After Louis left the chamber, the hall remained oppressive.

Bradley slowly stepped forward, standing beneath the main seat, taking a stack of documents bearing the Red Tide seal from the adjutant's hand. He announced without expression: "This is the draft of the 'Snow Peak Rebuilding Treaty'. Please sign in order."

The document was brief, yet its wording was as cold and hard as iron:

Within the Red Tide Territory, all nobility must comply with the Red Tide laws; no private armies shall be established, nor shall there be interference in military or governmental affairs.

All matters of the nobility must be coordinated with the Red Tide, in unified cooperation with the winter transition and rebuilding deployment.

Those who disobey will be considered as committing rebellion.

"This treaty is regarded as the nobility's formal commitment to voluntarily participate in the Red Tide rebuilding. If there are no objections, sign immediately." Bradley's voice was not loud, yet it carried an undeniable oppression.

Yorn was the first to step forward and sign, followed by Willis, their expressions calm, even proactively pressing their signet rings.

Afterwards, the hall was silent for a few breaths.

The other nobles began to sign one after another.

Each name written on the paper felt like a debt contract, a vow, an invisible noose.

No one protested; it wasn't that they didn't want to, but they didn't dare.

Those who finished signing bowed their heads and left in single file, without uttering a word.

The only sound left in the stone pillar colonnade was the echo of boots, eerily silent.

The nobles who once laughed and chatted dared not meet each other's eyes now, nor did anyone mention the fate of Brooke, Harris, and Sirius.

Outside, the cold wind cut like a blade, and the falling snow was silent.

They walked step by step out of the Earth Tower, their hearts heavier than the stone bricks beneath their feet.

The wind fluttered their cloaks, but no one dared turn back to glance at the Red Tide banner atop that tall building.

The noble representatives walked out of the Red Tide hall in a file, originally expected to return home, but their steps involuntarily slowed as they descended the castle stone stairs.

At the end of the street came a noisy crowd. It wasn't the bustle of a market but a wave-like surge.

"What's happening?" someone asked in a low voice.

Toward the square, it was a sea of people.

The throngs of people coming from all sides blocked the main street and side alleys entirely, shaking the stone pavements faintly.

The nobles stood on the steps, momentarily motionless.

"Do you... see that?" a Viscount frowned, "Over there, is that an execution platform?"

"It seems so." Another person strained to tiptoe but could only see a shadow of the high platform's corner and the Red Tide Iron Cavalry arrayed like a forest.

Viscount Roland leaned against a stone pillar, catching his breath, finally unable to resist calling over a Red Tide Knight maintaining order nearby: "Hey, what's happening up ahead?"

The young knight looked serious, seeing them in noble attire, he replied: "Reporting to you, sir, the Inspectorate is conducting a public trial of the rebellion's main perpetrators by order."

"Rebellion?" Roland's expression changed slightly, "Who has rebelled?!"

"It is... the vagrant bandits." The knight also didn't know how to explain, so he took out a neatly folded rough leaflet from his pocket and respectfully handed it over.

The leaflet contained few words, but its illustrations were powerful and evocative.

A rough woodcut depicted the bustling crowd and Armored Knights surrounding the judgment platform, where several ragged prisoners stood facing the execution pillars, with four large characters "Red Tide Law" hanging behind them.

The text below was concise and direct:

"On the fifteenth of this month, the Inspectorate, upon investigation, discovered that some vagrant leaders took advantage of the Red Tide's main force being on expedition to gather a disturbance, loot military provisions, and assault the garrison, leading to serious public order incidents and material losses. This morning, they are being tried and processed according to law at Red Tide Square."

The nobles exchanged glances.

"So it's... those vagrants again."

"These people are never satisfied."

"The main force has just returned, yet the rabble causes trouble. If the Red Tide doesn't suppress this chaos, it will be unstoppable."

Despite their calm words, unease grew in their hearts.

The knight, seeing their hesitation, spoke proactively: "If the lords wish to observe the trial, there is a prepared area up front, I can lead you there."

The nobles glanced at each other, not knowing who nodded first, but finally followed along.

They did not have to wait long; the morning bell rang thrice, echoing heavily across the sky of Red Tide City.

The dense fog hadn't lifted, the wind swept snowflakes, the Red Tide Square saw its flag fluttering high, blood-red like fire, flapping loudly.

More than a thousand Red Tide Territory citizens had long gathered here, from East Street to South Alley, from within the city to the newly expanded vagrant area; the dense crowd encircled the square, with even rooftops occupied.

The city defense troops and Inspectorate Knights arranged in three layers of Iron Cavalry blockade, their armor clanking, swords and knives drawn, reflecting a cold, chilling gleam.

The atmosphere was tense to the point of solidification.

With the last bell chime fading, an Inspectorate official, cloaked in black, slowly ascended the judgment platform.

Quinn, Chief of the Red Tide Inspectorate.

His tone was steady: "The public trial begins. By Red Tide law, the origin of chaos is judged."

As his voice fell, several prisoners were dragged onto the high platform.

They were clothed in prison garb, covered in dust and blood, bound by iron chains, prostrated in the snowy mud. Some were already unconscious, others glared in anger, and some cried and begged for mercy.

But it was only one person who stirred whispers among the nobles in the VIP seats.

It was Viscount Brooke.

Just a moment ago, he was still dressed elegantly, eloquently speaking in the lord's council, pointing out the realm's affairs.

Yet now he stood stripped of his finery, clad in prison garb, hands tightly bound, face ashen, gaze lifeless as death.

A Viscount once priding himself on being an old Northern nobility, now kneeling before the crowd like a dried-up old cur.

Quinn loudly read each charge, his voice like a great bell penetrating the crowd:

"Firstly, assembly and incitement. Viscount Brooke secretly colluded with the vagrant leaders 'Lean Horse' and 'Herder', ordering them to incite public sentiment at various distribution points, spreading false rumors of 'Red Tide hoarding provisions', attempting to provoke looting."

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