Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 436: Chapter 280: Weir’s Spring Festival

Weir stood in front of the bronze mirror, rare as he tidied up his collar.

Today, he wasn’t wearing his usual silver-white knight armor, but instead wore one of his few sets of casual clothes.

Gray-blue trousers, black leather boots with silver buckles, and a dark cloak draped over.

He looked both spirited and a bit… as his mother would say, “dressed like a southern bumpkin nobility.”

At fifteen, he was already the youngest high-tier elite knight in Red Tide Territory, having served as Louis’s personal guard for three years.

This status made him quite significant within various corps, yet last night he asked his lord for a day’s leave for the first time.

He muttered vaguely, while Louis just gave a knowing smile and directly approved.

At the door, his mother was carrying a basket, donning a cloak as she reminded him, “I’m going to the fish farm to help with fish slaughtering today, won’t be home for lunch. You’ll have to manage yourself.”

Weir nodded vigorously: “Got it, got it!”

As he stepped out the threshold, her familiar nagging voice followed, “Fifteen years old and still so restless!”

Weir pretended not to hear, hastened his pace towards the market outside the Artisan District.

Today marks the Spring Festival, the busiest holiday in the Red Tide Territory’s spring, and one of the few occasions for the entire community to celebrate together.

Even though it’s morning, the place was bustling, red cloth and streamers adorned between wooden pillars and stalls, the air filled with the aroma of stewed beef ribs, children chased windmills back and forth, everywhere exuding a lively atmosphere.

And in that bustling market outside the industrial area, Lilya was already waiting at a stall.

She was a year older than Weir, joined the apprentice knights in the same batch, now also a mid-tier official knight.

Though she didn’t possess Weir’s astounding talent, she was still one of the top young geniuses in Red Tide Territory.

Unlike her commanding presence at the training field, today she wore a clean light gray dress, waist belt neatly tied, half ponytail clipped up, eyes bright, looking even more radiant.

Weir halted his steps, suddenly feeling a bit awkward, stammering: “Goo… good morning.”

Lilya looked at him, softly smiled: “Good morning.”

That smile seemed to dispel the last chill of spring.

This year’s Spring Festival was different; due to the growing population in Red Tide Territory, various districts handled their respective roles, the main city no longer organized the festival in a unified manner.

A basic set of regulations was issued, and the specific plans were delegated to various communities, industry guilds, and village groups to organize celebrations, easing the logistical pressure while showcasing the creative spark of the folk.

And the area Weir and Lilya were in was precisely the festival organized by the Industrial District’s Craftsmen Association.

Thus, the festive stalls looked especially hardcore.

All the stall frames handcrafted by carpenters and blacksmiths, robust enough to serve as temporary fortresses, rows of grills lining the roadsides, robust men sweating profusely flipping ribs and whole fish on iron nets, firelight and smoke weaving into a blazing festive atmosphere.

Some even created a stone-thrower style tossing game, kids playing gleefully.

Every detail showcased the craftsmen’s ingenuity and roughness.

Weir, munching on oily charcoal-grilled beef skewers, followed Lilya through the bustling Craftsmen Street.

The air mixed with scents of sawdust, grease, hot iron, and charcoal, as furnaces on the street sides roared, hammer blows rose and fell like an uninterrupted metal symphony.

Rows of stalls displayed gleaming blade blanks, shining iron ingots, uniquely designed tools, and stones emitting a subtle glow, the whole block exuding a practical romantic essence.

While they were engrossed in their stroll, a sudden burst of noise erupted ahead, a large crowd formed a circle, cheering loudly.

“What’s happening?” Weir asked a middle-aged man next to him holding a pot while he chewed.

“Don’t you know? It’s the Sword Forging Competition! Only three hours on-site creation, let’s see whose blade is both swift and fine!” The man added mysteriously, “Rumor has it that Lord Louis himself came up with the idea.”

Weir raised his eyebrows, suddenly intrigued, since anything devised by Lord Louis was bound to be worthwhile.

The host onstage was Mike, president of the Red Tide Craftsmen Association, his voice booming as he both commanded and explained, “Three teams, fair competition, materials standardized, skill above all!”

Flames splashed on stage, looking like the contest had been ongoing for quite a while.

The first team was the Three Brothers Workshop, coordinating seamlessly, specializing in “Segmented Steel Layering.”

They operated like a precisely working assembly machine, forging sword billets from raw iron within mere dozens of minutes.

The second team was a silver-haired old craftsman and his grandson apprentice, specializing in the ancient method “Blade Burning.”

Their movements were steady and elegant, like performing a segment of an ancient melody, the charcoal fire reflecting in their focused eyes, inspiring reverence.

The third team drew the most attention: young blacksmith Sarah and her mother, one calm, one fiery.

The swords they crafted had unique shapes, edges jagged, sharp and lethal, eliciting gasps from the crowd.

Weir and Lilya stood in the outer circle of the crowd, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

“This kind of competitive event…” Lilya whispered with a smile, “is even more nerve-racking than our Knight Camp’s riding contests.”

Weir nodded while chewing on the meat skewer, keeping his eyes glued to the forge, ears carefully listening to Mike’s professional commentary, finding the craftsmen’s myriad skills particularly fascinating.