Chapter 129: Chapter 128: Numbness

“So, Lord Louis, why did we have to come to this point?”

McKinney saw that Louis kept a cold face without speaking, and felt more confident in his own thoughts.

He immediately lifted his head, revealing an extremely ingratiating smile: “I truly regret my actions! As long as you show mercy, money, women, land, resources, all of it is yours!

The Red Tide Territory and us have always been good neighbors, this little misunderstanding, there’s no need for…”

“Behead him.” Louis was somewhat annoyed, and directly uttered two words indifferently.

The voice was so calm it was almost devoid of a ripple, like announcing an insignificant notice.

“Ah? But I’m nobility! You, you can’t just kill…” McKinney was instantly dumbfounded, the smile on his face seemed to be slapped away, stiffening in place, his eyes widened in shock.

But as soon as he spoke, even he felt the words were hollow.

He merely inherited the barony from his brother by luck, still young, no one had taught him how to govern or fulfill responsibilities.

He only saw the impressive demeanor of his father and brother, thinking that as long as he wore the nobility’s skin, no one would dare touch him.

Bullying men and women, oppressing the people, never being punished for it, he assumed this was the privilege of the nobility.

Until today, until that even younger noble who carved out his domain on the battlefield stood before him, issuing the death sentence.

“Splat!”

The blade swiftly fell, blood spurted high and sprayed across the snow.

McKinney’s head rolled onto the snow, his face still frozen in that look of extreme horror.

His mouth gaped as if wanting to argue one more time, his eyes wide open, staring dead ahead, as if he still didn’t understand why even in death.

How could this be… This isn’t according to the routine!!

The Red Tide Knight shook his blade, slinging off the blood, took a cold glance at the corpse, and then quietly withdrew to the side.

McKinney’s head ended up at the feet of the remaining knights.

The pool of blood slowly spread, reflecting faces of utmost shock.

“This… this can’t be…”

“He, he actually killed Lord McKinney!”

An older knight’s throat bobbed, he hurriedly dropped his weapon and knelt on the ground: “I surrender! We are willing to submit to the Red Tide!”

“Lords of the Red Tide Territory! We… we surrender! We are willing to be loyal! We… are willing to serve you wholeheartedly!”

“Lord Calvin spare us! We were coerced!”

“Yes, yes, we were forced by McKinney! From now on we vow to be loyal unto death, my lord!”

At this moment, their eyes no longer held any so-called knightly honor, only endless terror and humble pleading.

But Louis merely glanced at them coldly, his eyes full of disdain.

These people were not qualified knights at all.

Their swords had long been corroded by indulgence, their spirits rotted by luxury and greed.

At present they seemed submissive, but given the chance they would undoubtedly backstab like venomous snakes.

Moreover, each one of them had wielded their hands against the grain convoys of the Red Tide Territory.

Such people, keeping them would only corrupt other warriors and plant the seeds of disaster.

“Leave none alive.” Louis said with a tone as indifferent as stagnant water, raising his hand with a wave.

“Yes!”

The Red Tide Knights charged like a storm, blades flashing with a chilling gleam.

“Quick, run!” A knight under McKinney’s command roared, his voice trembling.

Yet even before the words fell, a spear pierced his chest, lifting him high, blood spraying like rain.

“Ah!” Someone attempted to resist with a sword, but before he could swing, his head was cleaved in two by a heavy axe, not even given time for a scream.

More tried to flee with weapons, but they were already surrounded by the Red Tide Knights, blades entangled like the scythe of death, swiftly harvesting lives.

The sounds of hacking, bones cracking, and blood spurting mixed together, quickly returning to silence.

In the castle courtyard, seventy-odd knights lay in death, the thick snow dyed red with blood, releasing a sickly sweet, oppressive scent.

A reckoning, rapid and thorough, McKinney’s remnants were wiped out completely.

The battle ended too quickly.

Weir sheathed his longsword, standing on the blood-stained castle square, looking at the corpses littering the ground, a trace of undisguisable disappointment in his eyes.

He had always dreamed of following Lord Louis into battle, fighting bloody wars.

Yet who could have expected, this so-called “campaign”.

Besides standing guard, he hadn’t even faced a decent enemy.

“Is… is it over?” Weir muttered, his heart filled with a sense of unfulfillment.

Louis glanced at him, casually said: “What, disappointed?”

“Ah… No, it’s not…” Weir quickly collected his expression, but could not hide that bit of dejection.

Louis showed a faintly amused expression: “Come, if you haven’t fought enough, accompany me on a walk.”

