Louis closed the intelligence panel, got out of bed, and washed up, ready to attend the war council.
He changed into noble formalwear embroidered in dark gold, slung his sword belt diagonally across his body, and polished his boots to a shine.
He needed to dress appropriately for an occasion like this. At the very least, he had to look like a young hero.
He pushed open the tent flap and headed straight for the heart of the camp.
Along the way, many knights and young officers spotted him. Their gazes held either awe or curiosity, and they lowered their heads in greeting.
After all, word of his achievement in killing an elite Snow Oath warrior had spread throughout the Fifth Legion at last night's banquet.
A short while later, Louis arrived at the central command tent.
The guards outside stood at attention. Two rows of military banners bearing the crests of Snowpeak Commandery's noble families flanked the entrance, and faces both familiar and unfamiliar filed inside.
The tent was spacious, with a circular sand table covered in tactical maps and models at its center. The surrounding rings of high-backed wooden chairs were almost full.
Thanks to his splendid performance yesterday, Louis had managed to secure a seat in the innermost ring.
At the head of the gathering, Count Firth lay slumped in his chair, his face flushed and his eyelids drooping as he dozed.
Apparently, he had enjoyed last night's drinking a little too much.
Presiding over the meeting in his place was an elderly man with a full head of silver hair, yet still hale and sharp.
He wore an old-fashioned noble's military uniform, black with blue patterns. He was powerfully built and stood with both hands clasped behind his back.
He was Viscount Webster.
The Firth Family's