Free Web NovelCamille Sorin, an imperial court official from the Censorate, currently served as the “Special Envoy for Northern Surveillance.”
The title sounded respectable, but it was actually a thankless job. Which official in the Imperial Capital would want to come to the current Northern Territories?
Yet, many years ago, he didn't think this way.
Back then, Camille was just a bright-eyed young man in the Censorate, busy day and night copying documents, auditing accounts, and writing reports.
He believed in the system, and with his loyalty to the Emperor and his own efforts, he could correct the direction of power.
It wasn't until his first promotion was imminent that Camille saw a crack in that door. Through the crack, something glittered, but it wasn't loyalty to the Emperor; it was gold.
“Without this money, you won’t even make it onto the candidate list,” his superior patted his shoulder.
Camille wavered for three days, finally pushing open the door of that inconspicuous small merchant house in the East Alley of the Imperial Capital. He had shared drinks with the owner there several times.
Later, he learned that the small merchant house was an organization of the Emerald Federation's Silver Plate Guild in the Imperial Capital.
The loan was only a small sum, enough to buy a few respectable pieces of jewelry to give to his superior, which secured his smooth promotion.
From then on, the door to power was completely pried open.
Spices, treasures, and the pleasures of entertainment on soft couches, like effortless waves, pushed him from the shore into warm, deep waters.
“It’s nothing, everyone does it,” he convinced himself.
Later, the Silver Plate Guild started asking him to “conveniently” deliver a letter or “conveniently” overlook a page of accounts.
He then became the first link in the Silver Plate Guild's chain within the Empire.
And the power of money also transformed him from an “unnoticed minor official” into a “highly sought-after Honorary Viscount in the Imperial Capital.”
The higher he climbed, the tighter the Silver Plate Guild’s grip became.
Duplicate ledgers, lists of received goods, records of private meetings, the names of the courtesans from that one night.
Any single page could drag him from glittering splendor into an endless abyss.
Just a few months ago, news arrived that Mace, the former Special Envoy for Northern Surveillance, had been removed by the Dragon Throne Council for “not being tough enough on local nobles.”
The Silver Plate Guild's contact smiled at Camille and said, “The opportunity has come. We will provide the money and connections for you to become this resident Special Envoy for Northern Surveillance.”
To leave the comfort of the Imperial Capital and go to that frozen land of desolation and ruins?
Camille's mind conjured nightmarish images of swirling blizzards, prowling beasts, and howling barbarians.
That was not a world where a respectable person could survive.
But he knew very well that refusing the Guild was never an option for him.
The Silver Plate Guild had a firm hold on his weaknesses. He could only swallow his reluctance and put on a smile that suggested he was “eager to serve the Guild.”
Camille regretted it, regretted it immensely, but there was no turning back on this path. He could only walk it to its bitter end.
The contact on the street still painted a rosy picture for him at their farewell: “As long as you handle this beautifully, you'll be free, and you might even get a high-ranking councilor position in the Emerald Federation.”
A high-ranking councilor in the Emerald Federation was a status comparable to, or even more stable than, his current position as Special Envoy. frёeωebɳovel.com
More importantly, with such a status, he could openly live a life of luxury, instead of the current clandestine existence.
Camille clung desperately to this promise, like a drowning man grasping at a last straw.
He repeatedly envisioned that beautiful future in his mind, so as not to completely break down during this journey through the ice and snow.
Before he departed, his contact specifically detailed the meeting arrangements.
“The person in charge of the Northern Territories this time will meet you in Red Tide City.”
Then, a sketch portrait was handed over. The person in the drawing was thin, with cold, sinister eyes, like a venomous snake accustomed to being buried in a cellar, never seeing the light.
Camille stared at the portrait for a long time, silently committing it to memory.
The carriage wheels rolled over the official road, accompanied by the heavy rhythm of horse hooves, and the outline of Red Tide City finally emerged in the distant morning mist.
Camille lifted the curtain, his eyes defiant, a cold sneer on his lips.
This was the so-called “Northern Miracle”?
Just a newly built city, how could it compare to the splendor of the Imperial Capital? How could it stand alongside those prosperous port cities in the south?
But as the convoy slowly approached, his sneer gradually froze.
The city walls were thick, towers stood tall, and crimson banners flapped in the wind.
The streets were straight, stalls were orderly, and citizens smiled, everything well-organized.
Although it couldn't compare to the Imperial Capital, in this frozen land, this city was indeed unique and outstanding.
It showed no signs of having been built in just a few short years.
