Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence - Chapter 416 - 271: Visa’s Confusion (Part 2)

Chapter 416: Chapter 271: Visa’s Confusion (Part 2)

The streetlights were already up at night, and outside the public bathhouse, the hours of operation and free notice were still posted.

She hesitantly entered a bathhouse.

When the hot water splashed over her body, the sweat stains, dirt, and blood scabs were gradually washed away.

Standing in the mist, she suddenly felt as if her skin didn’t belong to her.

This comfort, this clean feeling, was so unfamiliar.

She touched her arm, the thought that she couldn’t go back suddenly emerged.

“Our nobility can only wipe their faces with ice water in winter. Yet, the poor here can soak in hot baths.”

She suddenly understood that those “imperial civilities” she used to look down on were not just for show, but a way of life.

Later she slowly figured out that Sif stayed in the Red Tide Territory not by coercion, but stood openly at the center of power, becoming one of the two wives of Red Tide Lord Louis.

This news plunged her into deeper confusion.

She used to think the Imperial Nobility were nothing but plunderers cloaked in golden armor and sweet words.

They were selfish, hypocritical, and accustomed to using power to oppress, regarding the Barbarian Race only as slaves and tools.

But Louis… this Red Tide Lord exuded something different everywhere.

She saw when he rode through the main street, craftsmen, children, and elders gathered on the sides, calling his name, not with fearful shouts, but with genuine echoes.

The children excitedly chased after his horse, as if he were not a lord, but a long-lost relative.

This scene left her in a daze, reminding her of Titus, the cold Frost Fierce leader.

When he rode by, no one dared to raise their heads, only heads bowed in silence.

They called his name because not doing so would get them whipped, and following behind him were slaves in chains, not cheerful children.

“Our leader rules by fear,” she silently thought to herself.

She never doubted the ways of the Barbarian Race until she saw another choice with her own eyes.

But what shocked her the most wasn’t the hot water of Red Tide, nor the order in the streets, nor Louis’ prestige among the crowd.

But Sif’s smile.

That day, after a military meeting concluded at sunset, she silently stood by the exit and saw Sif step onto the podium, telling a not-so-funny joke to the soldiers below.

The soldiers laughed heartily, and so did Sif.

That smile had no hatred, no guard, and none of the cold hardness required to maintain dignity back in the clan. It was relaxed, even a bit mischievous, like an ordinary person.

At that moment, Visa suddenly felt a tightness in her chest.

She had thought: if ever given a chance, she’d take Sif back to the Northern Wilds, regroup, call back the remnants, rebuild Cold Moon, and make the clan’s name resound once more across the Icefield.

But now she was bewildered.

If they returned to the Northern Wilds, would it mean once again burdening her with hatred, fighting alone against the cold winds? Would it mean teaching her to face death with cold eyes, treating life as numbers, and hiding her smile?

She didn’t know which direction to offer her life to.

Past beliefs had shattered, and a new life had yet to find a foothold.

She could only stand silently a short distance away, as if that bit of laughter was the farthest distance between her and the past.

……

At the construction site on the northern defense line of Red Tide Territory, the air was filled with the mixed scent of lime, grease, and sawdust.

Masons stood on the scaffolding, chiseling gray-white mountain stones, creating a rhythmic clinking sound.

When the cold iron beams were hoisted into place, there was a dull metallic echo, vibrating the ground lightly.

This segment of the defense line began construction last fall and has been ongoing for almost a year.

The northern main defensive wall was 60% complete, with the remaining parts still consisting of unfinished stone bodies and exposed wooden scaffolding.

The formed wall structure was blue-gray, and some arrow towers had been erected preliminarily, standing four to five meters high, with heavy cold iron beams embedded in the stone layers, like a gradually forming steel barrier.

Louis, draped in a black and red Lord’s Cloak, stood at the edge of the construction site, gazing at the unfinished wall line.

He stayed silent, his gaze slowly drifting along the wall’s outline as if measuring a future frontline.

