Chapter 869: North Harbor

A biting cold wind swept in from the sea, whipping the imperial banners high above the shore. Beneath the blue field emblazoned with golden swords and plowshares, soldiers and technicians welded the third fixed piling of the day to the steel framework. Nearby, unsealed magical network runes shimmered faintly on the ground, their glow pulsing softly. Sparks flew as beams of thermal energy swept across the steel, scattering onto the recently hardened ground. Inside the towering metal frame, over ten meters high, copper pipes and heat-dissipating fins had been secured in place, awaiting connection to the rest of the heat pipes.

This massive apparatus was part of the “Waste Heat Recovery Center.” Through circulating alchemical fluids within the pipes, it would collect waste heat discharged from several adjacent facilities—a refining reaction tower, a rune casting factory, and a slime monster waste incineration plant—and redistribute it via highly efficient heat exchangers to the camp’s heating system, warming parts of the western coastal area.

In the harsh northern climate, such technology was indispensable for long-term survival. It was far cleaner and more efficient than chopping down the slow-growing boreal trees at the mountain’s base for firewood. Moreover, it minimized disruption to local residents’ lives. Someday in the distant future, these facilities might even provide heating for nearby settlements—though that was still a long way off.

Further inland, on the flat open ground near North Harbor’s coast, a patchwork of simple huts, military tents, watchtowers, and some newly built brick houses were scattered about. Mountains of supplies piled high in the material stockyards, and large construction machinery recently arrived at the site was busy at work. A temporary pier stretched out toward the sea, adjacent to a vast area designated for a future dry dock.

This temporary pier wasn’t anchored by fixed piles driven into the seabed, nor was it a pontoon bridge. Instead, it relied on several enormous ice piles—towering like bell towers—frozen solid from the seabed all the way to the surface, with numerous branching ice columns deeply embedded below, making the entire structure remarkably sturdy.

Byron stood atop a large boulder near the pier, grinning as the sea breeze whipped around him. He couldn’t help but turn to Victoria, the Grant Chancellor, and say, “Your ice magic is truly astonishing. I’d heard the Wilde family had mastered frost magic to an extreme degree, but I never imagined it could be this powerful… When you raised those twelve massive ice pillars from the ocean, it was almost like watching a work of art.”

“You flatter me,” Victoria replied calmly, shaking her head. Despite the biting wind, the “Queen of the North” wore a long gown, with swirling flakes of ice and snow forming a protective barrier around her. “It’s just a crude use of magical power. And I never thought I’d use these skills to… build something. It’s a novel experience, and I’m glad I didn’t mess it up on my first try.”

“Magic is a convenient tool,” Byron said with a smile. “Using it to improve life or advance technology is far more worthwhile than wasting mages’ energy on the battlefield—that’s not just me talking, it’s His Majesty’s view. Though I don’t understand much about magic, I’ve always respected what the Emperor says. At least since Princess Rebecca started focusing her efforts in the lab, the random explosions and fires elsewhere have dropped significantly…”

Victoria considered this for a moment, then said seriously, “In my opinion, Princess Rebecca’s magical talent is far greater than most realize. The way she shapes fireballs into life-sized sculptures of His Majesty—that’s true ‘magical artistry.’ But I can’t fathom the principles behind it… If I had the chance, I’d love to study the mysteries of shaping magic with her.”

The icy duchess often became serious over unexpected topics, and Byron was used to it by now. Not wanting to dwell on this peculiar—and possibly royal-defaming—subject, he casually changed the topic. “As ruler of the North, are you sure it’s alright for you to spend so much time here at North Harbor?”

“The governance of the North lies with the Northern Provincial Council. The Grant Chancellor’s authority is only a part of that,” Victoria replied coolly. “As for North Harbor… it’s currently the most important project in the entire northern region. The eyes of the capital are constantly watching, and I come here often to show that the Wilde family stands firmly behind it.”

Byron shook his head. “I hope the northern families will one day understand your good intentions—you’re doing everything you can to keep them off the ‘list.’”

Victoria said nothing, standing quietly as her cold gaze slowly swept across the coastline and the distant rolling mountains beyond.

Byron’s “Northern Construction Corps” had been stationed along this frigid coast for a month. Over sixty days, construction equipment worked around the clock, supplies flowed steadily from the rear, and under the combined push of magic and modern industry, a sizable harbor was rapidly taking shape. It was undeniably exciting.

But such a grand-scale operation and the large construction force naturally drew many eyes.

This was the North—cold and stubborn, untouched by every civil war, every political upheaval, and the arcane industry. Deep in these frozen mountains, ancient families and their fierce, unyielding spirit remained unchanged from centuries past.

They instinctively rejected any “interference” on the lands their ancestors had lived on for generations. Even if those newcomers came to help build, even if the traditional rulers had openly declared their stance and issued warnings, many still harbored quiet resistance to the North Harbor project.

The people here had yet to embrace the idea of the empire as a unified whole. Talking to them about national planning was pointless.

Though Victoria had made her position clear to Byron—expressing support for North Harbor’s construction and willingness to “deal with” uncooperative local families—ultimately, she did not want to see too many people end up hanging from the flagpoles outside the harbor. Too many flagpoles in one port would not be “aesthetically pleasing” for the North.

So, as the “Duchess of the North,” she chose to make frequent appearances during the early stages of the project. At least the Wilde family’s prestige still carried weight here.

