Chapter 19 : Chapter 19
Chapter 19.
The news of Count Marcus' manor being washed in blood swept through the entirety of Winter City overnight like a silent plague.
There were no screams and no cries for help.
More than three hundred private soldiers and a peak fourth-tier knight steward had simply vanished without a sound.
In their place stood Akash’s ten silent steel war gods, along with the cold seals of the Duke’s residence guard.
When the first pale ray of morning light pierced through the clouds, the noble district of Winter City had already spent an entire sleepless night.
No matter how fiercely the fireplaces burned inside their manors, they could not drive away the chill buried deep in their bones.
It was not the cold of the Northern Territory.
It was a different kind of cold, one called the “new order.”
In the span of a single night, seven deeply entrenched families of the Northern Territory had been uprooted entirely.
The confiscation operations that followed encountered no meaningful resistance at all.
Wherever Akash’s squad went, the servants and distant relatives remaining in the estates of the other six families did not even dare pick up weapons.
They dropped to their knees at once and opened every treasury and secret chamber.
In front of the Duke’s residence.
Before dawn had fully broken, the place was already crowded with traffic.
One luxurious carriage after another formed a long line, stretching from the gates of the residence all the way to the corner of the street.
Every carriage was loaded with heavy gift chests, treasures inside them nearly spilling over.
The surviving nobles of the Northern Territory were all dressed in their finest formal wear, carrying the most humble expressions they could muster, standing in orderly lines in the cold wind as they waited for an audience with Her Highness the Princess.
The same emotion was written across every one of their faces.
Fear.
Viscount Bartley wiped the cold sweat seeping from his forehead.
He secretly glanced at Count O’Connor, who stood ahead of him in line.
That count was repeatedly adjusting his expensive fur collar, his movements stiff and unnatural.
“My Lord O’Connor, do you think… Her Highness will see us?”
Viscount Bartley lowered his voice, and there was a tremor in his words.
Count O’Connor’s body stiffened, but he did not turn around.
“Shut up and wait.”
His voice was dry, utterly stripped of the authority he once carried.
See them?
What face did they even have left to show?
At yesterday’s meeting, they had all watched coldly from the sidelines, and some had even secretly hoped to give the princess a show of strength.
In the end, that show of strength had turned into an execution block.
Now, all they wanted was a chance to exchange their wealth for their lives.
Time passed bit by bit.
The gates of the residence remained tightly shut, with no sign of opening.
This silent waiting was even more torturous than any rebuke.
Every minute and every second was like a small knife, repeatedly carving into their fragile nerves.
At last, the side door opened.
The one who came out was the old steward of the Duke’s residence.
The nobles were instantly invigorated and quickly forced flattering smiles onto their faces.
The old steward swept his gaze across them expressionlessly.
His voice was not loud, yet every person heard it clearly.
“Her Highness is attending to important affairs and has no time to receive you.”
Everyone’s heart sank.
“However,” the old steward continued, “Her Highness says that she has already felt the loyal intentions of all of you.”
“The gifts may be left behind.”
“You may return.”
Leave the gifts and get out.
That attitude was even more humiliating than a direct insult.
But at this moment, not a single noble dared show the slightest dissatisfaction.
Instead, all of them let out long sighs of relief.
Accepting the gifts meant there was still room to negotiate.
They hurriedly directed their servants to carry the gift chests to the entrance, each of them wearing a fawning expression utterly different from the arrogant contempt they had shown in yesterday’s conference hall.
They left behind their “proof” of loyalty and scattered in disgrace.
Inside the Duke’s residence, in the study.
Sylvia stood before the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, watching the nobles’ miserable figures as they retreated.
There was not the slightest ripple in her silver-gray eyes.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in.”
Chief of Staff Victor pushed the door open and entered.
He removed his military cap and gave a standard military salute.
“Your Highness.”
“General, how are things?”
“Reporting to Your Highness.”
Victor’s voice carried a trace of excitement he could not fully conceal.
“The soldiers heard of your thunderous methods last night, and morale is soaring.”
“They are saying that this is exactly the style the Winterhold family ought to have.”
The Northern Territory revered strength.
Sylvia had used the most direct and ruthless method possible to prove her strength and determination to everyone.
To soldiers who spent their years fighting bloody battles against the orcs on the frontier, this kind of iron-blooded method was far more convincing than any splendid speech could ever be.
“Very good.”
Sylvia nodded.
“But morale alone is not enough.”
“Our enemies are not only the orcs to the north.”
Victor’s heart tightened.
He understood what Her Highness meant.
He recalled the ten sets of Magitech Armor that had stood like demon gods.
He recalled Hector’s aura shield being torn apart with ease.
“Your Highness, that kind of Magitech Armor…”
He hesitated before speaking.
“Can our Northern Legion be equipped with it?”
That question represented the hopes of the entire Northern Legion.
Sylvia did not answer directly.
Instead, she turned her gaze toward Logaris, who was seated on the sofa, leisurely flipping through a thick tome.
Without even raising his head, Logaris spoke.
“Chief of Staff Victor, the cost of one set of fourth-generation Magitech Armor is roughly three thousand Golden Lion Coins.”
“That does not include weapons or later maintenance.”
“If you want to equip the entire army with it, that is completely impossible.”
“Second-generation armor is already the limit.”
Victor ran through the figures in his mind.
At three thousand Golden Lion Coins per set, equipping the entire army would cost sixty million.
And that did not even include maintenance.
Victor’s mouth twitched.
The excitement on his face instantly faded, replaced by a deep sense of helplessness.
That was right.
No matter how powerful a weapon was, it still required money.
And the thing the Northern Territory lacked most was money.
At that moment, another knock sounded at the door.
It was Grayson, one of Sylvia’s trusted aides from the royal capital.
He looked to be around thirty-five or thirty-six years old.
He wore a simple civil official’s uniform, black-rimmed glasses, and an expression so serious and meticulous that it seemed he never relaxed for an instant.
Grayson was the son of the former tax officer of the Northern Territory.
Two years earlier, his father had “accidentally” died after falling from a horse because he had attempted to investigate the nobles’ tax evasion.
Sylvia had secretly protected Grayson and brought him into her own faction.
He knew the finances and trade routes of the Northern Territory like the back of his hand.
“Your Highness.”
Grayson walked in carrying a thick stack of reports.
“The preliminary statistics are ready.”
He did not look at anyone else.
He walked straight over and handed the reports to Sylvia.
“This is the complete inventory of all assets confiscated from those seven families.”
“It includes real estate, land deeds, mines, shops, as well as the cash, jewelry, and various works of art from their treasuries.”
Sylvia took the list and quickly began flipping through it.
The study was very quiet.
The only sound was the rustling of paper.
Suddenly, Sylvia’s movements stopped.
She looked up at Grayson.
“You confirmed this number?”
“I confirmed it three times, Your Highness.”
Grayson’s tone did not fluctuate in the slightest.
“This is only a preliminary estimate.”
“The actual value may be even higher.”
Logaris, who had remained silent until now, finally raised his head from his book.
He glanced at Sylvia.
“How much?”
Sylvia handed the list to him.
Logaris took it.
After only one glance, he arched a brow.
“Ten million Golden Lion Coins.”