Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 608: Chapter 360: Crimson Fireworks (Part 1)

On the eve of the meeting, the Frost Dragon Territory was brightly illuminated, the snow reflecting the candlelight and flames, warm as day.

Astha’s manor was decorated lavishly, with gold thread tapestries hanging on the walls and ruby chandeliers casting a cold light.

The Northern Lords stood in the hall, holding goblets, praising each other’s fiefs and bloodlines, the air filled with the scent of spices and false laughter.

All this was to welcome Louis’s Red Tide fireworks.

At the banquet the day before yesterday, Louis casually suggested, “The fireworks from the Red Tide are a new craft. Perhaps they could add some color to the Northern nights; you might see them at the banquet.”

These Northern Lords, except for the few from the Southeast’s Red Tide faction, had never seen the so-called “fireworks.”

As idle talk, the suggestion had everyone perked up because who wouldn’t want to try something new?

“Fireworks? What’s that?”

“I heard they’re a wonder from the Red Tide Territory, capable of making the night sky burn!”

Thus, this Red Tide fireworks celebration became the focus of tonight.

“Boom!”

When the first firework bloomed in the night sky, all the nobles held their breath.

The purple and gold intertwined flames bloomed like flowers in the firmament, illuminating the entire Frost Dragon Territory.

The explosions echoed in the valley, with the nobles’ exclamations rising and falling.

“Oh my… is that fire? How can it bloom like flowers?”

“This color… gold, purple, and blue! How is it done?”

“Is this the technology of the Red Tide? If I could get some for my own banquet, how grand it would be!”

Exclamations rose and fell.

Every time a firework went up, it drew a burst of admiration and applause.

The music at the banquet grew more fervent.

Servants wove through the crowd with silver trays, the scent of spiced wine wafting, and the golden candlelight flickering in every crystal glass.

The nobles laughed loudly, drank indulgently, as if no storm would come tomorrow.

Except for two people.

Astha Augustus sat in the main seat, wearing a standard smile, but his knuckles had dug into his palm.

In the reflection of the lights, he saw faces full of flattery.

He watched those nobles, one by one, surround Louis, smiling sycophantically in a flattering frenzy.

“Lord Louis, the North should truly thank you!”

“Your fief is truly a miracle of the age.”

These words should have been his.

He was the Sixth Prince, the bloodline of the Empire, the leader of this reconstruction meeting.

But now, no one looked at him.

Louis just sat there, smiling, nodding, raising his glass, saying little.

But the space around him seemed to be drawn by an invisible gravity, attracting all the light and attention irresistibly towards him.

Astha’s smile began to stiffen, with only one thought swirling in his mind: “It’s okay. Once tomorrow’s meeting concludes, everything will return to me.”

He kept reassuring himself deep down, after tomorrow’s meeting, the Red Tide would be stripped of power, and Louis would fall from his high position.

Then everyone would look at him again.

He needed victory, needed Louis to lose power, so he could prove that he was not the Empire’s joke.

Elsewhere, Wulu stood among the crowd, cloaked, with his head low.

Attending the banquet as Astha’s advisor, he stood in a corner, bearing a gentle smile he could no longer suppress the agitation churning within his chest.

At this moment, beneath the dark path of the North Gate, those barbarian warriors were fully prepared.

Tonight, they would break in and massacre the Frost Dragon Territory’s banquet hall.

If successful, the barbarians could earn the Empire’s recognition and winter provisions; if they failed, it would mean annihilation.

Gripping his wine glass, his fingers trembled.

He quietly turned his head to look out the window, where fireworks bloomed one after another, yet in his eyes, he saw only the light of death beneath the fireworks.

What unsettled him more was that his wife and daughter, last night, he had secretly sent out of the city. It was his last selfish intention.

“If I succeed, I’ll bring them back. If I fail… let them never return.” He murmured the words to himself over and over.

Just as he was lost in thought, a light breeze brushed past his ear, and a young voice whispered:

“Just say Sai Fu asked you to do it. Lord Louis will ensure your wife and daughter’s safety.”

Wulu’s blood froze instantly, and he turned his head suddenly.

The banquet hall remained lively, with glasses clinking, servants serving food with bowed heads, the nobles laughing uproariously, with none looking at him.

Everything appeared normal, bright, bustling, innocent.

Yet the voice was firmly etched in his mind.

His hand trembled, breathing uneven; that short sentence had such a sheer volume of information, it nearly overwhelmed him.

The barbarian’s plan… exposed?

Does Louis know?

Even… are his wife and daughter in that person’s grip?

“How could it be… how could it…” he mumbled, with sweat beads trickling down his cheeks.

He wanted to flee, but he couldn’t even lift his feet.

At that moment, he finally understood—

Whether it was the Barbarians, the Sixth Prince, or himself, they were all drawn into the same vortex.

This vortex was woven by the hand of that Red Tide Lord.

He looked up to see Louis gently raise his glass, a faint smile on his lips.

The smile held no malice, yet was colder than the frigid wind.

Flames soared into the sky, Wulu’s eardrums nearly shattered, the sound roared like thunder within his mind.

The air trembled, and instinctively he could only raise his hand to cover his ears.

At that moment, his vision blurred, heart scattered, only a roar filling the world, as though the entire night sky had flipped.