FL - Chapter 101: Crimson Tide Castle

Mac slapped a hand against the stone bricks at the wall's corner, his voice brimming with unvarnished pride.

"Lord, to be honest, it's not much to look at if 'noble elegance' is what you're after. But it'll block the wind. It'll hold against the cold. It'll fend off bandits. It can take a fight, and it'll stand up to the snow."

He pointed toward the gate's edge. "I had them wrap the wall base three layers deep in stone brick. Solid as anything. The gate's been reinforced with thick cold-iron plating. Ram it a few times, it won't even dent."

He jerked his chin toward the roof. "That red tile's mainly for show. At least from a distance, no one's going to mistake the place for a livestock pen."

Louis recalled his own crude sketches and nearly laughed.

Mac forged on. "As for those wooden beams and carved patterns… heh, I set a few junior craftsmen on them for three days and nights. No deep meaning to 'em—just something to hold up appearances."

Despite the casual words, satisfaction colored Mac's voice.

"You've done excellent work. I like the exterior very much." Louis's praise was direct, no embellishment.

Mac scratched his head and broke into a grin.

"Come, Lord. Let me show you the real goods inside." So saying, Mac led Louis inward.

Warmth enveloped Louis the moment he entered, sealing away the biting wind. The pleasant air eased the tension from his body and made the northern winter feel impossibly distant.

And all of it came down to that specially designed hot-spring geothermal system.

Mac launched into an explanation. "Lord, this hot-spring geothermal system you designed is nothing short of miraculous."

He gestured at the geothermal pipes running along the walls, at the warm stone. "By channeling hot-spring water to heat the underground pipes, it keeps the entire castle warm and supplies hot water to every room. In the Northlands, this is nothing less than a divine artifact. It doesn't just hold back the killing cold. It makes living here actually comfortable."

Mac spoke with open admiration.

Louis had never expected the design to work this well. Seeing the castle warm as spring filled him with quiet pride.

Mac led Louis on a tour of the first floor, introducing each room as they went, his voice brimming with pride.

"First, the front hall." Mac walked ahead, gesturing with studied seriousness at the two banners mounted on the wall. One bore the crest of House Calvin—its lines elegant, ancient. The other was the crimson banner of Crimson Tide Territory—simple, forceful, almost radiating heat.

Louis nodded. No excess. No ostentation. Exactly to his liking.

They passed through a corridor and arrived at a supply storehouse stacked with wooden crates. "This is where we keep our winter lifeline." Mac patted a sack of grain. "Dried rations, stone bricks, timber—everything that can be eaten, everything that can be burned, all right here."

Wheat and pine scented the air.

Beside the storehouse stood the kitchen, where cooks worked around great pots. Soup bubbled on the stone stove, and half a wild boar's leg roasted over the fire.

"The chimney system—I personally supervised it for three days and three nights." Mac puffed out his chest. "Ventilation is first-rate. Cooking without choking on smoke."

Louis swept his gaze across the space. Clean. Orderly. A kitchen where cooks could work in peace—that was a good kitchen.

Finally, Mac brought him to a heavy stone door. "This is what I'm proudest of."

The door opened onto warm, humid air and gleaming stone tiles. Steam curled from several hot-spring pools while water murmured through connecting channels.

"This section was designed specifically for you." Mac's voice had taken on a note of excitement. "Among the nobles of the Northlands, you are the only one who can enjoy such a luxury."

Louis gazed at those pools of hot water, and a sudden longing stirred in him.

While others wrapped themselves in blankets against the freezing wind, Louis could soak in a hot spring with warm wine. By northern standards, it was unimaginable luxury.

Louis nearly laughed. Mac's expression made his thoughts plain: *Only this treatment is worthy of the Sun of Crimson Tide Territory.*

Louis took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to jump straight into the hot spring. *There'll be plenty of opportunities later,* he consoled himself, and moved on, following Mac up to the second floor.

A spiral staircase of thick logs and stone led upward. Its steps were wide enough for two fully armored knights to pass abreast, with polished oak handrails offering a firm grip.

"Sturdy. Hard-wearing. Safe. That's what a main staircase ought to be." Mac gave the railing a pat.

Of course, this was only the main stair, meant for the lord and honored guests. In other corners of the castle, Mac explained, there were vertical access ladders for emergency deployment—the kind soldiers could use to ascend and descend rapidly, and which could be sealed off instantly in the event of an attack.

The second floor itself was nothing remarkable. "Just quarters for soldiers and servants," Mac noted in passing.

Compact dormitories lined both sides of the corridor. Each contained a wooden bed, a blanket, and a simple wardrobe—plain but orderly accommodations that kept out wind and rain.

Louis pushed open a few doors at random, glanced inside. More or less the same. He didn't linger on the second floor, continuing up the main stair.

The main hall on the third floor was the formal reception space reserved for the lord. Visiting nobles. Treaty signings. Officials paying homage. All would take place here.

Thick oak beams supported the soaring ceiling, with iron hooks ready for chandeliers. The Crimson Tide banner dominated one wall, its golden sun blazing upon a crimson field to symbolize order and glory.

On the opposite wall hung several large oil paintings depicting the historic glories of House Calvin. The largest showed Louis's ancestor riding into battle alongside the founding emperor of the Ironblood Empire—armored, charging, heroic.

"These were specially commissioned by Bradley from the south," Mac explained. "Done by a renowned court painter."

Louis approved. Displaying House Calvin's glory would lend him useful authority in future negotiations.

Beyond the main hall, Mac pushed open a heavy wooden door.

"This will be your office from now on. Though, for the moment, it's still empty—you'll want to furnish it yourself."

The room was bare. Footsteps echoed clearly against the wood floor. A large desk stood alone by the window, its surface clean and smooth, bearing nothing but a blank sheet of parchment and a quill pen. On the other side, empty bookshelves waited to be filled, the scent of fresh-cut wood still hanging in the air.