Free Web NovelHalf a month ago, Louis Calvin caught a crucial piece of information from the Daily Intelligence System.
Anthony, the Northern Region head of the Silver Plate Guild, would personally come to Red Tide City for his first meeting with Camille, the Empire's Surveillance Special Envoy.
This intelligence was a double surprise.
The first surprise was Anthony's personal appearance, which meant the Silver Plate Guild's influence in the Northern Region would be completely exposed right under their noses.
The second surprise was that the collusion between Camille and the Silver Plate Guild was no longer a superficial exchange but a deep-rooted infiltration.
It could almost be confirmed that this Surveillance Special Envoy, sent from the Imperial Capital, had completely become a spy bought by the Federation.
Even better, the two chose to meet in Red Tide City.
Louis Calvin couldn't help but chuckle after reading the intelligence: "How... convenient."
He didn't even need to cross the border to search; they were directly delivering themselves to his doorstep.
When Anthony woke up in the secret prison cell, his limbs were firmly shackled by heavy iron chains, and the stone chair beneath him was bone-chillingly cold.
He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze clear and calm, without panic.
Facing the cold gleam of the implements of torture, he merely spoke calmly: "If you want to kill me, just do it directly."
Hearing his words, Louis Calvin just smiled faintly: "I'll leave him to you."
Then he turned and left. After all, Master Calvin was kind-hearted and couldn't bear to see people suffer.
The torture began.
The interrogators of the Cold Iron Legion had already learned various methods from the Snowsworn, barbarians, and even the Empire's military interrogators.
Buckets of cold water were poured over Anthony again and again, making his teeth chatter in the biting cold.
Iron tongs slowly squeezed his finger joints, and his bones made faint cracking sounds.
Powdered toxins were mixed into his drinking water, tearing his nerves between numbness and burning, making it impossible to distinguish between dream and reality.
At first, Anthony remained calm, gritting his teeth: "—You will get nothing."
But days passed, and in the stone room, day and night were indistinguishable.
Cold water and fire alternated, and the pain in his bones and nerves continuously accumulated.
Anthony's eyes finally began to cloud, and the cold hardness of his lips was no longer a sneer but a slight tremor.
Under waves of pain and drug erosion, Anthony, an Extraordinary Knight, finally cried out in the darkness, his voice hoarse but filled with long-suppressed collapse: "Stop—stop! I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!"
"Red Tide City—market—secret agents—they disguised themselves as merchant caravans from the South, permanently stationed in the market, using smuggling as a cover—"
The interrogator recorded it coldly, then flicked a finger, and the assistant beside him once again splashed cold water: "Don't stop, keep talking."
Anthony trembled all over, his teeth chattering: "Several pioneering nobles in the Northern Region—have been bought off—they secretly transport grain and ore for us—"
At this point, he still held a sliver of hope, wondering if they would let him go if he gave up a few pieces of intelligence.
But when the branding iron was pressed against his skin again, his throat finally ripped open as he screamed: "Southeast border—there's a supply base!—Once war breaks out, it can serve as a springboard!"
The interrogator was not satisfied and said coldly: "Details."
Anthony cried and divulged coordinates, types of supplies, and even the names of the Person in charge.
By the eighth night, his voice was almost shattered, yet he was still pressed for more.
In a complete breakdown, he finally shouted:
"A secret room in the city—there's also a dossier!—Inside are contact codes, transmission methods—and—Camille's documents and accounts—that—that's—ironclad evidence—"
As soon as he finished speaking, he seemed to be instantly hollowed out, his eyes unfocused, blood continuously gushing from the corners of his mouth.
But the interrogators did not stop because of his collapse.
"What else? What else? What else? Details, details, details."
They repeated their questions again and again, even if Anthony had gone mad, they would still wring out every last bit of information from him.
But such a brutal method indeed came with a price.
In less than half a month, Anthony completely gave out and died on the torture chair.
Covered in wounds, he slumped on the torture chair, his eyes unfocused, still muttering those codes and names.
And everything he had revealed had been compiled into several thick volumes of archives, placed on Louis Calvin's desk.
Of course, his corpse was not wasted either; his head was placed in an exquisite lunchbox.
Therefore, when Camille and his entourage grandly arrived in Red Tide City, they were met only with a few days of polite delays.
The superficial reason was that the autumn harvest was busy, and the lord was tied up with official duties, but this was merely a high-sounding excuse.
The real reason was that in the underground prison cells of Red Tide City, Anthony's screams had not yet completely ceased.
Louis Calvin closed the parchment scroll, a cold smile playing on his lips.
