Just as the Red Tide Assistance Fund was advancing with full force, the Snow Peak Council had also quietly settled.

"Elected by representatives from all sides within the county, to ensure the interests of the people and the aristocracy's autonomy."

The official announcement sounded grandiose, as if it was a great leap forward in the political civilization of the Northern Territory.

Yet the long table inside the council hall had long been laid out as a chessboard by Louis.

As for the so-called representatives, of course, not just anyone could come.

The majority of the seats were filled by individuals nominated as "prestigious and capable."

Translated, it roughly meant: Louis's confidants could join, the obedient could stay, and those who disobeyed? Sorry, the door is over there.

Yorn and Willis sat near the head of the table, smiling with ease.

Though Edward, Roland, and others were not close to Louis, they were considered "reliable and controllable," thus included.

As for those old-fashioned nobles who still adhered to "noble dignity"?

After several private banquets and deals, one or two were reluctantly placed in for "decoration."

The council supposedly had "advisory power," but in reality, was a voting mechanism with a hidden veto power.

True control was not about rejecting a proposal, but about deciding which proposals could survive and leave the room.

On the first day of the council, the atmosphere was gentle yet enthusiastic.

A grassroots representative proposed reallocating part of the road repair budget to epidemic prevention in the border villages.

Louis listened and nodded with a smile: "A good idea, we can try adjusting a small portion."

Yorn led the applause, with others following suit.

The council's inaugural session needed an atmosphere, a little sweetener.

The next proposal was put forth by a certain decorative noble, suggesting the council have advisory power over troop movements in each domain.

The scene suddenly fell silent for a moment.

Louis, without changing his expression, subtly raised his hand to take the glass, while the secretary team had already quietly passed notes behind him.

Yorn yawned: "The timing isn't quite right."

Willis bluntly added: "Matters of the army shouldn't be meddled with."

Edward's mouth twitched slightly as he nonchalantly shook his head.

Seconds later, the proposal was declared suspended due to "majority opposition."

Louis placed down the glass, revealing a polite smile: "Since there are differing opinions, let's respect the majority and move on to the next topic."

His words were unhurried, and his tone was gentle.

But the noble who had proposed the motion had already bowed his head, beads of sweat forming at his temple, seemingly understanding how much of a "taboo" his words had been.

And beside him, the "non-confidant clique" fell silent, like a forest frozen on a snowy night.

The Snow Peak Council continued running, like a clock with perfectly meshed gears, a flawless white dial, and precise, clear hands.

Only Louis could freely adjust its time.

This week-long governor's meeting finally concluded on the night of the seventh day.

Nobles from various regions left Snow Peak City with different feelings, returning to their own fiefs.

Some left silently, some with furrowed brows, while others with smiles, as if they had left a casino with a substantial haul.

Upon departure, no one dared to call him "boy," "lucky one," or "that young man legitimized after the war" behind his back anymore.

They knew the one sitting in the governor's mansion's main seat was now a true "Lord of Snow Peak."

Controlling Snow Peak, consolidating resources, issuing commands precisely.

And as they were thinking the meetings were over and everything would return to calm.

What they didn't expect was that the true "follow-up of the meeting" had just begun.

Just as these nobles set foot back into their domains.

Ready for a long-awaited glass of red wine, to hum a little tune in front of a warm fireplace, they saw those figures.

Draped in black cloaks, with the Snow Peak Governor's badge on their chests, the inspectors with steady, shadow-like strides, seemingly emerging from the snowy night, silently dismounted from their carriages and passed through the castle gates.

They had no prior notification, holding warrants sealed with the "Snow Peak Governor's" wax emblem.

With a standard professional fake smile: "Don't be nervous, we're just conducting a routine inspection. It won't delay your dinner."

The faces of the nobles turned pale, then black.

"Inspectorate? He actually made it happen?"

"Wasn't it just talk?"

"And directly sending people to the fief... how is this different from a raid?"

Unable to contain their fury, they slammed tables and stamped their feet, but ultimately could only grit their teeth and huff: "It's just a formality."

Despite their words, the nobles still obediently handed over their fief records.

Of course, concealing some fake reports in the accounts or stashing goods in warehouses, that was "traditional skill."

The inspectorate knew, but they remained unemotional, merely recording, summarizing, and sending back to the governor's office.

And Louis did not act immediately, no summoning to account, no table-flipping settlement.

He merely offered a faint smile, kept each record, tagged it with a date, and placed it into a box labeled "Observation Period."

As long as these blemishes weren't fundamental issues, he'd wait until the time was right to use them.

The Snow Peak County nobles thought they were still on the game board, until the meeting ended, did they realize they were merely pieces on the board.

Using three tactics, Louis laid down his trump card to control Snow Peak.

The first tactic, the revitalization fund.

It's a gilded carrot, those who toe the line and cooperate would receive priority in food, medicine, ironware, and craftsman aid.

Otherwise, forget about support; you won't even touch the granary door.

The second tactic, the Snow Peak Council.

On the surface, it's for gathering wisdom, but in reality, it's a lawful stage for setting rules and regulations.

The council seats, ostensibly recommended by local lords, had been sifted by Louis's "loyalty sieve."

Most proposals passed as soon as they're presented; for those not passed... after a few routine inspectorate checks, they'd become "clear-eyed."

The third tactic, the Inspectorate.

Cold and ruthless, independent of the nobility system, wielding the "Governor's special directive."

On the surface, it's routine inspection; in reality, it's the second nervous system of Snow Peak County.

At the slightest sign of trouble, it sends signals like a neural reflex to the nerve center—Red Tide Territory.

Thus, the Snow Peak Council and the Inspectorate became Louis's "right and left hands."

The council managed direction, policies, and institutional design, serving as the rational brain.

The Inspectorate managed order, execution, and deterrence, serving as the cold blade.

Underneath spawned an entire system of resource allocation and public opinion guidance.

Whoever shouted slogans louder or cooperated better in governance would receive priority access to food, tools, firewood, and technical support.

By now, Louis was no longer the "post-war parachuted young man with family background" in others' mouths.

He was the true governor.

Military and political power, finance, media, and oversight all centralized in him, unifying title and authority as governor.

He wasn't just "a person" sitting on the governor's throne but the hub of an entirely new regime's power system.

A young, decisive, calm, and ambitious ruler of Snow Peak County had been born.

Of course, not all nobles were willing to bow their heads.

Some disgruntled old folks secretly detoured, quietly writing letters, sending gifts, and even proposing marriage alliances to the age-old nobility of the Northern Territory outside the county border.

They did not believe a young man could truly hold Snow Peak alone.

"As long as external aid intervenes, wouldn't Louis's 'new order' crumble?"

For a time, several old Northern Territory nobles outside the county grew restless, preparing to chide this unruly young governor under the guise of "peace and stability."

Until two pieces of news were released, instantly calming everyone.

The first was the downfall of Joseph Kadari and the Kadari Clan.

The second piece of news left everyone speechless:

Duke Edmund's daughter, one of the most important noblewomen in the Northern Territory, was formally engaged to Louis of the Calvin Family.

At that moment, many old nobles who had been eager to move placed their wine glasses down steadily.

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