Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 703 - 396: Dog

Thick velvet drapes sealed off the raging blizzard, making Frost Halberd City’s mansion eerily silent, where the fire’s faint crackle seemed audible.

Faint flames danced in the hearth, while subdued magical lanterns carved the room into zones of glow and gloom, spotlighting only the tall chair and its shadowed young lord.

Louis lounged in a loose black silk shirt, collar parted slightly, as though fresh from a cozy family dinner’s warmth.

A fluffy white Ice Wolf cub sprawled at his feet, eyes half-shut in drowsiness, yet ever watchful of the world around.

Isaac waited silently in the shadows of the corner, posture ramrod straight like a beginner’s pupil, gaze filled with awe and unease.

Disordered footsteps echoed from beyond the door.

A door hinge squeaked open next, as a servant guided Baron Morkan inside.

Nothing like the haughty figure from two days back in the tearoom, teacup poised, chin high with disdain, branding Louis a mere whelp.

Two nights without sleep, sheer terror, and endless waiting had shattered his resolve completely.

His opulent velvet garb, costly as a modest farmstead, hung in folds; shadows bruised his eyes, and his locks stood wildly disheveled, gale-ravaged and backward-swept.

That caravan embodied nearly a full year’s yield from Morkan’s domain, his one shot at trading for vital winter stores.

Even grimmer, his query to Gray Stone Fortress brought a frosty retort: "You may ask Count Red Tide for his opinion." Full awareness hit him—he was mere fodder in a noble power play.

The instant Baron Morkan passed the threshold, he crumpled to the floor, voice quaking: "C-C-C...Count...please save me..."

Louis lifted his gaze idly, gently rubbing the Ice Wolf pup’s velvety ear tip as it purred in delight.

Morkan read it as a cue of impatience and scurried forward on hands and knees, words turning sobbed pleas:

"Ackman...he doesn’t play by the rules, doesn’t follow the noble way...Lord, I’m willing to pay, that batch is worth ten thousand gold coins! I-I will give you thirty percent of the profit, as long as you help me get the goods back!"

Suddenly Louis’s fingers halted; the Ice Wolf perked up, issuing a soft, irritated whine.

A quiet sigh escaped Louis, though his voice cut like Northern winter frost: "Morkan, what have I done that makes you disrespect me like this?"

Morkan snapped his head upward, face twisted in bewilderment and dread.

Louis rose, hands clasped behind, strolling measuredly through the fire’s faint glow: "If you had agreed to join the Red Tide half a year ago...everywhere your caravan goes, it would bear my banner. It is not a decoration, but a shield."

He spun around, stare keen as a dagger: "But you didn’t. You said you didn’t need Red Tide, you said you understood the rules between nobles, you said your connections were enough to make you filthy rich. And now?"

Morkan’s features drained pale, lips quivering: "I...I was..."

"Now you’ve lost your goods, lost your knights, only then do you think of me, a reliable friend in the Northern Territory." Louis sneered, "Yet you still treat me as a mercenary you can negotiate a price with."

Morkan’s tone cracked pitchless: "Lord, I...I just want to survive, just want the family to survive...I don’t hope for revenge, just for the goods...I’m willing to pay, whatever the cost..."

Louis pivoted toward the hearth’s leaping blaze, voice neutral as plain truth: "Your cousin had his limbs smashed, buried in mud and snow to freeze to death. Your knight was split in half. Now you kneel here, yet you only think about how much that wagon is worth."

You won’t even address me as Count Calvin.

Morkan shuddered head to toe, at last dissolving into sobs.

Yet then Louis wheeled back, eyes settling on him once more: "But I am a reasonable man. The Morkan family, after all, is part of the Northern Territory."

Those words struck Morkan like a lifeline: "L-Lord...you’re willing to help me?"

"I will give you a letter," Louis declared, "in half an hour, Guard Gray will deliver it."

Morkan glanced up, faint hope kindling in his gaze.

"Take that letter," Louis pressed on, "ride personally to Gray Stone Fortress, and hand it to Ackman."

Morkan froze as if thunderstruck, color fleeing his face: "Lord, Ackman...that madman will kill me!"

"If you send a servant with the letter," Louis remarked offhand, "he’ll kill you then."

Louis crouched low, locking eyes with Morkan, tone mild: "You just need to show enough humility...enough sincerity...for my sake, he’ll return a portion of your goods."

Better than losing everything, isn’t it?

Morkan shook violently from head to toe, at last prostrating himself with a resounding thud of his forehead against the frigid stone floor: "Yes, Count...for the family, I’ll go!"

Yet inwardly, stubbornness lingered, cold and unyielding.

He wasn’t kowtowing from any reverence toward Louis.

That prostration came from sheer desperation, no escape left, since Ackman seemed far readier to strike him down right then than Louis ever would.

Thoughts churned wildly in his mind: reclaiming the goods was key, a bit of lost gold no big deal, family safety trumped all pride.

Should Louis step in just for now, Morkan could hold onto his status as a free noble, spared from genuine submission at Red Tide’s feet.

Though fear had nearly strangled him moments before, he gritted his teeth in fierce resolve.

Surviving this crisis, he’d never bend again, refuse to turn into Red Tide’s lapdog or offer true allegiance.

As he lifted his head once more, eyes bloodshot and lips quivering, that spark of defiance and cunning stayed buried deep in his gaze, refusing to fade.