As long as they could avoid the Red Tide Caravan's gaze, they could maintain that shred of dignity remaining.
Sorel did not expose them, just smiled and accepted it.
When he left, he glanced back at the gloomy castle, as if looking at an old beast nearing death but still trying to stand up its mane.
He came to a harsher conclusion in his mind: these lords were not simply hostile towards Louis, they hated him for showing them their own backwardness.
They envied the prosperity of the Red Tide, regretted not joining earlier, yet stubbornly clung to pride, refusing to admit reality.
He sat back in the carriage, fingers clenched inside his gloves.
"This isn't a matter of character... it's a civilizational gap."
The Red Tide system was pulling the entire Northern Territory into a new era with silent, irresistible force.
And these people could only be left behind, the more they struggled the more ridiculous they seemed.
Heading north, Sorel initially focused only on these lords.
