The conference hall was deathly silent.

The heavy double doors slowly closed, shutting out the screams and dragging sounds.

The nobles whose names had been called and whose guilt was certain had already been escorted away one by one.

The remaining two-thirds seemed to have an invisible hand clutching their throats, even breathing was done with caution.

They sat stiffly, even changing posture seemed abrupt.

No one whispered, and no one dared to look directly at the young, cold figure above them.

Yorn and Willis appeared as usual, the only two who remained composed.

Yet even so, not once had they smiled.

What Louis had demonstrated was not just power, but an indisputable authority.

Time seemed to have vanished from the venue.

A slight sound of chair legs scraping suddenly pierced the silence.

Almost simultaneously, everyone looked up, feeling a tightening in their hearts.

He stood up.

The youth's figure wasn't tall, yet the aura of pressure he exuded in his calmness seemed to thin the air just a little.

He walked around the conference table, his pace unhurried, each step seemingly treading on the hearts of everyone present.

His gaze swept over everyone, from the aged Viscount to the young, ambitious Baron of Expansion, no one could meet his eyes.

Finally, he stopped behind Viscount Roland.

The old man had already stiffened, even his neck seemed rigid, cold sweat drenched his collar.

"Don't be afraid." Louis's tone was gentle, like a kind young relative comforting a shocked elder, "They were taken away because they did something wrong."

He paused, leaning in closer: "Did you do anything wrong?"

Roland jolted intensely, nearly leaping from his chair, and hurriedly shook his head like a rattle-drum: "No, no! I—I was just taken to listen… I did nothing at all…"

"Good." Louis gently patted his shoulder as if comforting a child, "That's good."

Roland appeared almost pardoned, nearly collapsing on the spot.

Louis straightened himself and continued forward.

In the silence, the young lord's figure was like a longsword pressing horizontally atop the heads of all the old nobility.

No one dared to recklessly move.

Louis slowly returned to the main seat.

He did not hurry to sit down, instead standing behind the long table, overlooking the entire room.

The nobles who just moments ago had been restless were now all bowing their heads and holding their breath, as if returning to their school days, like students awaiting reprimand.

The air remained oppressive, the flames in the fireplace murmured lowly, as if aware to dampen their own sound.

"Are you sure you can return to your own lands now?"

Louis spoke, his tone not high yet clearly reaching everyone's ears.

He displayed no anger, nor aggressiveness, rather like a guiding mentor, his tone almost tender.

But precisely because of that, it was even more terrifying.

"Your lands are still yours." He continued, "But if you wish to survive the Red Tide, you must—respect the rules of the Red Tide."

No one spoke.

He slowly surveyed them, his gaze sweeping over the face of every noble, none dared to meet it.

Viscount Roland kept his head low, his hands gripping the chair tightly, Harris's seat already vacant, the cushion still seemingly retaining its chill, while Sirius's overturned chair lay like a tombstone.

"Although the disaster is over," Louis paused, his eyes growing somber, "the Northern Territory remains a wasteland. The Insect Swarm has receded, but winter is coming."

He extended his fingers, itemizing point by point: "A large number of refugees are stranded, the people have no houses and still sleep in geothermal shelters.

Food is scarce, the warehouse calculates the last of its reserves daily. Medical resources are lacking, an epidemic could break out in the refuge areas at any moment.

The mountain roads are snowbound, roads cut off, can you return? Who will build bridges for you? Who will clear the snow? The villages and towns everywhere are destroyed, magical beasts roam free, do you have knights?"

No one answered.

The nobles seated at the lower end of the long table, each with an ashy face, only dared to murmur softly in agreement, none dared propose leaving.

Even if moments ago someone was considering whether they should "proactively exit the Red Tide and rebuild their estates," now they lacked even the courage to think a single word further.

Because they understood very well, that path simply did not exist.

The old mansions behind them had long fallen into the sea of insects, the boundary markers of their fiefs had transformed into piles of white bones.

Their knights had dwindled in the blood battle of the Nest, leaving only dust-covered family crests with no place to hang.

And the young lord, merely twenty years old at present, was their sole reliance.

Silence spread in the hall like a dense fog, pressing down like a weight on everyone's breath.

Louis did not continue speaking, seeming to wait for them to speak themselves, waiting for them to offer words of gratitude, words of regret, a statement of understanding.

But there were none.

He finally smiled, the corners of his mouth lifted yet devoid of warmth.

"You all…" his voice was low, sounding like self-talk but also like a judgement, "I dragged you out from the fog of insects, out of the sea of fire, I gave you food, medicine, beds. I built shelters for you, sent patrols for safety, repaired roads and bridges, distributed charcoal for warmth."

"I worked tirelessly, dared not sleep fully, handling documents, dispatching people, allocating food daily… yet what were you doing?"

He lifted a hand, giving a light wave, as if to sweep away all those past events, "Gathering in secret plots, connecting with old forces, even inciting refugee riots, trying to stab me in the back."

He paused at this point, his gaze coldly sweeping over those nobles sitting below, their faces pale: "Is this your 'gratitude'?"

The air became still once again.

Yorn stopped his casual banter, while Willis bowed his head slowly, with a hint of coldness in his eyes; they knew Louis was genuinely angry.

