Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 687: Chapter 390: The Terrifying Red Tide City (4)

Even so, he was still stunned by the scale, making his scalp tingle.

Input of devoured raw materials

Hundreds of heavy trucks pulled by twin horses lined up, driving out from the depths of the snow.

The trucks were loaded with: neatly cut logs, shiny black charcoal, coarse iron ore from the mines...

There were even a few trucks with long metal pieces covered by oilcloth.

These things were continuously swallowed by the giant iron gates, as if fed into the belly of a giant beast.

Sorel murmured, "The daily consumption of this workshop is equivalent to a year’s usage of the Raymond family blacksmith shop..."

He stared at the advancing convoy, "How many blacksmiths are kept inside? A thousand? Ten thousand?"

The more he thought, the harder it became to breathe.

And on the other side of the door, sporadic trucks were slowly moving out.

The cargo was tightly covered with oiled black canvas, indistinguishable in shape, with no labels.

Though few in number, each was absurdly heavy.

Even on hardened pavement, the wheels wrapped in iron still pressed white scars into the ground.

Six horses strained every muscle, and the driver had to rely almost on a whip to get the vehicle moving.

He couldn’t help but whisper, "Such heavy cargo... Is it a battering ram? A catapult? Or iron bars to deal with heavy cavalry?"

Sorel stared at the giant gates for a long time, finally suppressing all guesses, since he couldn’t get in, he could only leave.

He donned his cloak and returned to the reception hall, always occasionally looking back at the somber buildings along the way, as if staring at a giant beast that could awaken at any time.

Back in the room, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

Images from the past few days inside the city began flashing quickly through his mind.

Roads that never froze, odorless shelters, knights who proactively supported the elderly, administrative approvals taking only fifteen minutes...

Sorel finally managed to piece together a faint outline:

Traditional lords use the whip to instill fear in their people, good lords use charity to inspire gratitude.

But Louis Calvin relies on the system and life itself, integrating himself into the very air of the city.

The people here would cry for a bowl of porridge, laugh for an elderly person being helped up, nod in greeting during a knight’s patrol.

Not because of fear, not because of benevolence, but because they can no longer do without this system.

"To these people, Louis isn’t a ’Lord’..." Sorel opened his eyes, throat tight, "He’s like the sun, and they’re unable to leave him..."

Sorel suddenly realized a fact more frightening than the industrial zone.

"If I try to buy off Red Tide’s generals, they’d be bound by their knights and sent to the judge’s bench. If I try to incite a rebellion, the citizens here would likely be the first to rush up and tear out my throat."

Sorel felt as if something was pressing against his chest: "In this city... Louis is God. And I’m just a mortal trying to buy off a deity with Gold Coins.

He was silent for a long time, finally slowly sitting up straight.

Even knowing it’s impossible to succeed, the mission still has to be carried out; if he returns empty-handed, he’d only become the laughingstock of the next day or a scapegoat.

Sorel slowly exhaled a breath, taking out that secret letter only circulating in the Empire’s inner circle from his chest.

It was the trump card given by the Second Prince, the most extravagant condition the Empire was willing to offer to win over Louis Calvin.

Grant the title of Duke of the Northern Territory.

Promise the autonomy and labor exemptions of Red Tide Territory.

Open seventy percent of the profits from two core southern trade routes as the starting fund for cooperation.

Ensure a seat in the future Empire’s new Dragon Throne Council.

These conditions, casually offering even one, could make half of the Empire’s nobility weep while kneeling.

Sorel stared at the secret letter, but there was only one absurd thought in his mind: "These things... Louis probably doesn’t care about them at all."

But he still had to try.

He even already thought of a strategy: take advantage of Louis’s developmental stage, start with the Empire’s title granting, use the Royal Family’s name to gild Louis.

Induce political ambition by offering the status of Duke of the Northern Territory, then throw out the Raymond family’s southern trade route interests, causing this young Lord to become dependent.

Once Red Tide and Raymond are deeply bound in their interests, slowly pull Louis into Raymond family factions.

To the Raymond family head’s faction, not the Second Prince’s family faction.

This was his most skilled method in the Imperial Capital.

But now, looking towards Red Tide City, he suddenly realized he wasn’t hunting a beast, but trying to tie a rope around a mountain.

Even so, he gritted his teeth and put the secret letter back in his chest.

"I can only bite the bullet and go down negotiation... At least, let the Second Prince see I tried my best."

Sorel stood up, adjusted his collar, as if granting himself one last dignity.

"Louis Calvin won’t be easily won... then I’ll start with those around him. Start with Bradley, then with the legion commanders, then with the trade route controllers..."

He murmured, "Even if I can’t move the whole mountain, I must chisel off a piece of stone."