On the snow-packed plains, a procession of over forty knights advanced toward Frost Halberd City. At its center, a black carriage bore a crimson-moon crest atop its roof. The grand display drew the wary gaze of the city's gate guards.
As the group approached, a slender young man alighted from the carriage. He removed his hood, revealing a handsome face and addressed the guards: "I am Louis Calvin, Baron, enfeoffed by the Empire. I have come to pay respects to Duke Edmund."
The guards exchanged surprised glances. The Calvin Family, one of the Empire's Eight Great Families, was well known even in the Northern Border Province. Though they didn't know Louis's exact standing within the clan, they understood he was no ordinary knight.
One soldier hurried to alert the city. Moments later, a middle-aged official emerged and greeted Louis with a respectful bow. "Lord Louis, the Duke has been informed. Please—follow me into the city."
Led by the official, Louis and his entourage entered through the heavy gate into Frost Halberd City.
Inside, the streets were wide but pocked with potholes, mixing melting snow and mud that left slushy footprints. The stone and wood houses, rough and weather-worn, bore signs of neglect—even occasional ruin blown by wind and snow. Foot traffic was sparse, mainly soldiers in fur coats—faces haggard, eyes numb from years of combat—and commoners wrapped in coarse cloth, heads down, hurrying along with silent resignation.
Louis took this scene in with a steady heart. Resource scarcity and frequent conflict defined the Northern Border Province; maintaining this shaky order was already an achievement.
The official guided them to the Governor's office. Its décor was austere: a heavy desk, aging bookshelves, and a dark-blue military banner on the wall. Behind the desk sat Duke Edmund—a middle-aged man whose face was marked by a gruesome saber scar from the corner of his left eye to his jaw. His presence radiated unyielding strength, oppressive as a fortress.
Duke Edmund's gaze flicked disdainfully at Louis. "A mid-level Official Knight… a Calvin brat?"
Louis nodded politely. "Yes."
Edmund smirked. "You're handsome enough, though. More noble-looking than your illustrious elder brother."
Louis remained calm. In a world where strength determined respect, a renowned Peak Knight's scorn was expected—and wise to be ignored.
Unfazed, Louis produced a pioneering certificate stamped with the imperial seal. "I'm here to register my pioneering territory."
Edmund glanced at the document, confirmed Louis's status, and laid down a large map of the Northern Border Province. "All areas not marked in red are available."
Louis looked upon the detailed map. The province stretched vast—around half the size of Louis's past Russia. Only a dozen or so red‑circled zones were off limits. Plenty of territory remained free.
The Empire's Northern Wasteland Reclamation Order mandated that pioneering lords register here, in person; early arrivals had first pick. Louis was among the earliest—many noble heirs were delaying, unwilling to enter this frigid region.
This worked in Louis's favor. He had reviewed intelligence from the daily intelligence system for days, cross‑referencing and mentally weighing several top contenders. Finalizing his pick felt easy.
He extended a hand to the map, circled a location, and met Edmund's gaze. "This one."
Edmund squinted. Louis had marked a spot in the southeast—where the Qingyan Rift Valley met the Gray Moss Frozen Plains, about seventy‑five kilometers from Frost Howl Fjord. A surprising choice.
This area near the provincial border was among the warmer spots in the north, barely capable of supporting cold‑resistant crops outside of deep winter. That alone made it more desirable than most regions here. A small stream ran nearby—a vital water source offering fishing for sustenance. And crucially, Cold Iron ore veins lay underfoot—difficult to extract, but highly valuable if mined.
In the frozen, resource‑poor expanse of the Northern Border Province, this pocket was a gem: one of the few viable places for farming, fishing, and mineral wealth.
Edmund studied the young lord anew. He'd initially dismissed Louis as an inexperienced noble, but the choice revealed strategic insight. Louis was not a fool.
"A good selection," Edmund said at last, a new tone in his voice.
Louis inclined his head. "Thank you, Your Grace. I simply did my best to make a sensible choice."
Edmund seemed impressed. He patted Louis's shoulder. "If all pioneering lords had foresight like yours, this province might yet be saved."
He then stamped the registration certificate with the Frost Halberd emblem, cementing Louis's sovereignty over the territory.
Louis accepted the document, feeling the weight of the steel seal beneath his fingertips. On the surface, he retained a calm expression. Inside, he celebrated. The daily intelligence system had guided him to a truly invaluable territory—one the Duke himself might've coveted if he understood its potential.
Thoughts & Notes on the Revision
Streamlined descriptions: Simplified some of the overly detailed environmental notes while preserving atmosphere.
Clarified motivations: Enhanced Louis's deliberate planning via the intelligence system to underscore his strategic mindset.
Polished dialogue: Adjusted phrasing for readability and believability, maintaining character voices.
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