Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 707 - 397: The Black Flood (Part 2)

The thundering iron tide surged forth, the ground reverberating in response.

Like an enormous beast stirring from slumber, the grandest army muster in the Northern Territory over three decades advanced on Frost Halberd City, and Ackman felt utterly convinced: the battle's outcome was sealed.

......

Fierce winds and snow lashed through Frost Halberd City, as though warning every newcomer that it remained the Northern Territory's bleakest forsaken waste.

Yet the great hall inside brimmed with cozy warmth, like stepping from one realm into another across a single threshold.

A massive crystal chandelier showered brilliant golden illumination, while novel steam heaters along the walls softly released heat, rendering the atmosphere as gentle as a balmy southern spring evening.

Icy gales battered beyond the windows, yet within drifted the sugary fragrance of baked goods mingled with the sharp tang of potent spirits.

Fine velvet draped the lengthy banquet table, where chefs from Red Tide Territory had plated delicacies resembling masterful paintings.

Sweets, crimson tea, robust drinks, candied fruits... all heaped in lavish plenty, nearly erasing memories of this place as war's former epicenter.

This gathering for Northern rebuilding stood as the best-coordinated in generations.

Not just the great lords, but even frontier lesser barons occupied the peripheral chairs.

Lively murmurs filled the chamber, brimming with cheerful banter.

Topics ranged from this season's crop costs to shared secrets on the hunt, with some ribbing about the dancers' spirited shows from the night before.

It seemed the Northern Territory had finally embraced lasting peace and abundance.

Still, Gareth Morkan went utterly unmentioned, erased from all recollections.

Nobody wished to spoil the festive mood.

Still, a shared unease simmered under the jovial talk — Louis remained absent.

The lofty central chair at the table's head sat vacant. Nobles of higher rank kept stealing glances its way.

Ten minutes dragged by, followed by twenty more...

Veteran aristocrats started fidgeting, muttering under breath: "As expected from a mere youth; lord for just a handful of years and already manners forgotten."

"Keeping every one of us hanging on his whim, what makes him so special?"

Yet none voiced it boldly.

Frost Halberd City now fell under Red Tide Territory's domain, its might cowing all present.

Right as the murmurs swelled, the entrance swung wide from without.

All fell silent on reflex, eyes snapping upward.

True enough, Louis Calvin strode through.

Unlike the formally attired nobles today, he donned Red Tide's standard light combat armor, its black steel shining with chill gleam beneath the lamps, shoulder guards still flecked with half-cleared slushy snow.

No pretense of elegant nobility in finery for him; he entered the hall with natural command.

His gait stayed firm, poised at any instant to pivot toward combat, this garb serving to underscore that Northern peace stemmed not from mere protocol.

Bradley and Isaac trailed in his wake.

The aged steward kept gaze lowered in proper deference.

Isaac entered tall and proud, carrying the youthful mix of strain and arrogance as Duke Edmund's successor and tomorrow's Northern overlord, observing the council.

Louis approached the head seat without haste to claim it, instead placing palm on the table's brink and addressing them courteously yet relaxed: "Apologies for the delay, everyone; a small matter held me up."

Though soft-spoken, his words hushed the vast hall completely.

"My lord has labored greatly!"

"Lord Louis, such politeness!"

"Your arrival graces us all."

Nobles stood in succession, offering warm greetings like heralding a momentous affair, Louis replying with smiles and nods prior to settling into the prime chair.

Yet rather than launching into the partnership proposals, his fingers tapped the surface lightly, exuding subtle disquiet.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Louis pressed on, "prior to delving into profit-making strategies, I have to share a... minor bit of grim tidings first."

Mention of "bad news" barely rippled through the assembly.

A few creased foreheads mildly in acknowledgment, while most dismissed it as Louis's typical wry jest, expecting tales or banter.

With that casual delivery, how dire could it truly be?

Louis held a brief pause, voice steady: "Right now, the Seventeenth Legion, Fourteenth Legion, and Seventh Legion — seven thousand knights in full gear — have breached the Birch Forest boundary."

