Dawn had barely begun to pale the sky when Viscount Brooke opened his eyes.
He sat up and put on a well-tailored black robe patterned in silver, its shoulders still adorned with the traditional wolf-fang leather ornaments of the Northern Frontier, dignified without sacrificing elegance.
Before the bronze mirror, he gently smoothed his cuffs, adjusted his cravat, and draped a cloak bearing his family crest over his shoulders.
"Hmm, a true noble of the Northern Frontier," he murmured, a satisfied smile appearing in his eyes.
Once dressed, he climbed into his carriage with an unhurried stride.
The carriage was lined with furs. Outside stood his three remaining personal guards, somewhat low in level but still spirited.
He lifted the curtain and looked out. In the morning light, the streets of the Red Tide Fief had already awakened.
The streets of Red Tide were as busy as ever.
Under the dawn light, neat rows of new-style wooden houses and semi-subterranean dwellings lined the streets, their geothermal chimneys sending up plumes of steam.
All the roads had been leveled, and many refugees were lining up in orderly queues to receive hot porridge and clean water.
Children chased one another along the clay roadsides, while Peacekeeping Knights bearing the Red Tide emblem patrolled.
Farther away, several craftsmen were hoisting some kind of boiler into place, and a Fireback Turtle dozed beside a heating relay station.
"He's done remarkably well." Viscount Brooke watched it all with a hint of admiration. "Better than many seasoned nobles."
He stroked the wooden window frame and narrowed his eyes. "He can wage war and care for his people... If only my son had a tenth of his ability."
But then Brooke's smile gradually faded. "A pity he doesn't understand the rules between nobles. We aren't commoners, or these