Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 694 - 393: The Castle of Red Tide

During the early spring in the Northern Territory, heavy snow continued to fall, as the convoy crept ahead slowly, wooden wheels crunching over the frozen earth with a low rumble.

Solton, the merchant from the south, tugged his cloak closer around him, yet the chill still pierced deep into his bones.

He scowled at the endless white expanse stretching before him in the Northern Territory, his voice dripping with contempt.

Along the way, he had heard repeatedly about Lord Louis, the Red Tide Lord, constructing the "most luxurious main castle in the Northern Territory," supposedly grander than the Silver Castle or the Holy Dragon Cathedral.

Each time Solton caught wind of this, it struck him like a bad punchline.

Could a upstart from the Northern Territory, no matter his efforts, really stack rocks into something wondrous?

"Old John, I just can’t fathom how you endure this forsaken land. Winters in the Imperial Capital are a hundred, nay, a thousand times superior to this." He scoffed, his words spilling out as if to flaunt his sophistication.

"I’ve dined at banquets in the Silver Castle and savored sacred music in the Holy Dragon Cathedral. I hear your Red Tide territory has erected some main castle; to me, it’s merely rustic folk piling stones taller, aping grandeur."

He waved toward the horizon, "Isn’t the grandest spot around here just Duke Edmund’s ancient fortress? That’s nothing more than a larger stone prison. No matter how rich your Lord Louis gets... can he transform stone to gold?"

Old John simply smiled through it all, offering no counter.

......

"Sir, wake up! We’ve reached Red Tide City!"

Solton had dozed off in the carriage, jolted awake by the rough ride.

At those words, he furrowed his brow, blinking in confusion, and before he could gripe, he parted the curtain.

A blaze of light flooded in abruptly, snapping him alert like a splash of icy water, sharpening his senses instantly.

The gripes ready on his tongue lodged there, leaving him speechless.

Neatly arranged lights illuminated the outer city, laid out with perfect precision, as if ruled by a straightedge.

Yet it was the main castle looming at the farthest point that truly stunned him into silence.

This wasn’t the typical Northern Territory fortress he recalled—crude, dark, riddled with gray stone fissures.

Solton remained rigid in the carriage, staring upward without stirring.

The initial sight that struck him was the flawlessly formed silhouette of the main castle.

No usual fissures marred the Northern Territory stones, no frost-laden moss clung anywhere.

The whole structure resembled a massive iron slab wrenched from a mountainside, smoothed to absolute perfection.

From below, the curving inward sweep of the outer walls gave the impression of a sleeping colossal beast gazing down.

That enveloping pressure caused Solton’s knees to quiver faintly in the breeze.

Four towers sprang from the main castle’s backbone-like frame, their coppery-red domes casting a subtle sheen beneath the overcast sky, akin to glowing coals encased in metal.

The standout element perched on the elevated slope: the western tower.

Its edges cut sharply, resembling a enormous iron eagle with wings tucked, perched silently along the snowline.

Solton had figured Red Tide City would mirror other Northern spots, brimming with rugged stones and rough-hewn timbers.

However, drawing nearer revealed intricate details concealed within its colossal form.

Faintly pulsing runes glimmered between the towers, rhythmic as breath, while white vapor hissed from crevices, mingling with the winds to create a delicate warm haze encircling the castle.

Those enormous apparatuses cloaked atop the walls, exposing mere hints of metallic contours, like hidden bony frames.

Silent as they were, Solton sensed they were scrutinizing him.

For the first time, a absurd thought crossed his mind: this domain seemed beyond mortal hands.

Not from reverence, but a primal urge to yield.

He nearly dropped to his knees, akin to a rodent cowering under a predator’s shadow, head bowed in fear.

"This...is a castle?" he croaked, "No...it looks like some sort of...."

Words failed him, his eyes drawn to the brass sun totem crowning the main gate, hanging serene yet dominating all who approached.

"Old John..." Solton managed hoarsely, "Who in the world is Lord Louis...?"

Old John held his silence at first, gazing reverently at the castle.

"Our sun," he murmured.

......

In the late spring, with the Northern Territory’s snowline retreating, the skies hadn’t fully brightened.

The atmosphere bore a moldy reek and clammy chill in the mist, this dampness far more torturous than winter’s crisp gales, burrowing relentlessly into joints.

To the Old North’s nobility, this remained a loathed time.

Cloaks forever muddied, boots forever sliding, and a moment’s lapse invited rheumatism to seize knees and backs.

Lady Irina paused on the carriage steps, skirt hiked up by habit, despite the spotless surface, her wariness ingrained.

She wasn’t traveling solo.

Just ahead, Louis cradled his two-year-old daughter, his free hand clasping five-year-old Orsus, gently urging the child to stay close.

Emily clung to his arm, her other hand guiding eight-year-old brother Isaac, as if on a casual family outing.

Sif, clad in snug leather armor, trailed behind, her eyes scanning the area idly, now and then sharing a subtle look with Louis.

This family strolled together, radiating warmth amid the sloppy Northern Territory spring.

Time had been kind to Lady Irina.

Silver threads now streaked her temples, but exhaustion barely touched her.

Still, the Northern Territory’s bite prompted deeper thoughts, be it the mud or the castle looming nearby.

It was a castle she had observed for over four years.