"Louis!"

"You've finally returned!"

The first voice was Emily's, her snow-colored shawl draping over her shoulders, eyes slightly red, yet still maintaining the grace of a noble lady.

She threw herself into his arms, her hands trembling with urgency.

The latter was Sif, with silver-white short hair still smeared with dust, standing frowning at the side, coldly muttering, "You actually dared to come back."

But before she could finish, she lowered her head and hugged him too, turning her face away, unwilling to let him see her eyes welling up.

"I've only been gone a few days, and you both act like you've lost your souls." Louis chuckled softly, embracing them both in his arms.

The travel dust covering Louis seemed to melt away in that moment of warmth.

"Ten days..." Emily murmured, looking up with eyes brimming with undisguised longing, "You promised a reply in three days, but we could only hear about you from the mouths of wounded soldiers."

"And you were on the front line... personally charging?!" Sif gritted her teeth and punched him, "Do you even know what 'Lord' means?"

"I know, I know." Louis replied, smiling helplessly as he rubbed their heads, "If you were on the battlefield and saw those people, you would understand..."

He wanted to say more, but he saw the fatigue on their faces, a pressure that came from upholding all the order within the Red Tide.

Even off the battlefield, they had never been truly "safe."

He sighed and led them indoors.

After sitting down, Emily was the first to fetch a stack of documents, varying in thickness, and placed it on the table.

"This is our list of governmental affairs handled during this time: the expansion of refugee camps, food distribution ratios, nobility identity verification, and some resources sent from Southern families. The reserves in Red Tide are indeed tight, but at this rate, we can sustain for another two months."

Her pace was steady, revealing the confidence of a "future Duchess."

Sif, meanwhile, produced several neatly folded letters: "These are letters from various Southern nobles I've dealt with, especially that Viscount Martin who tried to form cliques and take advantage; I had our Knight cut off his head directly."

Louis looked at these two figures, each with their own elegance, and felt a warmth in his heart.

On the battlefield, he forged defenses with flame; but within this domain, it was they who guarded the order behind the city walls with wisdom.

"You two," Louis said softly, his voice like a lone ember burning in the cold night, "are my true confidence."

As soon as he spoke, Emily tilted her chin slightly, smiling with visible joy, accepting this expected yet still precious reward.

"I always have been." She answered softly.

Sif, however, was caught off guard by the words, her ears quickly turning red, her gaze wandering, until she finally snorted lightly and turned to pour tea.

"Hmph, saying things that are so cheesy doesn't embarrass you."

Louis smiled, just about to tease them further.

Then Emily's expression suddenly tightened and she took an unopened sealed letter from her sleeve.

"This is a letter just sent from Father," she said with some hesitation, "…It seems not good."

Louis took the letter, his fingertips pausing for a moment.

It was a handwritten letter from the Governor of the North, the Imperial Iron Wall—Duke Edmund.

The heavy wax seal, the rushed handwriting, each detail revealed that this was no ordinary family letter.

Emily looked at him, saying nothing, simply pressing the letter into his hand.

Louis took a deep breath, then sat down, wrapping one arm around Emily while carefully tearing open the seal with the other.

The handwriting was still vigorous, yet bore an inescapable fatigue.

The letter was not lengthy, but each word weighed heavily on his heart.

Duke Edmund did not use many emotional phrases but rather in an exceptionally calm tone, assessed the layout and results of the entire Snow Peak County.

Evidently, he was already aware of the management and outcomes under Louis's command, likely informed by Emily.

But even the strictest Governor could not hide a trace of pride in his heart in the letter:

"You have safeguarded Snow Peak County, which to date is one of the few territories in the North still able to allocate food, accommodate refugees, and export military strength.

I am proud of you, not just because you are my son-in-law, but because you have achieved what most nobility cannot do."

However, the latter half of the letter subtly changed in tone; though the wording remained calm, a heaviness was interspersed throughout:

The entire western front of the Northern Territory has already collapsed, with most counties falling into silence, and the city lights extinguished overnight.

