the wall.

Louis walked back to the table, his gaze gliding southward from the snow peaks of the Northern Territory to a small patch at the Imperial Capital.

The red dot there still quietly stuck to the parchment.

Louis reached out and gently tapped between the Imperial Capital and the Northern Territory.

"Come on," he said softly, "Let’s see who breaks first."

......

Gray Stone Fortress wedged in the throat of the Northern Empire and Graystone Province, like a black iron gate, sternly watching both sides north and south.

This is the boundary of order.

Southwards lies a prosperous world flowing with gold coins and wine. To the north is the exile land of ice and savage wilderness.

Inside the fortress exudes a suffocating severity.

Torches in the corridor spaced every five meters light up the walls adorned with heads of magical beasts and captured barbarian weapons. Though treated, the scent of blood still lingers.

The floor was polished bright by countless iron boots over the years.

The door to the office of the Seventeenth Legion commander was open.

Commander Ackman Greer sat behind a massive ebony table.

He wore not armor but an exquisitely crafted silk shirt, its collar slightly open.

As a knight who has entered the transcendent realm, the northern winds to him are but a refreshing breeze.

He was as burly as an upright grizzly bear, even sitting casually, the oppressive presence of a high-tier transcendent filled the room.

Hearing footsteps at the door, Ackman did not immediately look up.

He was examining a military map in front of him, fingers lightly tracing several red lines, focused and arrogant.

"If the military service department sent auditors for supplies, wait in the side hall. When I’m in a good mood, I’ll see you."

"I came to deliver wine, General Greer."

The response was steady, unmoved by the pressure of the transcendent.

Sorel stood at the doorway, elegantly removing his snowflake-dotted cape, handing it to a somewhat trembling attendant behind him.

He wore a well-tailored dark hunting outfit, a longsword bearing the Remont family crest hanging at his waist.

Ackman finally looked up. In those deep brown eyes flashed a gleam, like assessing a hound daring to invade a lion’s domain.

"Few can stand so straight under my pressure." Ackman put down the crystal cup with a crisp sound, "From the Royal Knight Order?"

"Third Legion, former deputy commander." Sorel nodded slightly, offering an impeccable military salute, "I had the honor of witnessing the general’s prowess at the training grounds."

"That was a decade ago." Ackman leaned back in his chair lazily, "Sit. Since you’re a person who knows the rules, I won’t throw you out. The Second Prince sent you; what does he want my Seventeenth Legion to do?"

"It’s not about wanting you to do anything, but rather what he doesn’t want you to do."

Sorel didn’t hold back, directly sitting across Ackman. He didn’t touch the wine the attendant brought, instead staring into the commander’s eyes.

"General, you are the Empire’s sword. But right now, this sword is stuck in permafrost, what else can it do besides scaring a few barbarians? Rust?"

"Mind your words." Ackman’s eyes narrowed, the room instantly grew heavy, "I’m guarding the Empire’s gates."

"Guarding the gates is an honor, but merely guarding gates doesn’t match the Greer family’s ambition."

Sorel, enduring the suffocating pressure, maintained his steady tone, "I checked, your eldest son died heroically on the battlefield.

"But your second son... he has a talent for business, even secretly operating two smuggling routes to the Jade Federation. Instead of blaming him, you secretly sent personal guards to protect those caravans."

Ackman’s killing intent subsided a little, revealing a hint of a playful smile: "What? Does the Second Prince even want to meddle in such a small business?"

"No, His Highness sees it as a waste," Sorel leaned forward, "Having the son of a legion commander engage in smuggling? That’s beneath him. He should be sitting in a southern manor, having afternoon tea with the Minister of Finance, discussing the trade quotas of the entire province."

Ackman fell silent.

He gently rotated the ruby ring on his thumb.

He did not lack money; after being a legion commander for over a decade, the profits were not insignificant.

But what he lacked was the "foundation," the ticket to enter the Empire’s core circles.

In the eyes of those century-old great nobles, Ackman was still just a skilled high-level guard.

"Continue." Ackman uttered a word.

Sorel took out a wax-sealed document from his bosom and pushed it over.

"The Second Prince’s offer is the largest winery in the Valencia Valley and a Viscount title." Sorel’s voice was full of allure.

"It’s not a handout of money but a sharing of power. Your son will officially enter the Southern Nobles’ social circle as a partner."

Ackman picked up the document, feeling the heavy texture of the parchment with his fingertips.

This document meant that the Greer family would no longer just be warriors of the Northern Territory, but a true local lord.

His descendants would thoroughly wash away the upstart taste.

"And the price?" Ackman closed the document, his gaze as sharp as a blade, "The Second Prince doesn’t seem like someone who does charity."

"Very simple." Sorel spread his hands, "When the flags of the Northern Territory appear at the pass, we hope the Seventeenth Legion’s vision can be a bit clearer.

And... if at certain critical moments in the future, something changes in the Imperial Capital, we hope the General will remember today’s friendship and maintain a noble silence."

Ackman stared at Sorel for a long time, suddenly bursting into laughter. The laughter shook the books on the bookshelf, making them tremble.

"Noble silence... good words."

Ackman stood up, walked to the wine cabinet, personally took out a bottle of treasured southern red wine, and poured a glass for Sorel.

"This damned place is indeed too cold, even I am somewhat weary of it." Ackman pushed the wine glass in front of Sorel, raising his own crystal glass, "My sword belongs to the Empire, but my family belongs to myself."

Sorel raised his glass, the two glasses lightly clinked in the air, "Deal, General Greer."

...

Half an hour later.

The heavy iron gate of the fortress slowly rose. Sorel’s carriage drove out of the massive shadow of Gray Stone Fortress.

The wind and snow were still frigid, but the inside of the carriage was as warm as spring.

"My Lord, Ackman is more difficult to deal with than imagined." The attendant whispered beside him, still holding a cold sweat with his hand, "Earlier in the study, I felt like being stared at by a fierce beast, ready to be torn apart at any moment."

"Of course he’s a beast. How could someone who holds the position of commander of the Seventeenth Legion be an ordinary person?"

Sorel leaned back against the cushion, loosening his grip on the sword hilt.

His palm also had a thin layer of sweat; the confrontation just now was not only verbal but also a mental battle.

"He is arrogant because he has the capital. He is dissatisfied because he sees the ceiling." Sorel looked at the snowy landscape flying by outside, commenting lightly.

"He doesn’t lack money, what he lacks is a ladder for social ascent. We gave him the ladder, and this lion will temporarily retract its claws."

"So we’re heading back to the Imperial Capital now?"

"No."

Sorel’s gaze turned north, through the wind and snow, seemingly trying to see through the vast white wasteland.

"Ackman is just a guarding lion, once fed will fall asleep. But I’m more interested in the person behind the door."

"Red Tide Territory?" The attendant hesitated a little.

Sorel sneered: "To control the entire Northern Territory in such a desperate situation, even making someone like Ackman apprehensive... such a person must either be a madman or a monster more terrifying than Ackman."

The wheels of the carriage etched a deep track in the snow, not heading south, but decisively towards the depths of the northern blizzard.

"Let’s go. Meet this Louis Calvin and see what his ambitions are."