Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 701 - 395: A Small Incident Before the Meeting (2)

Only days away from the reconstruction meeting, representatives from various noble houses and families continued to pour in, their extended caravan snaking as a dull gray-white streak across the snow.

However, the moment they crossed the city gates, it felt like the world split sharply into two.

Beyond lay a desolate wilderness battered by freezing gales and ankle-deep snow, whereas within surged a growing warmth, akin to a heated iron fortress exhaling over the icy plains.

The assorted Lords, Nobles, and family delegates stiffened in shock upon dismounting, beholding the sight ahead.

Underfoot stretched no dirt or frozen ground, but sleek gray-black pavement mirroring faint shadows.

Flanking the road stood rows of magic-fueled street lamps glowing steadily, their alchemical cores pulsing reliably within shades, rousing the city to life under the night sky.

These weren't lavish crystal fixtures from aristocratic chambers, but sturdy, frost-proof public lights mass-produced by the Red Tide Workshop, and their abundance left several nobles gulping instinctively.

Farther off, a massive iron spire steadily vented plumes of white vapor.

Steam billowed toward the dark heavens, fooling the eye into seeing a hazy pale moon suspended beneath Frost Halberd City’s vault. That marked the heating tower, source of the neighborhood's geothermal and steam networks, warding off the brutal cold.

"This... is Frost Halberd City?" someone gasped.

After the Nest Battle, Frost Halberd City lay in ruins, and scarce few thought it could rise again so swiftly, let alone morph into this... freakish metropolis.

Instantly, nobles from different areas split into three clear factions, reacting in utterly opposed ways.

Red Tide faction nobles strode ahead confidently.

They wore the freshest designs from the Red Tide Textile Factory, fabrics gleaming softly with superior insulation, styles even echoing city fashions from the Jade Federation.

Every one held their posture erect, paces lively, as though entering home ground at last.

Some murmured about the prior week's Red Tide payouts, others chatted over the upcoming new heater model, while many prefixed remarks with "Lord Louis," pride ringing clear.

Their bold presence stemmed not from rashness, but because each road and lamp here proclaimed to onlookers their wise allegiance.

A second cluster acted far more subdued.

These regretters donned their territories' best attire, yet beside Red Tide nobles, the rough textures, poor fits, and faded hues stood out glaringly.

Huddled close, they muttered plans to "reconnect with the Red Tide."

Some stole wary peeks at the castle, gazes laced with caution and unease, footsteps measured carefully, like treading fragile ice.

The final bunch lurked mute as phantoms; these were the veteran nobles observing from afar.

They arrived in Frost Halberd City skeptical, some hoping to debunk the famed Red Tide miracle.

Yet as they advanced, the city's vastness and cozy glow hammered away their haughtiness.

A silver-haired Viscount gazed at the remote luminous mega-tower puffing heat, his heart clenching.

"Duke Edmund... wasn’t even like this back then," he whispered low, met with silence.

For everyone knew this place surpassed mere echoes of the Edmund days; it loomed larger, far more modern.

Louis Calvin wasn't merely restoring the Northern Territory; he forged it anew.

Confronted by this fresh regime, these Lords wedded to old customs faced stark options:

Adapt or get pulverized.

...

Within the upscale lounge of Frost Halberd City’s guesthouse, springlike warmth filled the air, though delicate snow drifted beyond the panes.

Lavish decor adorned the space, magic crystal sconces diffusing soft glows, shielding against the North's savage chill.

Morkan reclined in the plush seat, expression smugly content.

He'd dressed sharp for the occasion, in a cloak edged with sable, boots fastened by silver, even doused in lordly perfume.

All to showcase the Morkan house's assurance amid hesitant lesser nobles.

Three or four surrounding nobles sipped Red Tide signature tea, faces polite but eyes tinged with envy.

"Lord Louis sure stirred things up; we had to queue and show papers just to enter. Even I, a proper Lord, got held by the guards," one grumbled softly.

"Hmph, he sure has cash," another man sipped his tea, his words laced with mockery while envy flickered in his gaze, "I’ve heard folks joining Red Tide this year are coining it in big time, and I’m thinking... perhaps we ought to..."

Before he could wrap up, Morkan slammed his cup onto the table, his voice dripping with smug superiority as he lectured.

"Soft? If you wanna play soft, line up at the City Lord’s Mansion and submit your confession this instant." Morkan sneered, "But wise heads don’t stick their necks out for some fool to slap a collar on them.

Some twenty-year-old brat lucks into a patch of land, toys with weird gadgets, and suddenly fancies himself ruler of the Northern Territory? Lacking those craftsmen, he couldn’t even brave the Northern Territory’s fierce winds."

He thrust a hand toward the snow-swept view beyond the window: "As we sit here savoring tea, the Morkan family’s huge caravan is crossing the birch forest pass."

The nobles snapped to attention.

That caravan was the North’s most notorious goldmine.

Morkan grinned smugly, reclining in his seat: "The wagons brim with premium ores. When they reach the South unscathed, the grains and gold coins I’ll swap them for will shock you all, gentlemen."