Camille was secretly astonished, but he immediately raised his chin, concealing that trace of ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) emotion beneath an arrogant facade.
“Hmph, nothing special,” he snorted softly, as if talking to himself.
Bradley personally greeted him at the city gates.
The old butler stood ramrod straight, his etiquette impeccable.
But Camille merely nodded indifferently, not even raising his eyelids a fraction.
How dare a mere servant adopt such a posture?
In his eyes, no matter how disciplined the Northern people were, they were still nothing more than barbarians.
However, the next moment, a group of children bounded out, holding fresh flowers and shouting in unison: “Welcome, Special Envoy!”
Camille's heart warmed slightly. This sense of ceremony was quite to his liking.
Although Louis didn't personally appear, such a grand reception certainly brought him prestige.
Upon arriving in Red Tide City, Camille first enjoyed a period of meticulous hospitality.
The city's roads had long been swept clean, the flagstones gleaming faintly in the morning light.
In the hotel room, the charcoal burned brightly, the bed was covered with silk bedding, and even the curtains were made of newly woven fabric, with stitches so neat that not a single flaw could be found.
The dining table was laden with rich roasted beast meat, specially paired with fine wines transported from the south.
All of this greatly satisfied Camille's vanity.
Yet, his expression remained aloof, and he deliberately maintained an air of arrogance in his demeanor.
This was his way of being an official.
Only by projecting an air of superiority could he avoid being underestimated by local lords.
Only by making the other party believe that he was always high above could he have room to demand more benefits in negotiations.
So he watched everything with cold eyes, yet was too stingy to utter even a single word of praise.
However, deep down, he had to admit: Red Tide City had indeed done well.
Though it couldn't compare to the Imperial Capital's prosperity, nor the grandeur of the southern strongholds, building such a city in this Northern Territory, which should have only ruins and snowfields, was in itself a miracle.
It was just strange that the contact designated by the Silver Plate Guild had not appeared these past few days.
Initially, Camille didn't pay much attention, but as days passed, an inexplicable unease gradually arose in his heart.
Several days later.
Louis finally hosted a banquet in the Lord's Hall to receive the Imperial Special Envoy for Surveillance who had traveled a long distance.
The hall was filled with lit candles, and the crystal chandeliers refracted golden halos under the firelight.
Red banners of Red Tide hung on the walls, making the entire hall feel warm and solemn.
In the center of the long table, the aroma of roasted beast meat wafted, silver platters held delicious mushroom soup and stewed beef, and southern fine wines shimmered with an amber glow in crystal glasses.
Camille entered slowly, wrapped in a heavy fox fur cloak, his eyes cold and arrogant, his steps deliberately slow.
Bradley bowed in welcome, and Louis rose to greet him, his demeanor appropriate.
Camille entered slowly, wrapped in a heavy fox fur cloak, his eyes cold and arrogant. His steps were deliberately slow, as if the entire hall was laid out solely for him.
Bradley bowed in welcome, and Louis rose to greet him, his demeanor appropriate.
“Special Envoy, Red Tide has awaited your esteemed presence for many days.”
Louis's tone was neither humble nor arrogant, carrying the grace of a host, yet without the slightest hint of servility. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com
Camille nodded slightly, raising a hand to indicate, and unhurriedly took a seat at the side of the main table: “Hmph, at least you understand etiquette.”
After three rounds of drinks, Camille slowly put down his wine glass and cleared his throat.
“I am here by the command of the Regent and the Dragon Throne Council to announce three matters.”
He raised one finger, his tone filled with condescending certainty: “First, Louis Calvin is recognized and promoted to Earl.”
Then he raised a second finger, his gaze sweeping across the room, as if a silent warning: “Second, the territories under Earl Calvin are obligated to cooperate with the Censorate's oversight and accept the Empire's supervision.”
Finally, he deliberately paused, a meaningful smile playing on his lips: “Third, His Royal Highness the Prince will become the Special Envoy for Northern Reconstruction, fully responsible for all matters concerning the reconstruction of the Northern Territories.”
As his words fell, the candlelight throughout the hall seemed to quiet for a moment.
Camille lowered his hand, his eyes half-closed, intently watching the young Red Tide Lord.
This was what he truly wanted to see: what kind of expression would this young man, who had risen through post-disaster miracles and barbarian war merits, show at this moment?
Would it be anger? Unwillingness? Or a look of panic?
Unfortunately, he didn't get the reaction he desired.
Louis merely smiled faintly, raised his wine glass, and spoke as casually as one would during light banquet chatter: “I will certainly bear the Emperor's and the Regent's decree in mind.”
