Chapter 166: Chapter 151: Vital Intelligence Before the Prefect Conference_2

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow.

As expected, the Baroness finally couldn’t hold on any longer.

A daughter returning from afar to inherit the territory, with no governing experience?

This is akin to building a paper bridge in the snowstorm of the Northern Territory.

“Weak, helpless, and in need of assistance…” Louis gently stroked his chin, a slight smile forming on his lips.

This type of nobility is most suited for a “gentle takeover.”

No need for troops, no need for threats, just a bit of grain support, a batch of Red Tide civil servants, and a paper of “cooperative governance” commission…

And she would willingly relinquish control, perhaps even grateful.

He murmured to himself, a flash of calm calculation in his eyes: “It seems this remnant territory of the old nobility will soon become an extension of the Red Tide.”

The last piece of intelligence appeared much “lighter” compared to the previous three.

[4: Edward was taunted by Joseph as “lacking guts to vie for power,” thus, he fell into inner turmoil and anxiety.]

Louis finished reading this line with a faint smile.

“Tsk, still the same as always.” He leaned back against his chair, his gaze deepening.

This piece of news, though lacking clear direction, was enough to confirm two judgments.

Firstly, Joseph is indeed plotting, unabashedly trying to turn and win over others.

Secondly, Edward… rather than an enemy, he seems more like a pawn being used.

“Weak, conceited, indecisive, and easily provoked… Bradley wasn’t wrong at all.” Louis muttered softly, “He even needs a push from others to decide whether to make a move.”

Someone like this, if successfully won over, might be useful.

But if left unchecked, waiting to be controlled by others, that would certainly be troublesome.

“It seems it’s also time for Edward to make a choice.” He closed the intelligence panel, a gleam in his eyes, “Whether to become an ally or a discard, it’s up to him.”

Waving the intelligence panel aside, Louis exhaled deeply, swiftly drafting several sets of response strategies in his mind.

But first, cultivate; dual cultivation of Fighting Energy and Magic Power is progressing quite swiftly now.

About four hours later, the daily routine of cultivation was finished, but it was only nine o’clock.

Changing his clothes, Louis first detoured into the spacious office on the east side of the outer courtyard.

Bradley was at the table, cross-referencing several lists, the old butler as impeccably dressed and focused as ever.

Seeing Louis enter, he reported to him: “The Gale Birds have sent out twenty-one messages. Only three confirmations from the nobility are yet to return, but there should be no surprises according to the schedule.”

“And the banquet venue arrangements?” Louis walked over to him, glancing at the blueprints and lists on the table.

“I’ve seen to your requirements; everything’s set.” Bradley paused, pushing a sheet over, “This is the seating draft, you can check it.”

Louis cast a glance, an eyebrow slightly raising: “Joseph’s seat is too close to mine, move it a bit farther.”

“Understood.” Although Bradley didn’t understand why, he still agreed to it.

“Not bad. Keep advancing at this pace.” Louis nodded slightly and turned to leave, “I’ll head to the Knight Camp now, and we’ll confirm the details of the ingredients and ceremonies in the afternoon.”

Then Louis went straight to the Knight Camp, finding Lambert in training.

“I need you to gather thirty Red Tide Iron Cavalry, set off immediately.”

“The target?” Lambert paused, stopping his actions.

“The northern canyon.” Louis’s tone was light, “A guild caravan will pass through there, we want to give them a warm welcome.”

Listening to the implications in Louis’s words, Lambert felt a bit shocked, tentatively asking, “Do we… wear masks?”

Louis cast him a sidelong glance: “What are you talking about? This is a righteous charge!”

……

The Northern Territory’s cold winds were fierce, the Silver Plate Guild’s convoy moved slowly along the canyon path at dusk.

The iron wheels crunched over the snow-covered rocky roads, making a low creaking sound.

The convoy seemed ordinary, yet it was by no means a normal merchant group.

Behind more than ten heavy carriages, under the drapery marked with the insignia of the Northern Border Commerce Association, were hidden many crates of goods.

The heavy crates contained refined gold coins, high-grade flour, cured meat blocks, and large amounts of medicinal herbs banned from smuggling by the Empire.

At the forefront of the convoy, a middle-aged man in a silver-gray robe, his hair immaculately bound, was in command of this operation.

He was none other than Kalan, a senior operative of the Silver Plate Guild.

Kalan, aged thirty-seven this year, was one of the senior operatives under the Silver Plate Guild, long active in the gray areas between the Jade Federation and the Empire’s borders.

He was tasked with overseeing this critical mission.

And in the enclosed carriages at the rear, the beings curled within the cages were not slaves in the usual sense.

Though dressed in uniform coarse clothing, they were neat and clean, sitting straight, almost without any noise or commotion, creating a strangely quiet atmosphere.

These people were trained.

The Silver Plate Guild, known for its “efficiency above all,” had long developed a set of cruel yet effective practices in slave cultivation.

From language commands to reflex actions, from task adaptation to psychological obedience, these slaves had been “trained” into highly utilizable tools even before departure.

Craftsmen understood how to complete customized tasks within a limited time, doctors knew how to cooperate with medications without asking an extra question, and slave managers could efficiently handle territory affairs without having any desire to show off.

Their eyes were calm and hollow, devoid of struggle, supplication, or even resentment towards enslavement.

They had been “molded” to near perfection.

Obedient, capable, skilled, and trouble-free.

These individuals were Kalan’s “knocking stones” for this journey.

“All are useful and smart goods.” Kalan lifted the curtain of one of the cages, looking at those numb craftsmen, doctors, and others.

“Once this batch reaches Joseph’s hands, within a year they can prop up his crumbling mess, demonstrating our sincerity.”

Kalan, unlike the majority who indulge in internal strife among guild members, disdained manipulating words like business brokers.

He was about action, belonging to the “even if it dirties the hands, as long as the result is achieved” type of executor.

As a core strength of the Federation, he hailed from humble beginnings, yet climbed to his current position through flawless task after flawless task.

Every mission, he personally set the lines and reeled them in, never leaving it to others.

“The first-hand information obtained from Joseph is indeed valuable.” Kalan murmured, flipping through a cloth-bound notebook in his hands.

Inside, it detailed the nobility in the Southwest of the Empire, their goods demands, garrison sizes, and vulnerable points along their defenses.

These data were merely “exploratory gifts before the deal.”

“The guild headquarters is very satisfied; as long as we stabilize this channel, the Silver Plate Guild has a chance to become the first Federation guild to successfully infiltrate the Southwest of the Empire.” Kalan closed the notebook, his expression growing solemn.

Moreover, if Joseph could be made into a “model,” future efforts to control this point could influence surrounding families, destabilizing the internal power structure of the Empire.

“This carriage of people, these goods… they aren’t merchandise; they’re a knocking stone, a pledge of fidelity, the first nail driven deep into the Empire’s heart from the Federation.

Once the nail is in, the hammer and splitting axe can follow.”

Thus, this wasn’t a simple smuggling task; it was a strategic penetration potentially worthy of being etched into the Federation’s history.

To avoid complications, he even abandoned major highways, choosing an extremely covert path.

The convoy only moved at dusk each day, avoiding the patrols of knights.

“Just endure a few more days.” He whispered.

“Once the material handoff is complete, trust established, and connections made, the next step is the onset of devouring the entirety of the Empire’s Southwest.”

Yet, little did he know, his “dusk operation” was about to meet with a nighttime predator.

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