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Bradley stopped in front of the door, raised his hand to gently push it open, stepped back, and made a brief, restrained gesture of "please."
Varius walked inside, and the door closed behind him, cutting off the sound of footsteps outside.
The air smelled of ink, mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed hot coffee.
There was no damp wood smell typical of an old noble's study, nor any intentionally created incense.
This place didn't look like a space used to flaunt status; it felt more like a workplace ready to operate at any moment.
Varius instinctively took two steps forward.
Three walls were completely covered by massive parchment maps.
On the maps, contour lines marked ridges and valleys layer by layer, mineral veins were meticulously outlined, and seasonal flow rate changes were even noted beside the rivers.
In the corners of certain areas, tiny handwriting recorded population density, grain output, and labor structure.
Red lines extended from various provinces, running through the map like blood vessels.
Blue lines intersected ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) among them, marking water conservancy and geothermal pipe networks.
All lines ultimately pointed to a single red dot—Red Tide City.
Varius stood in place, moving no further.
He suddenly had a clear illusion that he hadn't walked into a room, but into the interior of a massive, precise instrument.
And this room was the brain of that machine.
Just then, he noticed the wall on the other side. It wasn't a solid wall, but a single, massive pane of glass.
Through the glass, one could look down upon the city below.
Lights spread out in the polar night, streets like organized nerve bundles.
People flowed, convoys passed through, patrolling knights and workers with carts yielded to one another; everything operated within a set rhythm.
No noise, no stagnation.
Varius's Adam's apple bobbed slightly.
This was the true center of Red Tide, the place that had created the new Northern Territory and ultimately conquered the entire Grey Rock Province.
Louis stood before the central map, his back to the door.
It was the "Northern Territory Comprehensive Development Map," which filled the entire wall.
His shirt sleeves were casually rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong, well-defined wrists.
He held a red pen, its tip resting steadily at the junction of Grey Rock Province and Red Tide Territory.
He drew a new line, as if adding the final definitive trajectory to a long-formed concept.
This was the third railway, an artery that would completely integrate Grey Rock into the Red Tide System.
Louis didn't look back, but he knew someone had entered.
"Lord Varius." He paused, a hint of apology in his tone, "Sorry to keep you waiting."
"I've been busy until now to find time to see you; I've read the draft of the Civil Law amendments submitted by Victor." The red pen was set aside, and he spoke naturally, "The supplementary clause in Article Seven is very precise."
Varius stepped forward two paces and stopped before a long table.
He straightened the hem of his clothes and performed an ancient, restrained greeting.
It wasn't a polite exchange between nobles, nor a subject's kneeling before a monarch, but a greeting used only between scholars and true sages.
"My Lord," Varius's voice was low but carried an irrepressible excitement, "those legal provisions are merely the work of a tinkerer, not worth mentioning.
Truly, what has kept me awake at night is everything I've seen in your city these past few days."
He looked up, his gaze locked onto Louis: "I saw honest bakers, miners voluntarily queuing to wash their hands, and children with light in their eyes.
In the Old Empire, such order exists only within the pages of a saint's book."
Varius's speaking speed gradually increased, as if seeking an answer: "I don't understand, how did you do it? Was it because your noble character inspired them?
Or did you preach morality and honor to them day and night to cleanse their originally savage souls?"
His eyes were almost fanatical; this wasn't deliberate flattery, but the answer he sought through his journey and his days in Red Tide.
At that moment, he even forgot his status and the distance between them, wanting only to confirm one thing... whether the young lord before him was the kind of moral sage-king he had spent his life searching for.
Louis did not answer immediately; a brief silence filled the room.
Then, as if he had heard something slightly amusing, he shook his head gently.
Louis turned around and casually tossed the red pen onto the table: "Clack."
Those deep eyes gazed calmly at Varius, without the slightest pleasure from being praised.
"Viscount Varius." His tone wasn't heavy, but it was crisp and direct. "They follow the rules, act with integrity, and are polite. Perhaps it's because I taught them morality, but I don't believe that's the primary reason."
Louis walked to the table and picked up a piece of bread intended for a late-night snack.
He didn't eat it, just held the bread up in the air.
"Simply because..." he paused, "I fed them."
The air seemed to freeze for a moment, and Varius was visibly stunned.
This answer was different from any explanation he had anticipated, leaving him unable to gather his thoughts immediately.
"Politeness is a flower that grows on stalks of wheat. When a person is so hungry their stomach walls twitch and their child is crying in their arms, honor, law, and virtue are all waste paper.
For half a piece of moldy bread, even the most devout believer will turn into a beast.
This is the biological instinct for survival; even a god cannot change it."
He walked back to the massive map, his finger slowly tracing the vast and fractured territories of the Old Empire.
"When survival resources are exhausted, any moral preaching appears pale and ridiculous."
Louis turned abruptly, his gaze sharp as a blade: "So the first thing I did wasn't building churches or courts.
It was growing grain, installing heating, opening mines, producing fertilizer... first, securing the right to survive.
Letting people live like human beings, without having to rob one another just to stay alive.
At that point, they naturally began to follow human rules."
He stopped speaking and looked at Varius: "Those virtues you praise.
They are nothing more than decorations that grow naturally after productivity overflows."
Varius did not respond immediately; he instinctively raised his hand and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
This explanation made him feel uncomfortable.
It wasn't entirely wrong, but it was chillingly cold, like a sharp blade without a hilt.
He instinctively wanted to argue, but for a moment, he couldn't find an opening to overturn it as a whole.
"I admit, survival is the foundation." After a moment of thought, Varius finally spoke, his voice lower but still persistent.
"But a well-fed flock of sheep is often harder to manage; they become greedy and want more."
After calming down, Varius looked up, his gaze refocusing on Louis.
