Chapter 333: Chapter 237: Postwar Council (Part 1)

But suddenly realized that the young man in the main seat had not said a word from beginning to end.

Louis just sat there, his fingertips tapping on the solid wood table intermittently, producing a rhythmic yet deep sound, like the faint beating of war drums.

No response, no retort, not even an expression.

Just his gaze, like a blade in a cold night, sweeping from one side of the assembly to the other.

Those who had just echoed Brooke’s words lowered their heads, as if a sword was pressed against their necks, not daring to glance again.

Brooke’s smile slowly froze.

He suddenly felt a bit cold, with sweat gradually forming at the back of his neck.

Why doesn’t he speak? Why doesn’t he counter?

Not taking the bait is the fiercest counterattack.

He doesn’t care about the so-called “Snow Peak Nobles’ joint proposal,” nor does he bother to challenge its legitimacy.

Is he waiting for me to finish speaking, to make a decision in one stroke?

At that moment, a ridiculous yet terrifying thought flashed through Brooke’s mind: he knew all along.

“Viscount Brooke,” Louis spoke, his voice as chilly as snow.

“Were you the main author of this proposal?”

Brooke straightened his back, trying to maintain his composure: “Yes, but it is a consensus among many…”

“Understood.” Louis nodded, his tone light but like the fall of a gavel in judgment.

He raised his right hand, giving a gentle wave.

“Take him away.”

The main door burst open with a loud bang, and several Inspectorate Knights, along with Bradley, stepped steadily into the hall, their armor causing a low rumbling sound.

They held a document high, Bradley standing to one side, cleared his throat, and read in his usual official tone: “Red Tide Inspectorate intelligence…

Viscount Brooke, privately colluding with vagrant bandits, allowing them to harass grain depots and military stations, instigating multiple uprisings among vagrants, scheming for military power.

During wartime, he conspired with noble groups, attempted to disrupt the internal order of the Red Tide, sought to manipulate the Snow Peak conference’s restructuring, scheming against the law.”

The entire conference hall seemed to freeze instantly.

No one dared to move.

Brooke was paralyzed, his lips moved but no sound emerged. He instinctively wanted to deny, to proclaim his innocence, even to rush over and tear the document to pieces.

But he couldn’t move…

Because at that moment he realized: Louis’s gaze was not one of anger, but of indifference.

A detachment of the superior towards a worthless plaything.

As Brooke was dragged to the door, his body struggled, his voice hoarse and exhausted.

Yet those heavy knightly arms clamped him as tightly as iron shackles.

Unable to comprehend how everything he had meticulously planned, passing along the line, avoiding all scrutiny, even his contacts were absolutely trustworthy.

“How could he possibly know…”

This thought swirled endlessly in his mind, like a whirlpool in stagnant water, drowning him between absurdity and fear.

He couldn’t imagine it was Louis who had a Daily Intelligence System like a cheat code.

In fact, even without the Daily Intelligence System, even if Louis knew nothing of Viscount Brooke’s deeds,

he could still easily assign a heavy enough crime to knock him off his high horse, drag him out of the assembly hall, and cast him into the mire for execution.

Because it’s quite simple, the majority of the “nobles” present were no longer nobles.

They had lost their Knight Orders, their manors burned to ashes, their fiefdoms buried under snow, their kin either dead or fled.

They also had no backing, the grand houses of the Northern Territory’s great nobles had long collapsed in the disaster of the “Doomsday Nest.”

And they were merely vagrants escaping from the ruins, just vagrants dressed in noble attire.

Louis granted them dignity only as a courtesy to the Empire’s “noble law.”

What qualifications did they have to bargain with Louis?

Bouncing before him only made him feel annoyed.

And what’s more absurd: they themselves knew it.

Thus, when Brooke was dragged out and his bloody head fell, no one was truly surprised, let alone dared to shout for justice.

Their eyes carried fear, not righteous indignation.

What raced through their minds was:

“Thank goodness I didn’t say much.”

“Did he find out about me too?”

“From now on… better keep a low profile.”

The conference hall was deathly silent, leaving only the crackling of the fireplace.

Louis did not rise.

He simply leaned back in the high-backed chair, his gaze coolly surveying the crowd.

“Bradley,” he said calmly, “continue.”

The old steward stood up, unfurling the document in his hands, his voice clear and merciless.

“Baron Harris, three attempts to bribe transport officials, with the intention to allocate materials not belonging to his quota.”

“Sirius Kalan, seven days ago, attempted secret contact with former family retainers and tried to privately reorganize the remaining knights, in violation of the military unification order…”

As each name and crime was pronounced, the air in the hall seemed to grow colder.

Some lowered their heads, some turned pale, and others quietly pushed their chairs back, as if to avoid the gaze sweeping over them.

Sirius Kalan abruptly stood up, his youthful blood undiminished, his face flushed with red, nearly hysterical as he shouted, “What gives you the right?! I am a Count, a legitimate noble of the Northern Territory, you are but a Viscount! Who gave you the courage to judge me!”

Before he could finish, Louis finally moved.

He merely tilted his head slightly, giving Sirius a dismissive glance, then turned to the Red Tide Knight Commander, his tone as cold as if discussing the weather: “Silence him, drag him out.”

With the issuance of the command, the actions were as swift as lightning.

Two fully armed Red Tide Knights stepped forward almost simultaneously. One unsheathed a piece of cloth, rudely stuffing it into Sirius’s wide-open mouth, while the other grabbed him by the collar, toppling both him and the chair, dragging them out of the hall.

“Um! Um—!!”

The screams turned into muffled sobs, the boots scraping against the stone floor with a piercing sound.

No one stopped them, nor did anyone speak.

Even those nobles who had been conspiring with him at the same table just bow their heads, as if they didn’t know him at all.

Louis lowered his lashes, lifting the teacup for a sip, as if the commotion wasn’t significant enough to pause his action.

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