Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence - Chapter 530 - 323: Differences (2)
Chapter 530: Chapter 323: Differences (2)
Now she’s wearing a new leather coat issued by the workshop, her home has coal for heating, and she has a small team of workers she can command.
Her son is the Lord’s personal guard.
This cheer is not blind conformity, but a choice made with memory.
She glanced at the people around her, those Red Tide People standing in the snow with raised arms.
Whether indigenous, craftsmen from the South, or former slaves, every face was glowing.
Their cheers have a source, it’s because their lives are visibly improving.
Louis on the stage never stopped the crowd, nor did he loudly command, but simply stood there watching quietly.
Finally, he calmly said: “Everyone, go home early, the snow will get heavier soon.”
……
When Haley left the square, it was almost dark.
She was about to enter the residential area in the city center when she suddenly heard the light sound of hooves on the snow.
Turning around, it was Weir.
He was leading his horse, cloak half undone, bangs slightly wet, fingers still gripping the sword hilt, but his expression much more relaxed.
“Why are you back now?” Haley questioned, after all, he hadn’t been home for more than half a month to guard Emily.
“Lord Louis said to come home tonight,” the young knight scratched his head and smiled awkwardly, “He said mother must have waited for several days.”
Haley wanted to scold him a bit, but the words stopped at her lips and she just asked: “Have you seen the little master?”
Weir nodded: “Yeah… he can’t open his eyes yet, but he’s very spirited.”
He paused and then said softly, “I will protect him.”
The words came naturally, like a promise, also like an oath.
Haley turned her head slightly to look at him, her gaze softening: “The little rascal has learned responsibility by staying by the Lord’s side.”
The young knight said nothing, just coughed.
The two walked home through the wind and snow, one after the other.
……
On the other end of the Northern Territory, outside the Frost Dragon Territory, cold winds were blowing through dilapidated ruins.
Compared to Fierce Tide Square in Red Tide City, there were no cheers here, no blessings.
Just a few citizens wrapped in rags walking down the muddy snowy path.
They carried hay, firewood, and a few vegetable roots, that’s all they harvested today.
Few households in the village had smoke rising from chimneys, only a few thin figures clustered by the boiler.
They surrounded the furnace, looking dazed.
The boiling soup in the pot was as thin as muddy water, occasionally a few unknown black roots floated around in it.
A young boy huddled his neck, coughing violently, turning his cheeks blue.
His mother lifted her bowl, said nothing, silently poured the soup into her son’s bowl.
No complaints, no grievances.
They’ve learned to endure hunger quietly.
A carriage jolted over the icy muddy road, wheels carving trails in the snow mud.
Camille sat inside, wrapped in mink fur, but looking far from warm.
He lifted a corner of the curtain, gazing outside at the citizens standing in the cold wind with hollow gazes, unsure what expression to show.
“Seems there’s no hope here.” Camille murmured, deeply disappointed.
Yet a vague emotion stirred within him.
Not pity, but almost ironic contrast.
He suddenly recalled Fierce Tide Square in Red Tide City a dozen days ago, standing on the stage at the knighting ceremony, with people shouting “Long live the Lord,” the firelight illuminating the sky, cheers like tidal waves.
These people here were just living; they had no energy to speak, let alone cheer.
Camille slowly withdrew his gaze, leaning back into the soft cushions.
No matter his fear of Louis, he had to admit that in governing people, Astha and Louis were not in the same league.
After a while, the carriage slowly stopped, before the so-called “temporary council hall.”
Two old government houses were roughly pieced together, the newly painted gray walls yet to dry, the scent wafting with the cold breeze.
Three flags stood in front, the middle depicting a faint golden dragon pattern, slightly faded.
“At least… there’s a show of pomp.” Camille lifted the curtain, a faint, imperceptible sneer curling at his lips.
A person stood under the porch.
The gray cloak was tied straight, hair neat, boots polished to a shine.
It was the Sixth Prince, Astha.
Despite standing in the snow, he presented as if he were in the court, poised.
He stepped forward, a perfectly timed smile: “Camille, representing the Imperial Capital’s will and the hope of rebuilding the Northern Territory, how could I not personally welcome?”
He promptly extended his right hand.
Camille hesitated for a moment, quickly smiled in return, reached out to shake: “You’re too kind, Prince. I’m just following orders.”
His palm was slightly cool, but the grip firm, etiquette standard, just right.
Camille certainly understood the real intent behind the “personal welcome.”
The Prince intended to win him over.
Before the forthcoming “Northern Territory Reconstruction Affairs Meeting,” he urgently needed support in opinion and resources from the Imperial Capital.
And being the Inspector Envoy, he was the most suitable conduit.
“But sending me these things, thinking I’m truly an ignorant fool?” he thought.
Camille maintained a respectful demeanor, smiling as he followed Astha into the council hall.
Night had completely enveloped the Frost Dragon Council Hall.
Inside, however, was brightly decorated, firelight mingled with spices creating a warm illusion.
Dragon pattern banners hung high, surrounded by nobility and subordinate knights in lavish attire.
Most were vassal nobles of Astha, with a few clearly invited from surrounding territories.
Camille glanced around, quietly sitting to the right of the main seat.
The wooden long table had been polished to shine, silver utensils neatly arranged, candles dancing on the silver platters.
The dishes were exquisite, honey-glazed venison, wild mushroom stew, frozen apple cider mixed with snow sugar, and a large plate of Demon Beast Meat, clearly beyond a common person’s reach.
Prince Astha personally presided, raising his glass: “No amount of snow can stop Camille’s arrival today. For the trust and wish to rebuild the Northern Territory, cheers.”
He uttered few words, drinking the wine in his cup in one gulp.
Camille smiled faintly, raising his glass in return.
From the food to the seating, from the spices to the manners, this banquet was all about showing goodwill and ability to him, the Inspector Envoy.
“A true Prince indeed. But… ultimately too forced.”
He didn’t deny the banquet’s efforts, acknowledging Astha’s best, but it was merely that.
The two kept their words measured, discussing the Northern Territory’s rebuilding, Imperial Capital’s policies, and the integration of the old nobility, maintaining a polite balance with underlying insincerity.
Astha’s demeanor was elegant, his noble airs impeccable, yet Camille knew this composure lacked strength.
After the night banquet, Camille was escorted by attendants to his prepared VIP residence.
Pushing the door open, a flash of red caught his eye.
A symmetrically four-cornered, intricately decorated gift box quietly placed on the table before the fireplace, seemingly just delivered.
He paused, eyes slightly flickered.
“Oh… arrived quickly.” He chuckled lightly, yet didn’t approach immediately.
The moment the dessert box was opened flashed in his mind, a blood-red head appearing.
His palms suddenly cooled slightly, he sighed, forcing himself closer, slowly unveiling the box lid.
Fortunately, no bloody smell.
A few translucent gems, a pure gold bracelet, plus an unsigned letter: “Presented to the Empire’s guest.”
Camille chuckled softly: “I didn’t ask for this… they’re clever indeed.”
He closed the box, sitting back in the chair, fingers tapping the armrest leisurely.
He saw through its essence, to survive in the Northern Territory, he could only obey Louis unreservedly.
