Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 437: Chapter 280: Weir’s Spring Festival (Part 2)

As the forging reached its final stage, Mike casually scanned the crowd and suddenly caught sight of something that made his eyes light up, shouting loudly:

“Yo?! Isn’t that Knight Weir, Lord Louis’s personal guard? How come you’re not by Lord Louis’s side today? Why don’t you come up and be the sword testing officer?”

Everyone immediately turned to look, countless curious gazes focused on Weir’s face, which instantly flushed red, wishing he could find a crack to crawl into.

Lilya covered her mouth with laughter, giving him a push: “Go on!”

“I, I…” Weir stammered an excuse or two, but facing the surrounding laughter and Lilya’s encouraging look, he finally gritted his teeth and stepped up on stage.

“I’ll… just test it out.”

So, under everyone’s eyes, he ran over to the three newly forged swords, while the test target was a wild boar carcass made into a thick leather target.

The swords from the Three Brothers workshop were heavy and solid, but upon chopping, they appeared somewhat blunt and dull.

The longsword from the old blacksmith and apprentice was sleek and swift, slicing down with one cut, the skin split open, incredibly sharp.

When it came to the sword from young blacksmith Syla, the audience originally held high expectations, but as soon as it was chopped halfway, with a “click,” the sword blade unexpectedly broke, the break emitting steam, leaving Syla stunned and her eyes instantly red.

The audience fell silent for a moment, the scene slightly awkward.

Weir looked at the broken sword for a moment, also standing still, unsure of what to do.

Meanwhile, Lilya couldn’t contain her laughter below the stage, laughing so hard she doubled over, her hand desperately covering her mouth.

Finally, President Mike announced the result of the competition: “The first prize goes to the ancient burning blade technique of the master and apprentice blacksmith! Awarded with a Sun Gear badge from the Blacksmith Association!”

The audience erupted into warm applause, even Syla forced herself to cheerfully acknowledge the old blacksmith.

The competition concluded, and Weir lightly jumped off the stage, his ears still hot.

He walked back to Lilya’s side, and she winked at him, chuckling lightly: “You were pretty impressive chopping the sword!”

The two exchanged smiles, turning to leave the bustling craftsman street, heading towards the not-so-distant festival square.

On the west side of the square, with the sound of drums echoing, the crowd cheered, ribbons flying.

The area was bustling, encircled by rings, the children excitedly screamed, and the adults laughed together.

This was one of the most popular entertainment activities at the festival: the obstacle course race, similar to the folk competition “Boys and Girls Charge Forward.”

The course was composed of mud pile jumping, drum barrel bridges, bouncing vine walls, and sling crossings, with a considerable difficulty level, testing both physical strength and skill.

The entrants were mostly ordinary children and young people from Red Tide City, with a few young craftsmen taking off their aprons to join in the fun, the scene vibrant with enthusiasm, laughter constant.

A round-bodied little chubby kid just jumped onto the first mud pile and immediately lost his balance, with a splash of mud, causing the onlookers to laugh together.

Yet he stubbornly climbed back up, jumped, fell, bit his teeth through the whole course, and instead won the full house cheers.

Lilya clapped her hands while laughing so hard she bent over, tears in her eyes.

Next to her, Weir watched, holding back his laughter, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

“This kind of competition is really interesting,” he said in a low voice.

At this moment, the host stood on a high platform, holding a megaphone and joking: “Oh, this stage isn’t something just anyone can play, any knights want to try? Why not let us civilians see your Qinggong?”

A burst of laughter erupted below the stage.

The host was actually just joking, as it was common knowledge that this was a celebration program prepared for civilians, and according to the rules, knights were actually discouraged from participating.

Because the difficulty level was trivial for knights, moreover, it was crucial to maintain the independence of civilian celebrations.

But Weir was watching with too much interest at the moment, simply couldn’t resist.

He raised his hand high, blushing, and asked, “Can I try… without going on the podium, is it okay?”

The host froze, seemingly not expecting a knight to respond, and after seeing this young face, the host’s expression turned peculiar for a moment.

Isn’t this the high-tier knight from Louis’s side?

“This, isn’t it… uh, forget it anyhow!” The host chuckled and beckoned, “Register your name, an exception for once! Everyone, welcome or not?!”

