Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 689: Chapter 391: The Art of Negotiation (Part 2)

"That’s good." Louis casually pulled out a chair and sat down, gesturing to the opposite side, "Sit down, don’t be restrained. We Northern People aren’t particular about those formalities."

Sir Sorrell cautiously sat in the spot Louis indicated, only daring to sit halfway, his back straight as a rod.

The strategy he had planned before coming, rehearsed no less than a hundred times, was finally making its debut at this moment.

"Your Excellency Louis." He opened the golden velvet box he carried, presenting it with both hands, probably containing the Second Prince’s letter.

"The Second Prince has heard of your achievements in the Northern Territory. He believes that an ordinary Count title no longer matches your status."

Louis raised his eyebrow, picked up the teacup, seemingly responding casually, "Oh? Then what does His Highness think I should be?"

Sir Sorrell looked into his eyes, slowly spoke the title powerful enough to shake the Empire’s structure: "Grand Duke of the Northern Territory... which was once Duke Edmund’s position."

He stared at Louis, waiting for the spark of ambition to ignite in his expression.

"Once His Highness ascends to the throne, he will formally recognize your governance over the Northern Territory. You will become the irreplaceable Guardian of the North for the Empire, and the young five-year-old Edmond will naturally no longer affect your inheritance of this land."

This was a meticulously designed trap disguised as praise.

As soon as Louis nods, he would immediately become the common enemy of the Empire’s old nobility, dragged into the political quagmire of the Imperial Capital.

If he wished to maintain the dignity of Grand Duke, he could only continuously deplete the strength of the Red Tide.

Louis put down the teacup, glanced at the scroll of parchment, his expression as tranquil as if assessing ordinary goods: "It certainly sounds impressive. So then... What do I need to pay for this prestige? Fight battles for His Highness in the South and the North?"

"No, you don’t need to deploy troops." Sir Sorrell quickly seized the opportunity, his tone becoming increasingly humble.

Sir Sorrell could tell, Louis hadn’t immediately refused; this was the signal he most desired.

So he began his next persuasive step: "His Highness only hopes you become the Empire’s stabilizing cornerstone. As a gesture of sincerity, the Second Prince is willing to have the House of Raimont open three key southern trade routes for the Red Tide to use."

This time Sir Sorrell’s tone was softer than before, like patiently coaxing a young lord: "Red Tide’s ores, glass, iron products, tools can enter the southern market tax-free."

And we are willing to provide spices, silk, sugar, these premium southern goods to the Red Tide at cost price."

He spoke as if describing a risk-free, mutually beneficial cooperation: "Red Tide only needs to transport the goods from the Northern Territory down continuously, and the southern trade routes will naturally open for you."

Hidden in his words was a sharp hook, enticing the Red Tide to get accustomed to southern goods, encouraging Red Tide’s workshops to habitually export minerals and semi-finished products.

Once dependency forms, as soon as the House of Raimont tightens the trade routes, the entire industrial chain of the Red Tide will be choked at the throat, just like what the Calvin Commerce Association is doing to Louis now.

Sir Sorrell continued to press forward: "Duke Calvin... your father, seems to have always tried to block the circulation of Red Tide’s goods, hasn’t he? We’re willing to help you dismantle the barriers he set up, allowing Red Tide to truly move towards the Empire."

This sentence was like a fine needle, gently poking at a wound.

It both hinted at Duke Calvin’s hostility and suggested Red Tide’s reliance on external markets.

But once the Red Tide embarked on this path, it would slowly become a vassal of the House of Raimont.

Louis still didn’t speak, merely tapping his fingertips on the armrest, as if waiting for him to finish speaking.

Sir Sorrell gritted his teeth, threw out his final trap.

"Your Highness Duke..." His tone became low, as if concerned for the other party, "If I may speak frankly, the Red Tide has strength, has an army, but lacks the depth to match its status."

He proceeded slowly, "Your officials are very capable, but they are too much like craftsmen. They don’t know heraldry, don’t understand noble etiquette, nor how to host a ball befitting one’s status. This will make those traditional nobles in the South look down on you."

Then he gently pushed forward a prepared list: "The Second Prince is willing to unconditionally dispatch a hundred-member advisory team, including Royal Academy’s doctorate lawyers, etiquette masters, horticulturalists, musicians, royal chefs..."

"They will help Red Tide establish a truly court-like system. So that Red Tide is no longer just a barracks, but a Royal Court recognized by the Empire."

After saying this, Sir Sorrell held his breath.

This was his most skilled tactic in the Imperial Capital, giving you status, binding you with ambition, giving you trade routes, ensnaring you with profit, giving you etiquette, infiltrating you with culture.

As soon as Louis accepts this advisory team, Red Tide’s administrative efficiency will be dragged down by etiquette and formalities, and Knights will be corrupted by indulgence.

In five years, no more than five years, this roaring iron beast will have its teeth dulled, transformed into a dancing cat.

Sir Sorrell waited for Louis to show even a momentary hesitation.

He knew in his heart that Louis probably would not agree.

But as long as there was any sign of wavering, he could steer the negotiation in a favorable direction.

However, Louis’s response completely surprised him.

Louis raised his head, expression calm: "Sir Sorrell, may I ask you something?"

Sir Sorrell immediately sat upright: "Please go ahead, Your Excellency."

"Are you here representing the Second Prince?"

"Of course." Sir Sorrell instantly replied, "I am naturally representing His Highness."

Louis gently shook his head: "What I mean is..."

He paused, his tone still gentle, yet it seemed to cut through the air like a blade: "Are you here on behalf of the Second Prince? Or... on behalf of Duke Raimont?"