Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 686 - 390: The Terrifying Red Tide City (Part 3)

Even so, something still felt amiss to him. With the lower classes accepting the new system, the traditional nobility might end up obsolete, which could harm Louis in the long run.

The issue was right there—Sorel’s insight barely touched the basics.

Regarding the profound reasons—why reshape class relations, why temper the knights, and why get the masses to willingly adopt this order—he remained clueless.

To Sorel, such a method seemed overly intricate and hazardous, defying all standard Imperial Nobility logic.

He pondered intensely yet drew a blank, deciding to hold his thoughts for the moment.

On day four, Bradley permitted him to explore the outskirts of the Red Tide City Council Hall.

The structure boasted no gold, no carvings, not even the flashy stained glass so prized in the Imperial Capital.

Cold Iron supports bore the weight of the hall’s dome, while the Red Tide banner cascaded like a waterfall from on high, pressing down oppressively on the stark iron frame.

The outer area buzzed with noise as Red Tide residents streamed in for business, hustling amid constant din.

Yet indoors, silence reigned. Clerks clutched folders in red, yellow, and gray hues, darting about efficiently without murmurs or disorder.

Every movement was crisp and exact, resembling gears honed to perfection through endless refinement.

A merchant up front filed his request; from grabbing a number, handing it over, inspection, to approval stamp and exit, it all wrapped up in under fifteen minutes.

Sorel stood dumbfounded; back in the Imperial Capital, that would drag on for three days minimum, demanding bribes at every turn.

He let out a slow breath: "No exploitative layers, no corrupt clerks, no intermediaries skimming... Louis’s directives flow straight to the grassroots untouched."

This embodied ironclad central control, a streamlined bureaucratic engine powering the new regime.

But once more, he hit a wall; rolling this out Empire-wide would spark instant noble revolt. How had Louis pulled it off? Why no uprising in the Northern Territory?

He grasped none of it.

Truth be told, Red Tide’s bureaucracy hummed thanks to Louis revamping the incentives, not the authority setup.

The old nobility’s profit web got dismantled, supplanted by a unified cycle of "infrastructure, industry, taxes".

Fewer middle steps meant greater speed, and Red Tide’s booming resources let most folks gain, with officials pulling fat paychecks plus clear paths to advance, binding them loyally to the setup.

Sorel couldn’t perceive any of this.

He only noted the visible discipline, blind to the core principles. Abruptly, he understood the Northern lord’s dread of Red Tide.

This went beyond founding a domain; it forged a state, a swelling mechanical behemoth.

A self-sustaining apparatus boasting army, factories, power sources, governance—all independent of Imperial aid.

Sorel lingered at the admin zone’s elevated edge, staring at the vast red banner overhead, abruptly engulfed by the apparatus’s looming silhouette.

His eyes drifted past the walls to the far-off haze perpetually veiling the horizon.

No vibrant nightlife glows or gentle magic stone illuminations—just a colossal compound jutting like mountain spines.

Straight edges, brutal facades, devoid of noble flourishes or motifs.

It resembled a fortress wall heaped from iron slabs and rock, thrusting up from frozen ground.

At first sight, Sorel pegged it as a defensive bastion.

No banners waved, no horns blared, no troop maneuvers echoed—ever more stifling and alien.

Bradley had called it a "military controlled area", so Sorel figured this was one such spot.

Yet closer scrutiny bred doubt.

The silence was eerie, not like barracks or factories; its purpose eluded him.

Sorel narrowed his gaze on the shadowy building mass, curiosity gnawing fiercely.

"What on earth is Louis concealing inside?"

No answers came, only mounting disquiet.

Thus, Sorel murmured to his two accompanying High-tier Elite Knights: "Stay discreet. Slip near and check what’s brewing in those shadowy structures."

The knights threw on gray cloaks, vanishing silently via a side exit into the gloom.

Sorel kindled the stand’s candle, settling by the window to await.

Thick snow poured down, flame danced wildly, mirroring his pounding pulse.

Soon, thudding steps drew near.

Both knights dropped to their knees: "Sir, impossible to enter, utterly impossible."

Sorel’s forehead creased: "Guards swarming?"

"Not swarming." The knight struggled to explain, "Too powerful."

He lifted his head, face twisted in awe at the inconceivable: "At minimum three... wait, possibly five Transcendent Knights on patrol."

Sorel staggered, nearly toppling.

Within the Empire, a single Transcendent Knight led 500-man legions and dined as barons’ VIPs—the battlefield’s devastating core, nobility’s emblem of might.

And Red Tide?

Louis deployed five Transcendent Knights to guard a mere workshop entrance?

A shiver gripped Sorel: "What secret does that smoky site... conceal?"

Come the following day, he spied from afar along the East District’s primary route.

Snow intensified, but the path to the industrial zone stayed clear, convoys rolling steadily over damp roads.

Sorel kept his distance, observing safely from aside.