Bradley came forward to report the latest progress: “The main structure uses local mountain stone as the framework, complemented by cold iron beams running through, with the exterior treated in lime and waterproof grease. Post-completion, it is expected to withstand siege rams, hot oil, and fire attacks.

“Arrow towers every sixty meters, with shooting apertures and a double crossbow platform on the tower tops. The final wall height will reach six to eight meters, with a thickness between two and a half to three meters.

“In the sunlight, the wall surface appears gray-white, mixed with cold iron rust stains, resembling bone armor emerging from the mountain.”

After listening, Louis glanced around, his lips moving slightly, and said lightly, “You’ve done well.”

Hearing Louis’ affirmation, Bradley smiled lightly, “Thank you, Lord, but it was you who personally set the blueprint’s direction; I just followed it. What truly makes this wall stand is your foresight beyond ours.”

Louis smiled softly, not denying it.

They took a few steps forward, moving to the edge of the still unfinished wall parapet, looking down at the defensive moat below.

Surrounded by a circle of craftsmen, all listening to this top lord and territorial manager’s conversation, occasionally offering their suggestions.

“The defense is still insufficient,” Louis spoke, his gaze still scanning the walls.

“I agree,” Bradley nodded, “especially in terms of climbing and fire attacks. The Barbarian Race has favored night raids and arson in recent years; too smooth a wall makes clearing it problematic.”

“Then polish the exterior wall, embedding it with cold iron nail plates. Climbers get their hands cut.”

“Hmm, the gate needs processing too. I’ll have the armory prepare fire retardant grease and add another layer of iron plating.”

“And the moat?” Bradley probed.

“Bury chevaux-de-frise with flipping spike cages. Once there’s movement, release them from the city head.”

…

They spoke, simultaneously marking on the blueprint with their fingers, their discussion dense yet restrained.

The topic eventually landed on “fire ports.”

Atop the city wall, preserving casting ports for throwing oil jars, or directly using flamethrowers to repel wall-climbing enemies.

“How is your preparation coming along?” Louis suddenly asked, his tone light but observably not casual.

“I already called personnel from the soldiers, setting up a dedicated team for training to throw fire jars, and some apprentice knights to control the flamethrowers.”

Though their voices were not loud, each sentence spread, and the craftsmen discreetly remembered every word.

Standing on the edge of the crowd, Visa remained silent, only listening quietly.

Not being an engineer, she couldn’t quite understand the blueprints, but when she continuously heard these technical terms, it felt heavier than a knife.

Hearing words like “fire prevention,” “chevaux-de-frise,” “fire oil ports,” she thought of the countless times her clan used these means in raids—night raids, arson, and charging with Magical Beasts.

Those were tactics she was familiar with.

And now, someone was methodically blocking them.

She instinctively glanced at Sif.

The girl, dressed in a Red Tide Army winter cloak, stood to the side, saying nothing but listening attentively.

An indescribable mixture of emotions flooded Visa’s heart.

After hesitating for a moment, she still spoke softly, her voice not loud but causing all heads to turn:

“The Northern Clan now likes using giant Magical Beasts to clear paths. They use them to ram gates, tear down grappling hooks, and trample chevaux-de-frise… Magical Beasts aren’t afraid of arrows, but they fear noise.”

She paused before adding, “Consider installing some noise-making devices. Not for harm, but to scare. Even if they startle for a second, causing a beast to go berserk can disrupt their rhythm.”

Bradley raised an eyebrow, “You mean… Magic Explosion Bullets?”

Visa shook her head, “We don’t have those things over there; they’re homemade. Sometimes it’s just a big iron tank stuffed with gunpowder, a pull of a rope, and it deafens you.”

“Low cost, not very powerful, but effective against Magical Beasts. Especially those trained from young with whips by the Barbarian Race; they’re scared of unfamiliar sounds.”

After listening, Louis slightly raised his eyebrows but didn’t rush to speak: “A very good suggestion, let Hillco handle it.”

Sif, standing quietly beside them, turned her head to look at Visa, saying nothing but with a gaze holding a bit more affirmation.