Novel Full Chapter 641 - 374: Discussion (2)
Chapter 641: Chapter 374: Discussion (2)
Louis was somewhat speechless; no matter how he heard it, this sentence sounded strange, but he still raised his glass, “Then let’s toast to the family first.”
“To the boss!” Yorn echoed loudly, his voice drowning out the fireplace.
The two of them raised their glasses, the firelight flickering in their cups.
Laughter, firelight, and the smell of wine mixed together, and the temperature in the hall gradually rose.
Yorn patted his chest, laughing heartily, like a young man who never tires.
But as Louis watched him, he felt that this cold Northern Territory also had some life in it.
……
Winter was approaching, and the streets of Red Tide were covered with a thin frost from the first snow.
The streets were bustling with activity.
Vendors were hawking hot wine, leather boots, and cured meat, while children dragged wooden boxes and ran in the snow, lanterns in their hands swinging to and fro.
“Northern Territory sheepskin, soft as spring breeze, just one copper coin per piece!” “Hot cod soup! Just off the pot!” The cries of the vendors rose and fell in the streets and alleys.
Workers in fur coats emerged from the workshops, their waists adorned with bulging purses, their laughter bold and genuine.
And the knights also traversed through the crowd, haggling with the craftsmen, completely without airs.
Layton noticed that there were no expressions of fear or poverty on these people’s faces; they carried themselves confidently, like masters of their own destiny.
In his mind, he marveled at how this city, busier than the Federation’s ports, had established itself.
A border exiled by the Empire, yet in just a few short years, it had grown to such a scale.
As a secret liaison for the Jade Federation Bi Chao Guild stationed in Red Tide, he hid under the guise of a steward for the Southern traveling merchant Salt Cold Fleet.
In theory, Layton’s task was merely to observe and record the resource potential of the Northern Territory, establish covert trade route nodes, and report back to the Federal Council.
Sometimes it was also necessary to spy on the Northern Territory’s political and military news to provide intelligence for the guild.
But nowadays, the Red Tide had made it difficult for him to see it simply as a mission, and he even began to integrate into this society somewhat.
“This is more than just a miracle of the Northern Territory,” he thought, “In the Federation, a city becoming so affluent out of thin air.”
Layton entered the Cold Salt Pavilion, which was his stronghold, outwardly just an ordinary shop, but in fact, a guild intelligence node.
Inside, the lights were bright, the fireplace roared, and the air was filled with the faint scent of salt and fish oil.
Layton took off his gloves, instructed the servant to close the door, and was about to sort out today’s accounts when he heard light footsteps outside the door.
Several men in ordinary merchant robes came in one after another, smiling and exchanging pleasantries, their accents local.
Layton didn’t pay attention initially and continued flipping through the bills.
The next moment, the curtains were quickly drawn, and the men moved in unison, restraining him.
At the doorway, two fully-armed Red Tide Knights appeared, “Layton Fromm, the Red Tide Lord wants to see you,” one said softly.
Layton froze for an instant, realizing his cover was blown.
His first instinct was not fear, but confusion—how did they know my name?
He was quickly pinned to the ground, a thick cloth covering his head, surrounded by hurried footsteps and terse commands.
“Take him away.”
The world fell into darkness, and Layton couldn’t hear the wind and snow outside, only feeling his body being dragged, the stones beneath him jostling.
He was pushed onward, then shoved into a carriage.
The carriage was cramped, rocking slightly with the rolling of the wheels; he couldn’t discern the direction, only knowing the carriage was going uphill, turning, moving farther from the bustling city.
In the blind darkness, Layton’s mind raced: Was there a problem with the cargo list? Did someone in the Federation Guild leak information? Or were the accounts from the Cold Salt Pavilion audited?
A gust of cold wind swept by, and he was pushed to sit on a chair.
Someone tore the black cloth off his head.
The light stung his eyes.
Layton squinted upward, seeing not a dark cellar, but a spacious and bright study.
On the wall hung a map of the Northern Territory, a fire burned in the corner, and a clock with metal gears ticked softly.
Behind the desk sat a young lord, black-haired, calm in demeanor, yet not severe.
The firelight played on his face, making him seem more like a patient scholar than a lord ruling over the Northern Territory.
Louis Calvin.
He was younger than Layton had imagined, and more approachable, even exuding a bit of a relaxing composure.