There was no hint of panic in his demeanor. The candlelight reflected in his eyes, those pupils as unfathomable as deep water.
Camille's fingertips gently tapped his wine glass, his heart sinking slightly. This was not the reaction he had expected.
On the contrary, this calmness stirred a faint, inexplicable unease in Camille's heart.
However, this unease did not last too long. After the serious matters were discussed, the two naturally shifted to lighter topics.
Unexpectedly, this young Red Tide Lord was quite knowledgeable about fine wines, gems, and luxury goods. Whether discussing the vintage of southern wines or the cutting techniques of certain gems, he could speak eloquently.
Camille, who had initially been arrogant, found himself, amidst the clinking of glasses, having to admit that this conversation was unexpectedly pleasant.
The other party was indeed from the Calvin Family, unlike these local barbarians, and understood certain noble customs.
Louis, for his part, was neither humble nor arrogant, his compliments perfectly measured.
When they raised their glasses, they truly resembled “powerful figures of high society,” even exuding a subtle air of commanding the world.
Camille's admiration for this young man grew a little.
It was just that these youngsters perhaps didn't understand the rules; the expected gifts still had to be “hinted” at by himself.
Camille put down his knife and fork, looked at a plate of glittering desserts on the table, and said casually: “Hmm, these northern pastries are quite sought after in the Imperial Capital. If someone could send them regularly, it would certainly be considered a ‘token of appreciation.’”
As his words fell, he drained the wine in his glass, his expression seemingly casual, but in fact full of suggestion.
As expected, his intentions did not go unheeded.
Louis merely smiled faintly and waved his hand.
Bradley understood, bowed respectfully, and ordered someone to present an exquisite lunchbox, which was gently placed before Camille.
The lunchbox was intricately carved from ebony, its surface inlaid with gold lines, and the box itself was divided into upper and lower layers, giving it a substantial weight.
Camille looked at the lunchbox, a silent smile playing on his lips.
Indeed, he understood the rules.
His slender fingers gently rested on the copper clasp, and with a slight press of his fingertip, a crisp “click” sounded, and the upper layer of the lunchbox slowly sprang open. As the lid was lifted, a dazzling light shot out.
The entire layer was filled with various gems, shimmering under the candlelight, as if illuminating the entire tabletop with a kaleidoscope of colors.
Camille delicately picked up a thumbnail-sized ruby, turned it in the candlelight, and then carefully placed it back in the box, as if leisurely appraising it.
“Hmm,” he murmured, his tone carrying an undisguised appreciation.
Good, very good. This young Earl truly had some taste.
He closed the lid and then slowly proceeded to unfasten the copper clasp of the lower layer.
His movements remained elegant, unhurried, as if everything was under his control.
Since the first layer was so good, the second layer naturally couldn't be inferior to these gems. He was very much looking forward to it.
With another crisp “click,” the second layer was slowly pushed open.
However, what greeted him was not the sparkle of gems, but a cold, pungent smell of blood.
Camille's movements abruptly froze, the arrogance in his eyes instantly congealed.
Under the candlelight, a human head was conspicuously placed in the box.
The bloodstains had been wiped clean, but the dead, unblinking eyes were still wide open, carrying an indelible terror.
Camille's heart sank, his breathing suddenly becoming erratic. He recognized this face.
The sketch portrait his contact had given him before he departed.
The general manager responsible for the Silver Plate Guild's affairs in the Northern Territories.
Camille could no longer maintain his elegance; his fingertips trembled slightly, and even his breathing became frantic.
His earlier pride and complacency crumbled in an instant, leaving only the chilling dread that ran down his spine.
His heart felt as if it had been violently squeezed, and blood roared in his ears.
Why was he here?
Why was he dead?
How was he exposed?
Cold sweat trickled down Camille's spine. He suddenly realized a fact even more terrifying than the head itself.
Since the other party could present his contact's head to him, then his own relationship with the Silver Plate Guild was probably already fully known. His identity as a spy had been exposed.
This thought, like an ice pick, plunged fiercely into his heart, nearly suffocating him.
Camille dared not look at the head again, his throat bobbing, but no sound escaped.
After a long moment, he finally mustered the courage to slowly raise his head.
His gaze passed through the candlelight and met the young Earl across the table.
Louis remained composed, a polite, aristocratic smile on his lips.
As if the lunchbox contained not a bloody human head, but merely ordinary desserts.
The next moment, he raised his wine glass, lightly gesturing to Camille, his movements elegant and unhurried.