The crowd suddenly cheered, “Welcome!” “Let the knight roll in the mud too!”

Weir took off his outer clothing, tightened his cuffs, and stood at the starting point, focusing with every breath, the air of the training ground bursting forth unstoppably.

As the drumbeat fell, he flew out, jumping the piles quickly and steadily, darting over the drum barrel bridge, kicking off the vine wall, and leveraging to flip over… the whole course was almost like a seamless performance.

In just over ten seconds, the young man landed like a swallow, dust flying, barely tainted by mud.

The crowd was in a frenzy, with not only children clapping and cheering but even the stall owners whistling.

Lilya was so amused she couldn’t help but burst out laughing, tears almost coming out.

As she was laughing, she suddenly heard a little girl beside her tug gently on her dress, looking up to ask:

“Sister, is that your brother?”

Lilya paused, her cheeks flushed like apples, stammered for two seconds before gently shaking her head, lowering her voice to reply: “…Not a brother.”

Weir flipped over from the side of the course, splashing some mud points, walking towards Lilya with a face full of still-unsettled excitement.

She still stood outside the crowd, her smile lingering, though her cheeks carried an unmistakable blush.

“Why is your face red?” Weir leaned in, tilting his head to ask softly.

Lilya turned away: “…your face is red too.”

The young man was rendered speechless, instinctively touched his own face, indeed hot, probably too excited just now.

“Nothing much, let’s go.” Lilya broke the brief awkwardness, reminding him, “Lord Louis’s evening banquet is about to start, we shouldn’t delay.”

The pair walked side by side, leaving the bustling craftsman street, heading toward the castle.

Nightfall settled deeply, the main square of Red Tide was already ablaze with fervor.

The celebration reached its peak, the communal banquet was brightly lit.

More than a hundred round tables were neatly arranged according to villages and neighborhoods, with bonfires standing at the center of each table, illuminating the faces of people clustered together, chatting merrily.

Roasts sizzled, stews steamed with heat, the aroma of freshly baked pies mixed with laughter, the scent of wine and song, rising into the night.

Meanwhile, outside Red Tide Castle, another grand banquet was quietly unfolding.

Seated here were the pillars of the Red Tide community: legion commanders, outstanding craftsmen representatives, reform contributors, and knight representatives among others.

Identity and status were temporarily shuffled, replaced by the term “contribution.”

No distinction between hosts and guests at the table, communication was free, raising glasses to toast, the very embodiment of the Red Tide’s spirit of “honor belonging to the builders.”

Weir had changed back into solemn formal attire, with a composed demeanor he entered the banquet along with the Knight Order.

His age was distinct amongst the crowd, yet none questioned his qualification.

The young man sat steadily, immersed in the teachings of Louis, his manner already displaying the bearing of a general.

Not far away, at another table, Lilya sat poised, dressed in a formally colored gown, her gaze inadvertently falling on Weir.

Their eyes met, she gently raised her glass, smiling tenderly.

Weir momentarily lost his focus but soon reciprocated, the light in his cup flickering, like a spring breeze passing through.

At the far end of the platform, seated at the head, Louis sat in the main seat, his expression as usual.

He did not speak much, only after everyone was seated he rose to toast, delivering a brief speech:

“Another winter has passed. It’s your efforts, unity, and vigilance that brought about this peace and tranquility. Spring is here, let’s continue working hard this year, Red Tide’s honor belongs to each one of us.”

Everyone raised their glasses in unison, cheering thunderously.

Sitting beside, Emily and Sif also raised their glasses in celebration, the lights reflecting on their bright faces.

At this moment Louis’s gaze fell on a certain spot among the crowd.

He looked at Weir and Lilya, holding hands and whispering.

The young man seemed calm, the girl’s eyebrows were smiling, it was a youthful laughter, a sight of peace.

A hint of smile appeared on his lips, yet it vanished swiftly.

Emily noticed that faint smile, which hid a subtle heaviness.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

Louis held the wine cup, barely noticeable, nodding slightly, his voice like whispers of a cold night: “…The Barbarian Race, has moved south.”

The banquet continued to be lively, the bonfire burning high, laughter persisting.

Yet under this enthusiastic spring night, a new storm was impending.