Though spring had arrived, the northern lands remained bitterly cold. Even with thick cloaks, it was difficult to fend off the bone-chilling chill.
"Sir, we're almost there." A knight reined in his horse and quietly reported to the elder leading the procession.
Bradley nodded slightly, his expression unchanged, as he rode silently over the frozen ground.
The procession moved across the desolate northern lands in solemn silence—not due to lack of complaints about the mission, but out of reverence for Bradley.
He wasn't merely Duke Calvin's old butler; he held a high rank, significant power, and a status within the Calvin family rivaling that of some secondary noble houses. Even the knights dared not speak freely in his presence.
They passed through several pioneering territories—barren and dilapidated. Even Frost Halberd City, seat of the Northern Governor's Office, was little more than a humble military outpost in the eyes of these southern nobles. None expected the Red Tide Territory to be any different. Bradley didn't either.
In his mind, Louis was just another of the duke's twenty-some children—mediocre in talent, honest by nature, but somewhat dull. He'd been sent north months ago with no real backing, meant to fend for himself. And yet, in a letter, Louis claimed his territory was flourishing; the land was well-managed, progressing swiftly, and, most astonishingly, he'd discovered a magic-marow mine. Bradley couldn't help but doubt such claims. A man not yet twenty, with virtually no support, managing to cultivate desolate land so effectively? And uncover a rare magic marrow deposit? It seemed implausible—exaggeration at best.
Still, Bradley came—and without complaint. That was his way. Loyal to the Calvin family above all else, he intended to judge for himself. If Louis proved his worth, Bradley would place all his support behind him. If not… he'd pull the plug.
Through biting wind, the outline of Red Tide Territory gradually emerged. On a distant mountain path, Louis rode a black warhorse, wolf-fur cloak billowing in the wind, dark hair whipped free. Seated at his feet, a lithe Icefield Wolf cub growled low—its untamed presence giving Louis an aura of quiet power.
Bradley's estimation of Louis rose marginally. At the very least, this was no spoiled kid; he was strong and self-possessed. The knights, too, looked surprised. They'd expected to find a bedraggled, overwhelmed youth—maybe even someone clinging to survival. Instead, he was composed. Taming and traveling with a wild wolf only amplified the impression.
Louis rode forward and bowed respectfully. "Mr. Bradley, you've made a hard journey. Welcome to Red Tide Territory."
Bradley returned a formal bow, his tone dutiful, not warm: "Young master, you're too kind. Duke Calvin sent supplies—hope these are of service."
"I'll bear my father's concern in mind."
Bradley studied Louis with quiet interest. Maintaining such noble composure, in this harsh, barren land… not easy.
Louis wheeled his horse and considered the supplies Bradley had brought: three elite knights, ten standard knights, thirty novices, plus talented craftsmen and physicians. Carts overflowed with food—flour, dried meat, pickled vegetables—seeds for hardy crops, black-horned cattle, cold-resistant sheep and warhorses. He'd expected little; after all, he was hardly a favored son. But this shipment exceeded his expectations. His father had spent gold—more than token, though small compared to the Calvin family's wealth.
Bradley's flat voice broke the weighty silence: "Young master, consider this an opportunity. If you manage the territory well, the family will expand support. If you fail, they will retract it all."
Louis smiled. "I will treasure this opportunity."
He studied the supplies, but Bradley was scanning the land—and what he saw took him by surprise. At first glance, the land looked bleak, barren—just another northern territory. But as they pressed deeper, Bradley's expression grew intrigued.
Fields of thriving crops stretched out. Reclaimed tracts of land—once wasteland—now cultivated. Villagers at work, sweat mixing with soil, liveliness on their faces. Not complaints, but hope—unmistakable.
This wasn't normal. These territories were just beginning planting; here, crops were already ready for harvest. And new land was still being claimed. Louis had outpaced other pioneers in agricultural management.
Bradley noticed semi-subterranean longhouses lining the road—constructed with care. Though simple, they were clearly new, well organized. This territory not only survived harsh conditions—it was building its infrastructure rapidly. Some long-established territories hadn't achieved this in years.
And then there were the people—the most startling sight. The villagers greeted Louis with genuine love and devotion. Not aristocratic awe or gratitude, but something deeper… sincere reverence.
"Is this boy a born ruler?" Bradley thought, brow furrowing as he reevaluated his assessment of the unassuming young master.
Louis had claimed competence—but this level of resilience and leadership? Far beyond what Bradley expected. Might he be underestimated? Perhaps.
Maybe he won't inherit the Calvin legacy, but he seemed poised to carve a remarkable place of his own.
Bradley allowed himself a faint smile. One thought crossed his mind: At least it won't be boring in the North.
FOR MORE CHAPTERS
patreon.com/Johnybairstow