"Lord Louis, it's a misunderstanding... a misunderstanding!" a minor noble began to speak in a trembling voice, his hands tightly gripping the edge of his chair, "I never... never dared to have any disrespectful thoughts!"

"Indeed, how dare we!" Another person echoed, "We... we were just deceived, blinded by lies..."

"Thankfully, the Lord was wise enough to see through the treachery early!"

"If not for the protection of the Red Tide, we would have... would have died in the Insect Tide..."

"My entire family, we owe our lives to the Lord's saving grace..."

......

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the meeting hall seemed to shift; the nobility who had just looked as if they were mourning now...

All stood up, bowed, and lowered their heads, voices rising and falling.

All were words of "gratitude," "loyalty," "repentance," "allegiance."

Even an older noble suddenly burst into tears, choking out: "My... my two grandsons, it was you who saved them, it was you who saved them, lord! How could we possibly forget your kindness?"

Viscount Roland finally caught his breath and stood up, bowing respectfully, his voice trembling: "Lord, this old man was confused... it's all a misunderstanding, a misunderstanding... your wisdom and courage are the hope reborn in the Northern Territory, who would dare defy you..."

Louis watched them quietly, saying nothing.

He neither stopped nor nodded approvingly, allowing them to continue their "pledges of loyalty," continue their "expressions of regret."

Only after more than half of the audience had bent over in bowing did he slowly return to the main seat.

Then Louis's tone shifted, finally adding a touch of "forgiveness."

"But those who perform exceptionally will not go unrewarded."

"The land of Snow Peak is vast. If you help me stabilize the people's hearts and maintain order, I will naturally let go. Red Tide will establish a rebuilding system.

Based on contribution, order, public opinion, and level of cooperation, we will determine the order of post-war reconstruction and the aid investment. Those who do more, receive more, and those who mess around... don't blame me for settling accounts."

"Those who perform well will be given priority after winter to redistribute lands, return to their family's old territories, and restore their military formations."

As soon as his words fell, the atmosphere in the hall relaxed instantly.

The nobles, like prisoners suddenly pardoned, each showed a relieved expression.

"We will certainly obey the Lord's command!" "We will surely serve loyally!"

They all stood up, bowed, and affirmed, their tone eager, their posture respectful.

With some trembling emotions, they claimed willingness to fight for the Red Tide, as if they had never been part of any previous conspiracies.

Even Viscount Roland hurriedly bowed, his voice shivering as he added, "It's all a misunderstanding... Lord, you are wise!"

Louis ignored him, smiling lightly as if only hearing the wind.

"Alright." He propped his hands on the edge of the conference table, speaking blandly, "Since the words have been said, let's discuss the issues of winter survival."

The nobles all sat upright, listening intently to the arrangements.

"Although the Red Tide's food supplies are tight, I have already sent people to the southern counties to buy dry food and charcoal.

Each place needs to retake count of the refugee population, settle them at designated points; there shall be no private withholding, selling, or false reporting.

Three more medical offices will be established, focusing on controlling respiratory infectious diseases in winter.

Temporary repair of transport paths, distribution of charcoal, clearing obstacles after snowfall... these tasks require laborers from your territories."

He spoke concisely and powerfully, waste-free, listing item by item on each noble's shoulders.

"Of course." He reached this point, his tone slightly softened, "I won't exploit you for free."

"Those who provide personnel, those who exert effort, next year's budget funds will be prioritized favorably, coal, food, and rebuilding funds will be inclined accordingly."

A noble quietly replied, "We are willing to contribute financially, willing to offer some modest assistance."

Others echoed, "Red Tide faces difficulties, we should bear them together."

"We will definitely contribute both financially and physically, not dragging behind."

One even straightforwardly raised a hand to offer, "If the Lord trusts me, I can organize laborers to assist with transportation!"

Louis listened to these, showing no expression, merely nodding slightly.

At this moment, Bradley leaned closer to whisper a few words in his ear.

Louis inclined his head slightly to listen, nodding imperceptibly, then stood up.

"I have some matters to attend to; I'll leave first." He said, patting the desk, "After discussing, you can submit the team division lists to Bradley.

But remember, to survive, cooperate with me. To live well, speak with achievements."

After finishing, he said no more, turning to leave with his followers.

The nobles immediately scrambled to their feet, bowing deeply, "Farewell, Lord!"

"Lord, you work tirelessly!"

"May the Red Tide prosper forever, and Snow Peak's reconstruction hopeful!"

Louis did not look back, only waved his hand, stepping away slowly under everyone's watchful gaze from the assembly hall.

Finally, as his silhouette disappeared behind the door, the nobles inside collectively heaved a sigh of relief.

Some wiped sweat from their foreheads, some sat back in their seats saying nothing, while others instantly turned to Bradley to start discussing "how to arrange the squads," "I'm willing to repair the west road," "our family still has dozens of people to spare."

This meeting, which went from purging, warning, intimidating, to distinct rewards and punishments, promises of incentives—Louis left not a speck of chance.

And these former nobles, today's refugees, finally understood one thing:

To survive in this Northern Territory, they must obey Louis.

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