Rise of the Northern Warlord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

The banquet hall was brilliantly lit and magnificently golden.

In the high vaulted ceiling, chandeliers lit by hundreds of magic crystal stones illuminated the entire hall brightly.

All around hung tapestries woven with gold thread, each embroidered with the Foss family crest.

Long tables covered with silk tablecloths had silverware and crystal cups arranged neatly.

Servants standing by walls carried plates in and out.

The air filled with meat aromas and wine vapors.

The dishes were absurdly luxurious.

Roasted snow mountain magic deer with fat sizzling under golden skin, entire snow rock bear ribs served like small mountains piled on silver platters...

Plus southern nobles’ beloved wine, rarely seen in the north, yet continuously poured into crystal cups here.

This display wouldn’t be easily seen even at southern noble castle banquets, let alone in the Northern Province.

The Foss family’s foundation as established Northern Province nobility was evident.

But this extravagance seemed particularly glaring in the cold, resource-scarce Northern Province.

Before the banquet even began, many local Northern Province nobles were already frowning.

Earl Foss sat in the place of honor like a round meatball.

Gold-threaded silk robes wrapped his corpulent body, collar slightly open, oil shining from forehead to chest.

Both hands casually rested on armrests, ten fingers covered with magic crystal rings, knuckles squeezed red.

He was chuckling like a drunk pig, laughter echoing through the hall.

"Lord Foss is divinely wise—the Northern Province will prosper because of you!"

"Without your lordship’s guidance, we small nobles would be completely lost!"

The speakers were pioneering nobles from the south.

They were all luxuriously dressed with perfectly groomed hair, their speech elaborately courteous like court banquets.

But they had no military merit and no foundation in the Northern Province.

Aside from flattery and fawning, they were practically useless.

They surrounded Earl Foss, taking turns praising him.

Some called him "graceful as a crown prince," others beating their chests praising his "bearing surpassing former kings."

Some even called him capable of "making the Northern Province great again."

Earl Foss laughed so hard his mouth wouldn’t close, even his wine-holding hand shaking.

He laughed while toasting back, but choked on a gulp, spraying out half.

But what pleased him most were Zachary Diaz’s compliments.

"Lord Foss’ orderly coordination of this Snow Eagle assembly exemplifies the Northern Province. Even if my father were here, he’d probably feel ashamed."

This sentence made Foss completely elated.

Zachary was a Diaz family member—one of the empire’s eight great families ranking with Edmund!

With such noble-born people praising him, how could he not be elated?

"Hahaha! You flatter me—this earl is just doing his duty!"

He waved his hand but was so happy his mouth went crooked.

In a corner of the banquet hall, dim and much colder, several nobles in Northern Province military robes sat quietly, watching the main table group’s back-and-forth flattery with expressions grim as pre-blizzard nights.

They were all Foss family retainers and among the earliest vassals.

They’d campaigned on ice plains, fought magical beasts, and suppressed barbarian tribes with the old lord.

Now they could only sit here watching their family head’s position occupied by a round waste, surrounded by southern sycophants who only knew flattery.

"...If the old lord were still here, he’d have kicked over such base scenes long ago," the eldest veteran muttered quietly, eyes showing coldness.

A bearded man beside him sneered: "Besides eating, drinking, and putting on southern airs, have you ever seen them draw swords?"

"Never," another answered bluntly. "Their armor shines like theater actors—not a single scar on their bodies. Even in battle, they’d probably wipe clean any drop of blood first."

Their whispers mixed wine vapors with cold air, completely out of place in the lively banquet hall.

"The Foss family name was earned with the old lord’s life."

"Not for him to use... running some southern song-and-dance hall."

They grew quieter as they spoke, eyes full of suppressed anger and disappointment.

They’d tried advising the new earl, teaching him to train troops and handle military affairs, even willing to do it themselves.

But the fatty wouldn’t listen.

Either hosting wine banquets or taking scented baths.

At most having servants perfunctorily reply "his lordship is busy" to brush them off.

They sat silently, all knowing that continuing like this boded ill for the Foss family, especially with recent Northern Province turbulence.

The low pressure from the corner seemed particularly glaring in the banquet hall.

But Earl Foss paid no attention.

He was surrounded by southern nobles, laughing until his eyes nearly disappeared, face flesh jiggling.

Even if someone reminded him those Northern Province old nobles were upset, he’d just dismissively wave his hand. freёnovelkiss.com

"Them?" His mouth twisted. "A bunch of old fogeys with heads full of decades-old fighting and killing."

In his view, these people weren’t just useless but hindered his work.

Dressed shabbily, speaking unpleasantly, sulking all day like someone owed them thousands of gold coins.

He’d publicly complained more than once: "My grandfather conquered Snow Country with the former emperor, finishing my lifetime’s work!

Northern Province lords are lords—nothing but eating and drinking all day!

What the hell are we doing? Earning for whom? Risking our lives? Stop being ridiculous!"

Halfway through the banquet, music grew louder.

Magic crystal lights flowed with colors as nobles toasted and laughed continuously.

Just as everyone was in high spirits, Zachary approached the main seat with his wine cup.

His expression casual, tone light: "By the way, has your lordship heard of... ’Vaerik Tudor’?"

Earl Foss’ brow twitched, mouth still hanging with food scraps, mumbling: "Who?"

"Oh?" Zachary acted surprised. "Seems he didn’t personally visit you or send invitations.

Nearly all Snow Peak Prefecture nobles are here now, yet he hasn’t shown a shadow. Does he think this assembly isn’t worthy of his attendance?"

Earl Foss’ smile slightly stiffened.

Zachary narrowed his eyes: "I heard despite his young age being sent north for ’training,’ he actually ignores military affairs and troop training—his forces entirely supported by family face."

He lowered his voice as if sharing secrets, yet deliberately letting surrounding nobles hear:

"Said to be an abandoned son exiled by his family, but after reaching the Northern Province, he stays in his castle daily drinking tea and writing poetry, even finds riding horses painful for his bottom."

Surrounding southern nobles showed mocking expressions—some quietly agreeing: "Noble young masters, inevitably aloof."

Others chuckled: "This Vaerik wouldn’t be planning to appear only after banquet ends, saving himself the trouble of courtesies?"

"Hmph, what kind of person dares ignore me, the Snow Peak Prefecture prefect?" Earl Foss snorted coldly, slamming his wine cup heavily on the table.