FL - Chapter 34: The White-Haired Secretary

Sif was nervous. Today was her first day as secretary to the Lord of Crimson Tide Territory.

She didn't have much goodwill toward Louis—in fact, she regarded him with a fair measure of wariness.

In her eyes, this lord was just another Imperial noble wearing a mild-mannered mask, no different at his core from any of the Ironblood Empire's other repulsive aristocrats.

She arrived at the lord's chambers right on time. The sight that greeted her was a figure seated cross-legged, deep in cultivation.

Louis was cycling his Breathing Art, refining his Battle Aura.

This was the second time she'd seen the young lord, but compared to the first—back in the infirmary—this time she looked more closely.

Sharp features, a lean frame, and a quiet composure settled between his brows.

He didn't resemble those silk-robed, corpulent nobles at all. He looked more like a scholar. Even in cultivation, he radiated the calm, unwavering focus of someone truly dedicated.

For a moment, she found it hard to reconcile that bearing with the image of a cunning Imperial noble she had formed in her mind.

But she quickly reined in her thoughts. *He's probably just putting on a show. If he were really this diligent, his strength shouldn't be so low.*

When his cultivation ended, Louis opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was her.

"You're early." Louis offered a relaxed smile.

Sif nodded, but said nothing.

Today she wore a plain leather jacket produced by the craftsmen's workshop. She looked crisp and capable.

Louis gave her an absent glance. If supplies in the Northlands were not so tight, he mused, it might be nice to get her a maid's outfit. He dismissed the idea at once; the weather was still freezing.

Besides, he'd never been the type to have people waiting on him, and Crimson Tide Territory didn't have any young serving girls specifically assigned to tend him. There was only an older woman who cleaned his room and did the laundry.

"I'm not scolding you. It's just that I have swordsmanship training shortly, so we won't officially start work for another hour," Louis explained.

Again, Sif only nodded. She said nothing else.

Then Louis left the room and began his daily swordsmanship drill with Lambert.

In the sparring, Lambert was steady with his blade, his attacks fierce—each strike precise and weighty.

Louis focused more on technique, relying on nimble footwork to evade and searching for openings to counter.

"Your footwork needs to be more stable," Lambert said in a low voice before bringing his sword down in a straight cleave.

Louis twisted aside, narrowly slipping past—but Lambert transitioned with frightening speed, sweeping his blade horizontally.

Louis had no choice but to raise his sword and block. The impact drove him back several steps, his arm buzzing with numbness.

Sif watched from the side, quietly evaluating. Lambert's strength exceeded hers by a good margin.

Louis's swordsmanship, meanwhile, was decent—but only decent.

*All show, just as I thought.*

But then she noticed something else: no matter how Lambert attacked, Louis never slacked off. He met every exchange with full focus.

"Again?" Lambert asked.

"Of course." Louis wiped the sweat from his brow and reset his stance.

Sif frowned slightly. He wasn't just going through the motions—he really was pushing himself to improve.

Swordsmanship lessons were part of Louis's daily routine. Ever since arriving at Crimson Tide Territory, he had asked Lambert to teach him for an hour every day.

And so the session passed, an hour spent in constant clash and adjustment.

Louis sheathed his sword, let out a long breath, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. A bright, open grin crossed his face.

Sif glanced sidelong at him. *He really is kind of handsome.*

"Come on. Time to start the day's lordly business." Louis turned to her, his tone easy. "Don't be so tense. A secretary's work is actually pretty simple."

He rattled off a few key points, then summed it all up: "Your main task today is to accompany me on my rounds and record everything I do."

Sif nodded, replying coolly, "Understood."

And the first item on Louis's agenda as lord was to inspect the troops on the training ground.

……

One hundred and twenty soldiers had formed ranks and were now thundering around the field in full formation.

Their steps were perfectly uniform. Breathless as they were, not a single man complained of exhaustion.

"Last five laps! Pick up the pace!"

"Move! Faster! Faster! Did you not eat enough?!"

"Push! Keep running! You've got way more than this in you!"

The knight instructors ran alongside them, shouting cadence after cadence.

This training regimen was nothing like what other noble territories in the Ironblood Empire practiced.

Other nobles did little more than drill physical endurance and individual cold-weapon techniques.

That approach relied on traditional one-on-one instruction, but the training was often scattered and haphazard, leaving soldiers with shaky fundamentals.

The result was that common soldiers on the battlefield could do little more than serve as cannon fodder for the Bloodline Knights.

But Louis understood the reality of this world. This was a low-magic realm—even the mightiest Legendary Knight couldn't cleave through twenty-six hundred armored soldiers with a single stroke.

Even the most ordinary Apprentice Knight, facing well-trained soldiers, could at best take on ten men at once.

And training an Apprentice Knight was a hundred times harder than training a single common soldier.

So Louis had drawn on knowledge from his former life and designed a more systematic training framework.

Pure standardized training, with far greater emphasis on teamwork and rapid response—and a heavy dose of battlefield adaptability.

These soldiers had no Battle Aura, but he was convinced that, with this training, they could become a genuinely effective fighting force.

"Attention!"

The soldiers halted sharply, turning as one to face forward.

Louis approached at a measured pace. An unspoken authority clung to his every movement, making every soldier stand a little straighter.

"Good morning, Lord!" they roared in unison. The sound was deafening.

Louis inclined his head slightly. "Good work."

"We are not worthy of those words, my lord!" Their reply was crisp as hammered steel.

Every day, these soldiers underwent a suite of exercises—physical conditioning, formation drills, simulated combat, and more.

The workload had intensified, but none of them complained.

Because they ate their fill. They wore warm clothes. And Lord Louis had given them something none had ever received before: genuine respect.

Every last man remembered the kindness of their lord.

Louis swept his gaze across the formation, then stopped on a few soldiers whose movements had been sloppy. "On a real battlefield, sluggishness like that gets you and your comrades killed."

Those soldiers broke out in cold sweat and hurriedly ducked their heads in acknowledgment.

"Five more laps."

"Yes, my lord!"

They turned without a heartbeat's hesitation and resumed running, their strides sharper than before.

Sif stood to the side, watching the soldiers run in perfect unison. A complicated feeling stirred in her chest.

She didn't fully grasp the purpose behind this kind of training.

But she could feel, with perfect clarity, that the soldiers' respect for Louis was genuine.

Louis didn't shout orders. He made no theatrical gestures. Yet every word he spoke earned instant, unquestioning obedience.

*This young lord… really might be different from the others.*