Chapter 135: Chapter 133: Northern Territory Pioneer Order · Second Round

After the hunt concluded, the knights excitedly gathered around the massive corpses of the wild bulls, unable to resist whispering as they looked at the gigantic beasts lying in pools of blood.

“Your Highness, how should we handle these?” A knight finally couldn’t help but speak up.

Louis gazed down at the scattered remains of the giant beasts, arms crossed, pondering for a moment.

To be honest, these Snow River Mad Bulls have tough hides and are not rare magical beasts, nor do they have any medicinal or alchemical value…

The only noteworthy aspect is probably that their meat is quite tasty.

His gaze swept over the crowd, and he smiled, saying, “Since we worked so hard to bring them down, let’s haul them all back and hold a spring feast to celebrate the harvest.”

“Oh——!!” The knights cheered, praising Louis’s generosity, and their morale soared to the peak.

But Louis’s thoughts had already turned to his true objective.

The bulls were not the key; the Frost Leaf Vine was the reason he went to such great lengths to meticulously plan everything.

Of course, it’s impossible to directly uproot and take the vines back; that approach is too short-sighted. The real future lies in reasonably domesticating and cultivating them.

“Go, bring Mike here.” He commanded.

It wasn’t long before Mike, the Agricultural Official of the Red Tide Territory, hurried over with several seasoned herbal transplant specialists, his face barely concealing his excitement.

“Your Highness, you have orders!”

Louis raised his hand and pointed to the lush Frost Leaf Vine, his tone calm: “Prepare to transplant this plant.”

He glanced at them, his voice slow and steady, saying:

“Remember to select seedlings that are 1 to 2 years old, with blue and white roots, and veins that aren’t yellowed. Such have the highest survival rate.

Be careful when digging, keep the root system intact, with a soil cluster holding it together, don’t let it disperse. Don’t break the vine stems, especially the newly sprouted branches, as they are crucial for spring growth.

If you can find root clumps with small side buds, that would be even better, as they are its core for expansion.”

“Understood!” Mike grinned, his eyes shining, “Rest assured, Your Highness, we will reproduce this patch of vines exactly for you!”

……

Frost Halberd City, deep night.

Thick curtains isolated the whimper of the northern wind outside the windows, the fireplace’s light was dim, and a “pop” cracked the charcoal, casting a soft red glow throughout the room.

Duke Edmund sat behind his desk, his fingers slowly brushing over the secret letter sealed with golden wax, the royal dragon emblem on the envelope still familiar.

He already knew the letter was personally penned by the Emperor.

He broke the seal directly, without any unnecessary ceremony.

He read quietly, eyes untroubled: “It has still come.”

His tone was neither sad nor happy, only a few traces of weariness between his brows.

In fact, he had long been informed of the letter’s contents from several of the Emperor’s previous letters.

But this time, it was officially conveyed—the “Northern Territory Pioneer Order · Second Round.”

This was not the first time he had received such an order.

The previous batch of so-called “nobility heirs” hadn’t even grown a sack of wheat on the permafrost before half of them had died.

The survivors, either mad or deserting, had all become jokes among the Northern Lands populace.

Of course, there was also Louis, who stood out, but there was only that one person.

He knew the true meaning of these orders: not really to value the opening of the northern territories, but for the Emperor to enforce power balance, to weaken the Eight Great Clans, especially those old aristocrats entrenched in the South.

He, or rather his Edmund Family, was long unable to resist the Emperor’s mandates.

Two years ago, during the rebellion, the northern territory ran red with blood, and Frost Halberd City was nearly lost.

His family lost two-thirds of its members, with more names crossed off the family records than living members.

Though the Edmund Clan is still listed among the Eight Great Clans, in reality, aside from the command of the Northern Army, other aspects like finances, influence, and trade routes fall far short of their former status.

“So be it…” he murmured.

He wasn’t entirely displeased with the weakening of the other Eight Great Clans.

At least it might carve out a breathing space for his family amid the power struggles of the Empire’s court.

Of course, the Emperor had also promised that thereafter, Northern local nobles would qualify to participate in the development of new southern territories, as an exchange.

Edmund fully believed this, as he knew what kind of person the Emperor was, who wouldn’t lie to him.

They were old acquaintances; when the Emperor was still a prince, he had been stationed in the northern territory for three years, during which the two had drunk and fought side by side.

The camaraderie of those years was genuine, and even though their correspondence has never ceased throughout the years since.

But in recent years, each action taken by this former friend has made him increasingly unable to understand…

“Knock, knock.”

Just as Edmund was gazing out the window, deep in thought, there came a few gentle knocks at the door from behind him.

“Father, may I come in?”

It was a sweet voice, like the first ray of sunlight falling on the snow.

He did not need to turn around to know who had arrived.

“Come in, Emily.” Edmund’s lips curved into a rare gentle smile.

The door was gently pushed open, and a girl carrying a silver tray stepped into the study.

She wore a thick noble blue and white dress, with an apron around her waist, carrying steaming coffee, her steps steady but as light as a cat’s movements.

“I see you’ve stayed up late again,” Emily softly complained, placing the coffee steadily on the desk, “I asked them to add extra milk, don’t drink it so bitter this time.”

“Mm, I know.” Edmund reached out to take the cup, the warmth from the cup transmitting to his palm.

He had once remarked to others that if Emily had been born in the Imperial Capital, she might have long become a Princess Consort to someone or other.

Actually, the Emperor had also mentioned assisting with an arranged marriage, but at that time Emily was too young, and he couldn’t bear to part with her, so he had tactfully declined.

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