However, the Empire's reinforcements, the Dragon Blood Legion, are on their way to the Northern Territory. As long as Frost Halberd City holds on, the Empire has a chance to rebuild the Northern front.

The last sentence felt like an order, or perhaps a trust: "Take care of Emily."

Louis quietly finished reading the letter, folded the parchment neatly, and gently placed it on the desk beside him.

His expression showed little change, his brows and eyes still steady and calm, as if what was described in the letter was nothing more than a regular military report.

Duke Edmund wrote very skillfully: the wording was composed, the sentences were based in fact, affirming the steadfastness of Snow Peak County, while also mentioning the Empire's support "in the process of mobilization."

But what he didn't write was the true collapse and abyss facing the Northern Territory.

However, Louis already understood in his heart, for he possessed a more comprehensive intelligence network than anyone else—the Daily Intelligence System.

What he saw was even deeper than what Edmund saw.

The population of the Northern Territory is now less than one-fifth, and of the once-glorious twenty-seven counties, only six barely maintain autonomy, while the majority have fallen to the lands of the Nest, becoming a "corpse soil wasteland" surging over the pale snowfield.

Even many once illustrious families—the Luo Wen Family, Crest Family, Grant Clan...

were silently erased, and not even known when or how they went extinct.

And now the shadow of the Doomsday Nest has heavily surrounded Frost Halberd City.

It is the last heart of the Northern Territory.

Fortunately, Duke Edmund is by no means an average person.

Before the disaster truly descended, he had activated the wartime layout of the entire Frost Halberd City.

Seventeen magic-enriched fortresses, with the Cold Iron Legion deployed to all city gates, using steel as the city and will as the furnace, managed to forcibly hold back the surging onslaught of the Nest.

What's even more remarkable is that they didn't fight in a disheveled state.

The Cold Iron Legion, with a stance of defending to the death, resisted the insect-corpse Snow Swearers, gradually figuring out the rhythm of the Nest and deciphering the structure of its group assaults.

Now that city's "Cold Iron Legion" and the insect-corpses are engaged in a high-intensity tug-of-war, and although the cost is grave, they still stand firm.

However, time is wearing down everyone, and they probably cannot hold on for a few more months.

And the true turning point lies in the South.

The Empire's strongest legion—the Dragon Blood Legion, is fully prepared and has set off.

That colossal entity where even the lowest knight ranks are occupied by high-tier knights.

The two leaders, the Corps Commander and Deputy Corps Commander, are the empire's top combat power: one is his elder brother, Gaius Calvin.

The other is the current Emperor's nephew, the noble and sharp "Blade of the Royal Court"—Arthur Gareen.

Both are Peak Knights, and once they reach the battlefield, along with Duke Edmund, a successful surprise attack might truly shatter the Doomsday Nest.

Louis supported his forehead with one hand, lost in deep thought without a word.

His gaze fixed on the map on the desk, but it seemed to pass through the pages, seeing every collapsing snow wall in the Northern Territory.

At this moment, a touch as light as a breeze fell upon his shoulder.

He turned his head and met Emily's slightly red eyes.

Her fingertips gently pressed on his shoulder, trying to read something from his face, but she didn't dare get too close for fear that saying one wrong word might cause this weary young Lord to crumble completely.

"Is Father... very worried?" she asked.

Louis smiled lightly: "Your father is certainly worried, he just won't say it aloud. But he's strong, so strong that people think he is never afraid."

"Just like you," Sif added, looking at him with complex eyes.

"I'm not as strong as you say," he said softly. "I'm just more afraid of failure than fear itself."

He looked outside the window in the direction of the outskirts of Red Tide City. In the distance, the campfires linked like stars, illuminating the tents of those who had escaped with their lives, both commoners and nobility alike.

"Those people are still waiting for food, waiting for their homes to be rebuilt," Louis murmured to himself, "but I don't even know when the next snowstorm will come."

"You can't control the weather, but you have rebuilt order," Emily said gently.

"You're not a god, but you kept them alive," Sif added.

At that moment, the heavy winter night seemed to be gently dispelled by these two women.

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