Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 714 - 400: Lament of the Old Era (Part 3)

The other nobles' reactions were even more dreadful, with over a dozen minor nobles nearly succumbing to fright, their faces turning paler than the undead.

Amidst the collective shiver, Louis set his teacup down with a gentle motion.

For a fleeting moment, the churning wind and snow seemed to hold their breath.

He spoke with an unnerving calmness, as though discussing trivial matters, "It is concluded."

The instant his words echoed, everyone grasped his true meaning: this was not merely the end of a conflict, but the dawn of a new epoch.

*Tap, tap, tap...*

Into the profound silence, a rhythmic cadence of footsteps ascended from the base of the stone ramparts.

Lambert made his appearance.

He strode deliberately onto the city wall, his crimson cloak dusted with snow, his armor bearing a delicate layer of frost. Yet, his countenance remained as serene as if he had just returned from a morning's training, betraying no hint of the harrowing ordeal he had endured.

Clutched in his left hand was an object, from which blood dripped steadily, falling from his gauntleted hand. Each drop a testament, forming a trail of dark scabs upon the ground.

It was a head.

The severed head of Ackman Greer.

That once haughty visage was now contorted into a ghastly rictus, eyes wide and unseeing, pupils fixed, as if frozen in the throes of a final, silent scream, forever locked in a final moment of terror.

In that instant, it felt as though an unseen, colossal hand had constricted the very breath from the assembled company on the city wall.

The assembled nobles instinctively parted, some staggering and collapsing to their knees, overcome by sheer weakness.

Lambert approached Louis, knelt on a single knee, and presented the head with both hands:

"My Lord, I report that the leader of the insurrection, Ackman Greer, has been vanquished. The surviving elements of the Seventeenth Legion have been disarmed and await your decree."

Louis placed his teacup aside, his gaze drifting over the severed head with an air of detached appraisal, as if examining a trinket of little value: "Excellent, Lambert. Dispatch orders for the quartermasters to issue each of you a measure of wine to fortify yourselves."

That was all.

The execution of a leader of the Imperial Legion was deemed worthy of little more than a few casks of wine in his estimation.

A collective gasp rippled through the nobles; they began to comprehend that Louis's perspective on authority and the caliber of warriors operated on an entirely different plane than their own.

Louis rose, walking to the precipice, his eyes fixed upon the grim trophy, and let out a soft sigh.

A note of regret tinged his voice: "Ackman was, by rights, a valiant servant of the Empire. Alas... consumed by ambition, he succumbed to madness. He committed the heinous act of murdering Baron Morkan and commandeered the Seventeenth Legion, intending to raise a rebellion and assault the Northern Territories."

The spines of all present stiffened.

It was clear to everyone that the question of who was truly consumed by madness – Ackman or Louis – was utterly irrelevant.

What mattered was that Louis had unequivocally branded Ackman with the mark of treason for all to witness.

Louis’s voice gained volume, his tone resolute: "Fortunately, with the corroboration of my esteemed colleagues from the Northern Territory, I have successfully aided the Empire in quelling this treacherous uprising."

He slowly turned his head, fixing his gaze upon Count Albert, a subtle smile gracing his lips: "My esteemed Count, you have borne witness to these events firsthand. This narrative is the undeniable truth, is it not?"

Albert gently set his cane aside, resting his hands on his knees, and inclined his body in a deep, deliberate bow, placing his right hand over his heart.

This was the most profound gesture of respect among the old nobility.

"The protector of the Northern Territory... it is indeed you. You have preserved us and safeguarded the Empire's honor."

These words, uttered with gravitas, signaled the definitive end of an era.

A profound silence held the city wall for three beats, then, like a tidal wave responding to the wind's command, hundreds of nobles bowed in unison.

"The Northern Territory stands eternally indebted to your actions."

"We shall all attest to the events of this day."

"It was the suppression of a rebellion... undoubtedly, it was the suppression of a rebellion."

Louis made a dismissive gesture with his hand: "Let this head be hoisted upon the tallest spire of Frost Halberd City. Let it serve as a perpetual reminder to all that any who dare to sow chaos within the Northern Territory shall meet such a fate."

Lambert bowed his head in acceptance of the directive: "Your will is my command, my Lord."

Ackman Greer's head was elevated, swaying precariously in the biting wind and snow, the falling droplets of blood scattering like shattered jewels upon the frigid stone.

At this very moment, the new order of the Northern Territory was irrevocably cemented.