The fear in Layton’s heart was eased somewhat by this composure, giving rise to a bit of optimism.
Maybe if he acted like an ordinary merchant, he might still get away with it.
He hurriedly plastered on a smile, his voice trembling: “Sir, you… you must have mistaken me for someone else? I’m just a small merchant selling salt, here to make some modest business in the Northern Territory.”
Louis didn’t respond immediately; he simply gestured for him to sit down, observing him peacefully, as if waiting for him to finish his lies.
The silence bore no hostility, yet it felt inescapable.
“Layton From the Green Tide Guild,” Louis finally spoke, his voice so calm it was almost gentle, “Welcome to Red Tide.”
Layton’s heartbeat almost leaped from his chest, his breath tightened, his throat dry as if blocked by dust.
His mind was a mess.
Finished, exposed, which part went wrong?
Louis’s gaze calmly watched him, without a trace of emotional fluctuation, yet more terrifying than any threat.
Layton’s spine chilled, his breath increasingly rapid, his inner fear entirely magnified—it was the gaze of a hunter on its prey.
In this moment, Layton suddenly realized, the young lord before him was not as gentle as he seemed.
Behind that serene smile lay a chilling sense of control, as though his every move was within the other’s grasp.
But now he could only force himself to raise his head, his mouth stiffly twisting into a smile, voice trembling: “You… you really must have mistaken me… I’m truly just a nobody.”
His voice lacked conviction, his eyes flickering with panic, like a beast cornered.
He wanted to find an excuse, but even he could hear the panic betraying him.
Louis didn’t answer, just watched him with a smile.
The smile was calm, gentle, but it was hard to discern whether it was sincere or probing.
The candlelight reflected off his profile, his black hair gently falling over his shoulders, his expression serene.
Yet, the more Layton looked, the more flustered he became, that smile was not comforting, but a kind of overlooking composure, as if everything was within his expectation.
“Rest assured,” Louis finally spoke, “I’m not interested in spies.”
His tone shifted, adding lightly: “But I am interested in guilds.”
Layton seemed like he finally grasped his lifeline, quickly responding with a trembling voice: “Y-yes, my lord, I understand.”
Louis slowly rose, turning to look at the snow outside the window: “Tell your guild we have Cold Iron, Demon Marrow, and other minerals you need. We don’t plunder, only trade, and we hope you do the same.”
Louis turned back, his eyes reflecting the firelight, seemingly able to see through the forces behind Layton.
“Of course, I also know you can’t make the decision,” he continued calmly, “So deliver this letter to your superior, let him consider it carefully.”
Louis picked up a letter from the table, the envelope stamped with the Red Tide seal, pushing it gently to the edge of the table: “I trust you’ll bring the right message back.”
Layton opened his mouth, his throat dry, could only nod: “I… understand, my lord.”
Louis lightly waved his hand. Several Red Tide Knights approached, pulling out a cloth to blindfold Layton again.
“Take him back,” Louis said calmly.
Layton felt himself being lifted again, pushed out of the study, footsteps echoing in the corridor.
He heard the heavy door open, cold wind pouring in, then was shoved into a carriage.
The carriage drove along the stone path of the Main Castle, the sound of wheels crunching over snow audible.
Until the night’s darkness swallowed the distant firelight, the carriage stopped in his familiar neighborhood.
Someone untied the ropes, coarsely ordered: “Get off.”
The cloth was pulled away, biting cold wind slapped his face.
He stood at the entrance of his own cold salt shop.
The clerks stood dumbfounded at the door, their expressions surprised.
Layton’s face pale, gasping, whispered urgently: “Pack up… immediately! We must leave this city.”
No one dared to ask why, servants hastily packing ledgers, lists, valuable goods.
That night, Layton hurriedly left the city with his entourage, headed Southward.
Regardless of what the letter said, he was already exposed.
As the carriage passed through Red Tide’s streets, he couldn’t help but turn back to look.
Under the night sky, the Main Castle’s tower flickered in the snow mist, the firelight inside still burning, as if there was a person standing there.
He vaguely saw the young lord standing at the window, with that calm smile.
Layton’s breath caught, his heart almost leaping from his chest.
He abruptly turned his head forward, not daring to look again, only urging the driver: “Quickly! Faster!”
The carriage wheels splashed snow foam, running faster and faster, as if trying to escape that smiling gaze.