On a deep winter night in the Red Tide Territory, the cold seeped through the cracks in the stone walls, invading the old hall. The fire in the fireplace was weak, and only a few oil lamps barely lit the table.

This room, originally a refuge for the nobility, had been transformed into a secret meeting chamber.

The doors and windows were tightly closed, guards were dismissed, and the air carried a mix of charcoal, lingering damp mold, and a touch of unsettling anxiety.

The room's host, Viscount Brooke, sat in the center, his gaze slowly sweeping over those present.

He was one of the old Northern Lords from Snow Peak County, and had long been displeased with Louis, but had remained dormant due to Louis's overwhelming power. However, he didn't expect that when disaster struck, it was Louis who took him in.

At this moment, his expression was calm, yet the deep lines at the corners of his eyes indicated that he was unsatisfied with merely being safe and surviving.

"Gentlemen," his voice was low and firm, "We all know who currently calls the shots in Snow Peak County, but that doesn't mean we should be at others' mercy."

Baron Harris crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, letting out a cold snort: "At mercy? Easy for you to say, Brooke. My family's private army, passed down for four generations, was confiscated, 'temporarily requisitioned,' they said. A noble now lives with the servants and eats their black bread."

He pulled out a densely written "Charcoal Allocation Application" and tossed it on the table.

"Look at this thing. Even a bag of charcoal requires specifying 'use,' 'identity,' 'whether it can be shared.' Ha, is this still nobility? Even refugees have more dignity than us."

"They say it's just 'extraordinary measures for extraordinary times,'" Sirius sneered, anger flashing on his youthful face.

He couldn't sit still, pacing towards the table, "You are all too complacent. My Sirius Family was an old family from the outer county. The entire family died in battle, and I alone led thirty knights to break through, only to end up depending on others here?"

He lifted his chin and scoffed, "And those knights still have to be handed over to be 'managed' by the Red Tide Territory. What gives that kid the right?"

Sirius Kalan, now self-proclaimed "the new Count Sirius," was actually just the second son of the family, with his father and brothers all deceased.

He held a cup of cold tea, gulping it down as if it were strong liquor.

"Why should we continue to be suppressed by him? Back home, Red Tide was nothing more than a nameless wasteland on a map." His gaze was aggressive, "Just because he married the Duke's daughter? Does that allow him to lord over all nobility?"

"What are you trying to say?" Viscount Roland's brows furrowed slightly, his voice weak. He was the oldest in the room, his white goats' beard trembling slightly, showing his hesitancy about this gathering.

In past administrative meetings in Snow Peak County, no one dared to underestimate this old noble. After all, he had some power as a seasoned noble.

But times had changed; his fief was swallowed by the Insect Tide three months ago, leaving only a handful of kin with even the family crest turned to ash.

Now, he was just an old noble living on borrowed dignity and clinging to his old identity.

"I... just came to hear what everyone had to say... to see if there were any proper solutions." His gaze drifted among those present, worried about misunderstandings, yet afraid of being ignored.

In fact, he originally intended to refuse today's invitation.

When Viscount Brooke sent someone to invite him, the manners were impeccable, saying it was merely a "small tea gathering of old nobility" to discuss current circumstances and the future in private chit-chat.

His grandson read him a few passages of Brooke's "views on the future status of old nobility," and a bottle of fine old wine was also gifted.

His ears were easily swayed, and caught in the melancholy of losing "noble status," a few flattering words about being the "most esteemed representative of the old faction" left him woozy and "invited" him over.

And now, listening to the words full of thorns at the table, each hinting at a desire to reclaim power, Roland's heart filled with apprehension.

He regretted coming, but it was too late as he was already seated, unable to leave due to pride.

He tugged at the hem of his cloak and softly added, "But I do not agree... do not agree with reckless actions, gentlemen."

No one responded to him.

Only a "pop" from the wood in the fireplace, a spark flying out.

Brooke squinted, seemingly casually saying, "I'm not opposing the Red Tide Territory; I just... want our voices to reemerge, perhaps have a say in the post-war division of fiefs."

"Sounds pretty," Harris sneered, "You want to be that 'voice,' don't you? Summoning us means you want us to 'jointly petition?'"

"Joint petitioning is more like self-preservation," Brooke lightly tapped a draft document on the table, densely covered with proposals like "resource allocation suggestions," "noble representative seat rotation proposals," and so on.

"We just want Lord Louis to understand— we are not his vassals. We are also pillars of Snow Peak County and nobles of the Empire, not his domesticated livestock."

"Will he listen?" Roland said softly, "That boy... you haven't seen him truly enraged. Don't forget how decisively he 'dealt with' those nobles who refused to obey."

A brief silence fell like a basin of cold water, extinguishing the anger on Sirius's face.

Everyone looked at each other, and the room fell into stagnation once again.

They cursed fiercely, but no one dared to truly speak of "leaving the Red Tide Territory," let alone act to "reclaim their lands."

Because they all knew, it was that young lord who, with knights, food, and fortifications, dragged them out from the black mist of the Nest.

Yet they remained anxious, angry, humiliated, and fearful.

For nobles without a future plan are just refugees;

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