Slightly raising his gaze, he continued, "If the roads stay clear, they ought to arrive at Frost Halberd City in around one day and... unleash a massacre."

The atmosphere turned to ice in a flash.

After three seconds, the clamor burst out like gunpowder igniting.

"Seven thousand knights?! Have you lost your mind? How do we possibly fight them?!" A gaunt baron crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud, his legs failing beneath him.

Across the room, a white-haired aged count smashed his fist on the table, sending silver utensils bouncing an inch into the air: "Louis! Have you pulled the whole Northern Territory into this mess? Do you grasp what that implies?!"

"It’s finished... everything’s finished..." a noble muttered, slumping back into his chair as though all his vigor had vanished.

Others shattered completely, leaping up suddenly and toppling the chairs behind: "Hurry! Dispatch an envoy! Do it now! Fling open the city gates! Assure Ackman we took no part, knew absolutely nothing!"

Terror raced through like a deadly contagion, pushing every voice to rise wildly out of control.

The conference hall resembled a vessel crashing into a concealed reef, filled with shrieks, disputes, and mayhem ripping away all refinement.

Amid the pandemonium, Louis stayed seated in silence, displaying no fury or alarm, casually sipping his red wine without a care.

The noble bellowing "surrender" proved the most vocal, even lunging toward the massive door to shove it wide.

Louis placed his glass down, his voice steady like chastising a naughty child: "Surrender? Bargain? Convinced Ackman will let you live?

When Morkan sought the conscripted supplies, beheaded right there. His head dangles from Gray Stone Fortress's city gate now."

With those words, he drew a parchment scroll from his pocket and hurled it onto the table.

The scroll unrolled, exposing clusters of thick red marks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, two paths lie before you." Louis raised a single finger, "Path one: battle alone. Get shattered piece by piece. Whole families eradicated."

He lifted a second finger: "Path two: at once and without conditions, surrender all personal troops, guards, and full military authority over your lands to me. Allow Red Tide to centralize command."

Leaning back in his seat, his voice remained soft, but bone-chilling: "Vote now. Supporters, stay put. Opponents, that door awaits—go greet Ackman freely."

Suddenly, that door loomed as horrifying as death's threshold.

Not a soul stirred.

Including the noble who'd just yelled for surrender, frozen in place as if nailed down, legs laden with lead, icy sweat forming on his brow.

Moments later, the initial noble tremblingly lifted his hand.

Followed by the second, then the third...

Silently, more nodded; more kept heads lowered; more signaled yielding through quiet.

Zero dissent.

Satisfied, Louis nodded, flashing that mild smile once more.

"Excellent."

He rose, straightened his cuffs, and in a tone casual as wrapping up routine tea, declared: "Consensus achieved... meeting ends. War begins now."

His coat tails swayed lightly as Louis strode directly to the door.

Within the hall, hundreds of nobles stood rigid, souls seemingly extracted, only staring eyes vacantly tracing his retreating form.

Isaac followed close, his short strides quickening to a jog to match pace.

Despite efforts to look calm, the tightness at his mouth betrayed inner turmoil.

Outside the hall at last, he grabbed Louis's sleeve urgently, murmuring: "Brother-in-law... really alright? Seven thousand knights loom just beyond..."

Louis paused, gazing at the boy striving for adult poise, his icy eyes warming instantly.

He extended a hand to ruffle Isaac's hair.

"It's fine." His voice light as noting the day's sky: "Whatever forces Ackman commands, he's already defeated."

Isaac stiffened: "But us... aren't we in dire peril right now?"

A smile curved Louis's lips, radiating total mastery: "Today's purpose was solely to make them surrender command willingly. Absent this conflict, full-hearted consent was impossible."

He clapped Isaac's shoulder: "Regarding Ackman... true victory strikes before foes advance. This gathering forms battlefield terrain too."

Thus speaking, he pressed on, pace firm but unhurried, treating the seven thousand knights' menace as merely a long-planned chess piece on his board.