Byron’s gaze drifted toward the distant sea. On this clear, cloudless day, a supernaturally gifted individual could see far beyond the gently rolling waves and sparkling foam. The “Sea Peninsula” of the Holy Dragon Principality and parts of the Violet Kingdom’s border were faintly visible. Beyond that, only a vast expanse of white stretched out.

That was a distance even a supernaturally gifted eye could barely reach—requiring powerful magical artifacts or additional spells to see that far.

“The direction of the storm circle…” Victoria noticed where Byron was looking and nodded slightly. “On rare clear days, when the storm expands, it can be seen with the naked eye. But not right now—the northern offshore storm circle shrinks in summer, and the outer cloud wall moves farther from land, making it invisible under normal conditions. However, Winterhold has a large Mage’s Eye device that can see across the Sea Peninsula in any season. I sometimes use it to observe the storm.”

Byron looked at Victoria curiously. “Have you learned anything?”

“Nothing beyond confirming it won’t dissipate and understanding its cycle,” Victoria shook her head. “That ocean is far from calm—beyond human reach. Even legendary heroes have perished outside the storm circle. No one knows how the storm formed, let alone its internal structure.”

“His Majesty seems to think it’s part of the dragon realm ‘Tarlond’s’ defense system. Beyond the storm lies dragon territory,” Byron said casually. “If you ask me, he should just talk to that dragon lady who visits often—something like ‘Merry’—maybe she could tell us more.”

Victoria’s expression remained impassive. “There are many dragon legends in the North, mostly from the Holy Dragon Principality. From our perspective, dragons are not easy to deal with.”

Byron chuckled noncommittally, then gazed out to sea thoughtfully. “Not easy to deal with, huh… But at this rate, once we send ships beyond these shores, sooner or later we’ll have to deal with all kinds of races…”

Victoria glanced at Byron, opening her mouth as if to say something, but before she could speak, a faint commotion rose from the southern part of the camp, interrupting her.

Following the sound, she saw a sizable crowd had gathered near the southern checkpoint. Outside the quarantine line, civilians dressed in plain clothes were clustered together, while soldiers at the checkpoint moved to maintain order. The noisy chatter was thick with the northern dialect.

Victoria’s brow furrowed sharply. She sensed what was happening. Ice and snow coalesced around her like sharp blades swirling in the air, and her voice turned as cold as winter itself. “Even here, there are still those who…”

Before she could finish, Byron raised a hand to stop her. The imperial general, a veteran mercenary, glanced toward the crowd and immediately understood the situation. A strange smile crossed his face. “Don’t get worked up, Grant Chancellor. They’re just civilians—and some familiar faces at that. You’ve missed a few things recently, but I know what’s going on. It’s not as bad as you think. Just a minor issue.”

With that, Byron jumped down and strode toward the checkpoint, motioning for Victoria to follow. “Don’t show yourself. They might get too nervous. Just watch me handle it.”

Victoria nodded, still puzzled, and activated a light-bending field to conceal her presence. Together, they approached the southern checkpoint, where nearly a hundred civilians stood in a clear line opposite the soldiers.

“The general’s here…” “The general’s here…”

Whispers spread through the crowd as soldiers opened a path. The civilians stepped back in unison.

Hidden behind her light-bending field, Victoria’s eyes immediately focused on the civilians. They wore coarse, worn clothes—clean and warm enough—and from their expressions and faces, they were local mountain folk who worked the land year-round. What caught her attention most was that among them were not only sturdy men but also women and children—whole families had come.

While Victoria was quietly wondering which family might have stirred up these gathered villagers, Byron had already strode up to the crowd.

The people, dressed in coarse linen clothes, looked at the fully armed, tall, and imposing imperial general with a mix of awe—but none of them stepped back.

Byron glanced at them and casually asked, “What’s the meaning of this gathering?”

His tone was calm and natural, as if this was nothing new.

A few men stepped forward from the crowd. They instinctively glanced back before mustering the courage to approach Byron. “General, we have something to say…”

Byron raised an eyebrow. “Same as before?”

“Yes,” the men nodded in unison, then took a deep breath and shouted hoarsely, “Southerners, stay off our land! You’re digging up our mines and water sources!”

The villagers behind them joined in, their scattered shouts lasting a few seconds before falling silent.

The lead man looked at Byron with a flicker of hope. Byron, however, sneered and waved his hand dismissively. “Everyone heard that, right? Arrest these people. The men go to the western district to dig drainage ditches. The women handle potatoes and jerky. The kids help out in the kitchen. And everyone’s got to attend a literacy class for an hour every day… Wait, who brought that little one who looks not even five years old!?”

A tall, thin man pushed through the crowd, offering an awkward smile. “That’s my son… He’s sharp, really! And he’s almost seven, just looks skinny…”

“I’m not blind. If he’s even five and a half, I’ll call him my son!” Byron shot the tall man a glare, then waved him off with a grumble. “Get inside. Watch the kid. And no bringing him here again tomorrow.”

The villagers at the checkpoint suddenly brightened and stepped forward cheerfully, cooperating fully with the soldiers’ inspections and searches. Led by several soldiers, they headed into the camp. The lead man paused beside Byron and smiled ingratiatingly. “General, can we keep the daily wages?”

“What else?” Byron shot back. “Imperial soldiers never cheat the people. Daily wages mean daily wages!”

“Good, good…” The man nodded eagerly and hurried to catch up with the group, disappearing into the camp.

Victoria stood nearby, stunned speechless.

(End of chapter)