He now held all the evidence and didn't even need to make threats, show anger, or adopt an aggressive stance.
Just place that blood-stained head, quietly, in the lunchbox on the dining table.
That would be enough to make the high-and-mighty Imperial Surveillance Special Envoy, Camille, instantly understand:
In this Northern Region, it was neither the Censorate nor the Regent. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
Louis Calvin truly held the power of life and death.
Returning to the dining table, Camille still maintained the Special Envoy's demeanor, striving to keep that condescending expression.
He swirled his wine glass, his tone indifferent: "The cut of these gemstones—is acceptable. However, compared to the craftsmanship of the Imperial Capital, it's still a bit lacking."
He then casually brought up a secret affair of some Countess in the Imperial Capital, his laughter forced, rambling incoherently.
His voice still carried arrogance, but his fingers trembled slightly from tension, and the wine nearly spilled.
Louis Calvin, however, smiled without speaking, engaging in casual conversation with him with an air of ease, even with a hint of junior-like politeness, as if he had seen through nothing.
But the more he did so, the colder Camille's heart grew.
He understood that his ability to sit there safely was only because the other party had no immediate plans to act.
Towards the end of the banquet, Louis Calvin casually brought up the main business of the conferment: "The ceremony will begin tomorrow; it can be simple." Camille quickly nodded, his smile stiff: "Perfect, perfect."
His tone was as eager as a draft animal hoping to finish work early.
When he left the table, he inexplicably forgot the lunchbox on the table.
Bradley reminded him: "Your gift, Special Envoy."
Camille paused for a moment, then suddenly turned, his face flushed, hastily picking up the box.
When he had first entered the banquet hall, he had presented a disdainful expression, as if the mountains and rivers of the Northern Region were beneath his feet.
But in just two hours, his back was slightly hunched, his steps trembling, as if he were walking on ice, fearing he would fall into an abyss with his next step.
How ridiculous.
Haughty at first, then deferential, all in a single night.
Louis Calvin watched Camille's hasty departure with the lunchbox, a slight smile on his lips.
He certainly wouldn't expose Camille as a spy right now.
That would only force the other party to jump the gun, tearing off the facade immediately, which would bring no benefit.
There was no rush; he already held all the evidence provided by Anthony, ironclad evidence.
At this moment, Camille was merely meat on the chopping block, at his mercy.
The real thing to do was not to destroy him, but to use him.
For example, at the Dragon Throne Council, to endorse Red Tide in his capacity as Surveillance Special Envoy.
To personally embellish his achievements right under the Regent's nose.
In the reconstruction efforts of the Northern Region, to transform into an accessory to his policies.
The more he feared death, the more obedient Camille would be. The more he wanted to live, the harder he would work.
Louis Calvin took a small sip of wine, the smile on his lips deepening...On the high platform of Fierce Tide Square in Red Tide City.
The ceremonial platform was not ornate, with only two flags hanging: the golden dragon flag of the Empire and the crimson flag of Red Tide.
Compared to the elaborate ceremonies of the Imperial Capital, it appeared very simple.
Bradley stood in the corner of the high platform, his brow furrowed tightly.
In the eyes of this old-fashioned butler, what should a conferment ceremony look like?
Colorful silks hanging, trumpets blaring, poems and praises rising and falling, drums roaring through the streets.
That was what befitted a noble's honor.
But now, on the high platform, only two flags fluttered in the wind, and in the square, only the common people gathered.
Louis Calvin merely said indifferently: "Just go through the motions."
So, more than half of the process was abruptly cut.
Bradley sighed inwardly.
This was simply a waste of Louis Calvin's grand ceremony.
This young lord had taken only four years to carve out a territory from being a pioneering baron almost abandoned by his family.
And now he was recognized by the Regent and the Dragon Throne Council, promoted to Earl.
If this were in the Imperial Capital, what kind of spectacle would such a ceremony be?
Poets would sing his praises into history, and nobles would scramble to offer their congratulations.
Yet, in this cold Northern Region, in his eyes, there was only simplicity and haste.
Bradley couldn't help but feel sorry for Louis Calvin, but then he thought, perhaps this attitude of "not caring about the pomp" was precisely what made his young lord most convincing.
Below the square, there was a sea of people.
As soon as the news of the conferment broke, all the residents of Red Tide City flocked, densely crowding Fierce Tide Square.
Fortunately, the Red Tide Knights were arrayed on both sides of the main avenue, barely maintaining order.
Children were carried on their fathers' shoulders, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of "Lord Louis."