Weir paused, then straightened his back sharply: “Yes! Lord Louis!”

The wind and snow howled, dense ice particles striking the armor with a crisp sound.

Louis walked slowly on the snow, his gaze sweeping over the desolate street.

While Weir followed silently beside him, vigilantly observing the surroundings.

This was the residential area of Baron McKinney’s domain.

At first glance, the area around the castle was no different from other territories of the Northern Territory.

But the closer you got, the more the sickening stench of decay became stronger, infiltrating breaths, carrying a chilling aura of death.

By the roadside, a few dilapidated houses stood shaky, their door frames long broken, windows covered with thick frost.

Through the crack in the door, one could see a few shadows huddled inside.

They wrapped themselves in scraps of cloth, shivering in the corner.

Their eyes were hollow, vacant, staring straight at Louis as if looking at a passerby who had nothing to do with them.

But no one moved.

No one called for help, no one hid, not even a trace of reaction.

It was a gaze utterly numb to their fate, destined to live such a decaying life.

Even the presence of another stranger couldn’t change anything.

This was the reality of the Northern Territory.

Other places might be slightly better, but not by much.

And the Red Tide Territory was different not because it was lucky, but because of Louis’ presence.

Inside the house, a boy was cutting a dead rat, his technique clumsy.

Beside him, a clay pot boiled black water, with a ring of grease around the rim.

Behind him sat a row of smaller, frail children, their expressions equally numb, sitting blankly in the corner of the house.

Weir quietly watched everything before him, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword.

In those houses, huddled within, were merely walking corpses, souls long dead.

In another room, a broken wooden barrel held snowmelt and rotten vegetable scraps, which served as dinner for the residents.

Beneath the corner’s wall, several bodies lay piled, stark naked, blatantly lying on the ground, without dignity.

A stray dog came over, tearing into one, the bare white bones exposed.

“This…” Weir whispered but didn’t know what to say.

Something suddenly surged in his mind.

A memory from nearly a year ago, the days he and his mother were locked in the slaver’s cellar.

The food was just mush mixed with snow residue and husks.

Every day was spent enduring the cold and hunger, every night hearing someone cry, wail, or exhale their last breath.

Back then, he also curled up in a corner, holding his mother, staring blankly into the darkness.

Not knowing whether he was waiting for a miracle, or for death.

He didn’t want to recall it any longer.

But this land before him, these people, that numb and desperate gaze reflected his past exactly like a mirror.

If it weren’t for Lord Louis…

He and his mother might still be in that place now.

Or they might have long frozen or starved to death, tossed by the roadside without even a grave.

“He pulled us out of that place.” Weir took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions, but couldn’t help feeling terrified.

He was deeply grateful to Lord Louis, who had pulled them out of hell.

Because Weir had gone through all this, he couldn’t bear to see these sights.

He couldn’t bear to see those people, like he once was, abandoned in earthly hell, silently waiting for the end.

Weir slowly turned his head to look at the tall figure beside him.

He didn’t speak, but his eyes clearly asked: Surely you’ll do something, right?

Louis stood in the wind, his eyes fixed ahead.

He saw those bodies exposed in the wind, the eyes numbly fixed, and the clenched fists of children and the unease in their eyes.

Even in the Northern Territory, such scenes were extremely rare.

Louis felt it was almost a pity to have directly killed McKinney.

He exhaled gently, knowing what he needed to do.

Then he turned around and began to pen a letter to Duke Edmund in the temporary tent camp.

The letter was simple, a mere few hundred words at most, summarized into three points:

McKinney conspired with bandits and attacked the Red Tide Territory’s grain team, evidence conclusive.

He had come to seek redress, and McKinney resisted fiercely, dying in the engagement.

His territory’s current situation is dire, with peasants like walking corpses; the Duke is requested to decide further measures.

Just writing out the misery truthfully, without excessive embellishment, was enough to furrow the reader’s brow.

As for the phrase “died in engagement,” Louis wasn’t evading responsibility.

He never felt he had done anything wrong.

McKinney deserved to die, guilty as charged, died too late.

But Louis knew that among the nobility, one must be “acceptable.”

Even if the other was an idiot, at least he was still a Baron, and couldn’t openly claim “I took a dislike to him and killed him with one stroke.”

So he gave a barely plausible reason.

Although there were still some holes, at least it gave Duke Edmund a reason to believe.

Whether the Duke believed it, was not his concern.

Finishing and sealing the letter, he walked out of the tent, summoning the accompanying Gale Bird.

Louis fastened the letter to its ankle, watching as it soared into the sky, disappearing into the gray horizon.

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