"You didn't just feed them; you also made them maintain awe and obedience toward you even without the oppression of an army. Why is that?"
He paused, unconsciously retreating into the field he was familiar with.
"Is it because of your birth? The son of Duke Calvin... noble blood itself carries a natural legitimacy."
Louis smiled, a faint smile that carried a hint of mockery.
He turned and walked to the large floor-to-ceiling window, pointing his hand toward the dark wasteland outside.
"Bloodline?" Louis looked at Varius.
"If I were to throw myself into a pack of wolves in that snowy field right now, do you think they would spare me because of my noble bloodline?"
He turned around and gave a conclusion without any embellishment.
"They obey me not because of love." Louis paused, "But because they were first forced by fear to a point where they had to make a choice."
Varius's brow remained furrowed, but it was no longer the shock of being offended; he was trying to understand.
Louis didn't stop, continuing as if patiently dismantling a past event that had been repeatedly analyzed:
"Imagine what this land was like before Red Tide City existed.
There were no continuous towns, only scattered, isolated villages. When winter came, roads were blocked, granaries were empty, and lords could barely look after themselves, only able to hold their own manors while commoners were left to their fate."
"And once an ordinary person stepped into the wilderness, they first had to watch out for magical beasts." He paused, his tone not exaggerated, "But the truly lethal ones were often not them.
It was another group of equally hungry, equally desperate people. To survive, they would rob, kill, and treat strangers as threats, or even as food.
But that wasn't evil; it was just instinct pushed to the limit. That was the true norm of the Northern Territory before Red Tide appeared.
In that state, life was solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."
Louis slowly clenched his fist, but didn't raise it as high, and his tone softened accordingly.
"It was precisely because of fear—fear of freezing to death, starving to death, or being consumed by their own kind—that these people finally realized that if things continued like this, no one would live long."
His gaze was steady and clear.
"So they made a rational choice; they were willing to surrender a portion of their freedom and pay taxes... in exchange for order."
Louis let out a soft breath: "They chose order, and I was simply the one who happened to step forward and deliver on those promises time and again.
When they found that what they gave up truly brought security, food, and dignity, the fear slowly receded into the background."
"Replacing it was belief." He paused for a moment, then added, "And gratitude."
"They fear losing me because they feel that if I fall, this city might disintegrate, and they would be thrown back into that wasteland where they must rely on blades and luck to survive."
"That's why they cherish everything they have now, why they are willing to follow orders and maintain order, and why they are willing to give for this city."
Louis lowered his eyelids slightly, his tone certain: "I know their hearts, and I know that this trust and gratitude were earned by delivering on promises time and again. Because of that, I cannot fail them."
Varius's pupils contracted slightly; this was the first time he had heard such an argument.
He wanted to argue, but found that he couldn't find a single truly tenable loophole.
Louis turned around, leaning against the massive glass window.
The city's lights spread out behind him; streets, workshops, patrolling knights, and still-operating factories together formed a silent but powerful image, as if the entire Red Tide stood behind him.
"So you must understand one thing: the power in my hands was not granted by a god, nor was it left to me by my father.
It was temporarily placed in my hands by the over two hundred thousand people of Red Tide City, and the over a million people in the Northern Territory and Grey Rock Province who were willing to choose order.
This is an entrustment, and it is also a transaction—an invisible but real contract.
The reason this contract could be reached is that they believe my words will count.
I promised security, so I built the city, established the army, and cleared the wasteland. I promised survival, so I installed heating, expanded grain production, and ensured they could survive the winter.
I promised that people would not be trampled upon at will, so I let the rules apply to everyone.
I delivered on my promises, so they were willing to bet their futures on me."
He didn't avoid reality and candidly added: "Of course, they didn't have many choices, but that's exactly why this choice is even more significant."
Louis turned his gaze back to Varius: "They give me obedience, taxes, and labor, and in return, I give them security and the certainty of survival.
And a future where they won't be thrown back into the abyss when the snow is deepest.
This is a contract that neither side dares to breach easily."
Varius was silent for a moment; he didn't try to argue again, but tried to understand the logic within.
"Since it's a contract, there will inevitably be breaches," Louis's tone turned cold. "The Second Prince treated power as private property, knowing only how to take while refusing to bear the responsibility of protection.
When a ruler only demands taxes, service, and obedience, but no longer provides the guarantee of security and survival... that is no longer rule, but a unilateral tearing up of the contract."
Louis looked up, his gaze icy: "So his downfall is a reckoning that was bound to come sooner or later."
Varius's legs went weak, and he could barely stand. freewebnøvel.com
In the context of the Empire, this was the most malicious heresy of all doctrines.
Because it denied every premise he had been repeatedly taught... that power was not top-down, granted by God to the Emperor and then distributed by the Emperor to his subjects.
Instead, it was bottom-up, converged from countless people yearning for survival, and then temporarily entrusted to a strong person capable of bearing the consequences.
This meant that imperial power was no longer a sacred divine right, but a commission that could be withdrawn at any time.
It meant that loyalty was not an obligation, but a result of conditions being met.
In the legal system of the Empire, this was equivalent to shaking the foundations of the throne—a thought any priest or judge would unhesitatingly judge as blasphemous.
Yet, under Louis's calm and coherent deduction, it appeared exceptionally reasonable and self-consistent.
Varius looked at the young man before him, as if watching someone who had thrown the crown into a furnace and was trying to reforge the rules of rule itself.
Louis restrained his aura, picked up the red pen again, and his tone returned to its previous steadiness.
"So I don't worry about them rebelling. As long as there is meat in their bowls, this city is as stable as an iron wall.
Compared to the ethereal notions of loyalty and patriotism, a contractual alliance based on common interests is the strongest relationship in the world."