Elderly women leaned on their walking sticks, their eyes moist: "He really became an Earl—"
And the young artisans and farmers had fervent eyes and quick breaths, as if they too were {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} about to be ennobled.
Looking down from the platform, even with the simple setup, there was a genuine and fervent atmosphere rarely seen even in Imperial Capital ceremonies.
Just as the drums began to beat and the ceremony was about to commence, a low gasp rippled through the crowd.
Emily, heavily pregnant, slowly ascended the high platform, supported by Sif.
The sunlight shone on her profile, making the gentle aura added by the new life she carried appear even more solemn.
Sif held her arm, a faint coldness in her brows, scanning the entire scene like a guardian.
She didn't usually like such bustling events, but her eyes held an undeniable brilliance—proud of Louis Calvin.
Emily walked to Louis Calvin's side and gently placed her hand on her abdomen.
She lifted her chin, looking at the dense sea of people below the platform, a proud smile gracing her lips.
That smile seemed to silently declare: This is my husband, the Earl who protects the Northern Region.
Sif stood on the other side, her hands clasped in front of her, her posture respectful.
With his two wives standing one on each side, Louis Calvin's figure on the high platform instantly gained an unshakable majesty.
When the common people in the square saw this scene, their emotions ignited.
Some had tears in their eyes, some shouted loudly, "Lord Louis!" and some clasped their hands as if in prayer.
But if one listened closely, those shouts actually contained more simple joy.
"The Lady is about to give birth!"
"Red Tide is going to have an heir!"
"Our future has a backbone!"
For these people who had experienced war, famine, and displacement, a title was merely a matter of the distant Imperial Capital.
What truly brought them peace of mind was the gentle-smiling, heavily pregnant mistress and the new life about to be born.
The arrival of a child meant that Red Tide would not be cut off, meaning this hard-cultivated land would have a "true future."
Therefore, their applause and cheers, rather than being in honor of the conferment, were more like blessings for the future Child of Red Tide.
Emily clearly heard the shouts of the crowd.
She first paused, then smiled with pursed lips, slowly raised her hand, and nodded slightly to the people in the square below.
Her movements were not exaggerated, but they carried a natural affinity.
"—Thank you all." She spoke softly, "This child is the future of Red Tide. And your future."
These few words seemed to strike everyone's heart.
There was a moment of silence in the square below, and then, a roar of cheers, like a mountain tsunami, erupted.
"Long live Red Tide!"
"Lady be safe!"
"The child will surely bring hope to the Northern Region!"
That fervor and sincerity made the entire Fierce Tide Square seem to tremble.
When Camille saw this scene, his heart suddenly trembled.
He had witnessed countless conferment ceremonies and balls in the Imperial Capital, seen the feigned applause and false congratulations of nobles.
But he had never seen a lord of any territory embraced with such genuine respect and fervent enthusiasm by his entire domain as Louis Calvin was.
"This popular sentiment—it's terrifying." At this moment, even though he still maintained the Special Envoy's demeanor on the surface, an indescribable fear surged in his heart.
His collusion with the Silver Plate Guild had been exposed.
Louis Calvin had not immediately torn off the pretense but had placed the warning directly before him.
This meant he still had value, and at least for now, he would be safe.
He secretly swallowed, forcing himself to calm down: "Be calm, Camille. As long as you're alive, you can maneuver."
The drums sounded again, and the conferment ceremony officially began.
Camille slowly unfolded the imperial edict, his voice rising sharply, with a hint of fervor:
"By order of His Majesty the Regent, Louis Calvin is hereby promoted to Earl of the Iron-Blood Empire, effective today!"
As his words fell, he picked up the Imperial longsword and lightly touched Louis Calvin's shoulders.
The sword gleamed cold, shining in the sunlight, symbolizing the protection of the Northern Region and the defense of the imperial authority.
Immediately, an attendant presented the imperial edict and the dragon-emblazoned ring.
Camille bestowed them upon Louis Calvin, reciting: "This is the Imperial authority, granted to the Earl of Red Tide, to command military and political affairs."
Louis Calvin knelt on one knee and swore loudly: "I, Louis Calvin, pledge my life to the Empire, to protect the Northern Region, and to obey the Imperial command!"
Immediately, a tsunami of shouts erupted both inside and outside the square.
"Lord Louis!"
"Long live Red Tide!"
"Long live the Earl!"
The waves of sound crashed against Fierce Tide Square, lingering for a long time.
Camille barely maintained a smile on the surface, but his heart was chilling.
He distinctly felt that this was not an Imperial conferment ceremony, but a coronation.
This young man had already become the true king of the Northern Region.
