Chapter 82: Chapter 82: Marriage Alliance
"Us again?" Count Grant frowned, "We can’t even finish our own battles."
"This time it’s different," Duke Edmund’s gaze swept over the crowd meaningfully, "After success, the land in the South can be divided."
As soon as these words were spoken, the parlor fell into a brief silence.
Soon followed by a flurry of discussions.
"That’s a fine place indeed!"
"Far better than this freezing backwater we have here."
"The Emperor finally remembers to compensate us?"
"Ha, compensate? This is clearly to make us the knife to pare down those old Southern folks."
"But this knife, I am willing to be!"
"Those Southern weaklings, who can they even beat? When the time comes, we’ll have to bear the burden."
"Fight if we must, as long as we can get some land, I’ll even go to the frontline."
Laughter, whispers, and toasts gradually intertwined.
Excitement fermented in the air, even a few nobles who originally held indifferent expressions lit up.
The land in the Northern Territory is too harsh.
A whole year spent just preparing firewood and grain for winter is enough to suffocate a Baron’s Domain.
Every snow disaster, every livestock epidemic, every war, and all of that is reality they must face.
But the Emperor has spoken; as long as they send troops, as long as they win.
They can step out of this snowy permafrost into the sun-drenched, orchard-rich Southern Country.
What does that mean?
Lower security costs, higher taxes, more prosperous trade routes, more valuable population...
A feudal land that can truly be passed down for three generations, providing a new lifeline for the family.
These Northern Lords are long accustomed to fighting in the wind and snow, relying on war to snatch a living.
Now, this tempting opportunity, how could it not make their mouths water?
As evening fell, the banquet ended in a lively atmosphere.
The nobles left in groups, laughter and the scent of wine still lingered in the hall.
Louis, however, was held back by Duke Edmund.
Only a few lamps remained in the hall, the light warm, the Duke’s expression affable.
"Too many died in the battle of Snow Eagle City," Duke Edmund said, a trace of heaviness in his tone, "Especially the nobles of Snow Peak County suffered heavy losses."
Louis didn’t speak, just listened.
"The Forrester Clan is finished, their territory mostly reclaimed, with some distributed to distant relatives. Now Snow Peak County is leaderless."
The Duke changed his tone, revealing a meaningful smile: "I want you to be the Prefect of Snow Peak County."
Louis was taken aback, his eyes subtly changed.
Being a Prefect is not just a title.
It means he can oversee all military arrangements in the entire Snow Peak County, having the authority to mobilize the noble Knights.
He could also, during times of war, directly enlist the people, build defense lines, and gather supplies.
It means he can represent the Empire in collecting taxes from the affiliated villages and lands within the county, and of course, he can take a cut for himself.
It also means he can preside over the county council, mediate noble disputes, serving as the arbitrator of the area;
Three parts warlord, three parts administrative official, three parts like a gang leader, and the rest like a worried community head.
The rights and benefits he could gain from this are considerable.
Louis was quite tempted.
But he also knew it wasn’t purely a reward; he would have to bear the corresponding obligations.
"You know what this means," the Duke said, "that place isn’t empty land now, it’s a mess."
"I... am willing to take on this responsibility," Louis answered softly.
Edmund nodded and added, "Snow Peak County suffered heavy losses after the war. Many civilians died, and refugees scattered.
If you have the ability, you could help them. Of course, all of this mess is left by the foolish Forrester Family.
I won’t blame you if you can’t do it, but I hope you can."
Louis was silent for a moment, then nodded: "I intended to do so anyway."
Duke Edmund patted Louis, indicating approval, though his gaze was a bit overly affectionate.
Louis could also sense that gaze was somewhat strange, but couldn’t pinpoint what was off, just politely nodded thanks.
Unbeknownst to him, that afternoon Edmund had already written a letter, quietly sent to Duke Calvin’s Mansion.
The letter’s subject had only two words: Political Marriage.
This was no sudden whim.
In fact, the idea of a political marriage had occurred to Edmund months ago.
Though this generation of direct heirs hadn’t yet married Southern nobles, he had always encouraged family heirs to marry into Southern power.
After all, the Northern Territory is cold and resource-tight; to seek future prospects, expansion south is necessary.
He himself had long intended to lay the ground for potential future Southern fiefs.
A political marriage is the most secure way to gain political support.
But such a marriage must be carefully chosen.
It requires a match in status, and one whose character and capability are commendable.
Now, the only eligible daughter was Emily.
His most beloved youngest daughter, she was intelligent, gentle, and not troublesome.
Though he had considered marrying her to an heir of a Southern duke, the thought of sending her far away alone made him hesitant.
Until after the Battle of Qingyu Ridge, a young noble named "Louis Calvin" emerged.
At a young age, he could lead raids, set ambushes, annihilate enemies, accelerating the Northern war situation in one stroke.
And he was directly descended from the Calvin Clan.
The Calvin Clan, also one of the Eight Great Clans of the Empire, spanned the Southeast Province.
Controlling several key imperial ports and large salt fields, it was one of the oldest families in the Noble Council.
Rank, wartime achievements, competence, prospects...
Louis had it all.
Moreover, he was not rash, acted with discretion, could be humble yet decisive.
Including his handling at the banquet, his conversational poise, the composed confidence he exuded among the crowd.
In addition, secret letters from Bond and Gibson mentioned him as highly strategic, destined to become a great figure.
The most important point is that Louis’s territory was only a few days’ journey from Frost Halberd City, so even if his daughter suffered grievances, she could return at any time.
And the Calvin Clan, for the sake of benefits, would likely consent to this marriage.
Thus, the letter of political marriage flew to the Southeast Province.
...
Duke Calvin, as usual, awoke at six in the morning.
Then proceeded with the routine morning exercise he had adhered to for twenty years, incidentally contributing to the family.
After washing and dressing, everything in place, he walked leisurely into the study.
The butler silently delivered a new batch of mountain-high letters.
Duke Calvin flipped through them, suddenly stopping his hand.
"Hmm?"
He picked out a letter sealed with dark blue wax, its handwriting bold.
"Edmund? Which one?"
He squinted at the signature, confirming it wasn’t written by some minor noble with a mistaken name.
Finally confirming it was from Duke Edmund, Governor of the North.
"That duke from the Northern Territory? Why would he suddenly write to me?"
Though they were both heads of the Eight Great Clans of the Empire, normally they had little interaction.
Filled with questions, he opened the letter.
"A, a political marriage??"
Duke Calvin nearly sprayed tea onto the letter.