Louis stood atop a gently sloping hillside, overlooking the barren and desolate expanse of land stretching before him.
This was the location he had chosen for the initial settlement of the Red Tide Territory—a place that would one day become its central town.
The site had been carefully selected. It lay near a geothermal vent, which naturally raised the surrounding temperature, preventing settlers from freezing to death during the bitterly cold nights. The hillside itself provided a shield against the biting northern winds, offering some protection to the new inhabitants.
"Lord, should we begin building the castle?" asked Mike, who stood at Louis's side.
Mike was the most experienced of the craftsmen Louis had brought from Duke Edmund. Louis had appointed him as the Construction Officer of the Red Tide Territory.
"The castle can wait," Louis said, shaking his head. "Let's build the residential area first."
"Then where will you stay?" Mike asked, puzzled.
"I'll live with everyone else for now."
"You'll live with us?" The old craftsman blinked in surprise.
"What, worried I won't get used to it?" Louis replied with a shrug. "We're already in the Northern Lands—what is there to be particular about?"
Mike looked at the young Lord with renewed respect. Despite his noble background, Louis was clearly willing to endure hardships alongside his people.
After a lengthy discussion between Louis and the old craftsman, it was decided that the first homes in the Red Tide Territory would be semi-underground collective dwellings.
This design combined the local architectural traditions of the Northern Lands with the Viking longhouses Louis had read about in books from his previous life.
The houses were dug about a third of their height below the ground surface, allowing them to retain heat more effectively. Wooden frames formed the structural supports. The exterior walls were made of woven wicker, covered in layers of mud plaster to resist wind and moisture.
More importantly, these houses could be built quickly.
Louis's direct involvement left a deep impression on Mike. In such a short time, the young Lord had devised a design ideally suited for this harsh climate. To Mike, Louis seemed like an architectural genius.
Once the plans were finalized, construction began without delay.
Work teams of twenty people each were organized—eighteen slaves or refugees under the supervision of two soldiers. Their tasks were clearly defined, and the construction effort proceeded efficiently.
The cold wind howled.
Slaves huddled their necks against the chill, gripping crude iron shovels as they struck the frozen ground.
Thud! The impact sent painful tremors up their arms, numbing their wrists. Still, the soil began to loosen.
"Don't just stand around—keep going!" a soldier barked.
Suddenly, a figure stepped into the trench.
It was Louis.
He rolled up his sleeves, took a shovel himself, and began to dig alongside the laborers.
"The Lord is working too?" someone murmured in astonishment.
After digging for more than ten minutes, Louis straightened up, slightly breathless.
"This work is no joke," he said with a nod. "You've all done well. Dinner will be served soon—take a short break."
With that, he moved to the next site, repeating his routine—digging a little, encouraging the workers, and leaving a few kind words behind.
Originally, some soldiers were disgruntled. They resented having to do manual labor despite being trained for combat.
But now that even their Lord was laboring beside them, what complaints could they possibly make?
The slaves were even more moved. Many of them had once struggled just to find food and shelter. Now, not only were they fed, they also had a chance at a stable life. It was more than they could have ever hoped for.
During brief pauses in construction, Louis would "just happen" to pass by a site, pitch in with a little work, offer a word or two, and then move on.
"This frame looks sturdy—you'll sleep well tonight."
"Use more mud plaster—don't slack off, or you'll be freezing by morning."
"This one's nearly done, isn't it? Hot soup's on its way. Once you finish this batch, you can rest."
Wherever Louis went, morale soared.
With ample food provisions and their Lord working alongside them, even the most reluctant soldiers fell in line. The slaves, too, worked with renewed vigor.
As a result, construction progressed astonishingly fast.
Within just a few days, the first batch of semi-underground houses rose from the snowy ground.
These dwellings resembled small hills, with thick layers of mud and grass covering the roofs. The bulk of the structure was hidden below ground, supported by sturdy log frames. Wicker and earth formed the insulated outer walls, conserving wood while offering excellent protection from the cold.
The residential area had been built around the geothermal vent, ensuring that heat was efficiently distributed to the homes.
They looked simple—but by the standards of the Northern Lands, they were among the best living conditions possible.
With these homes completed, the Red Tide Territory had taken its first true step toward stability in the frigid north.
But shelter alone was not enough.
Winning over the hearts of the people was even more important.
To inspire his subjects and reinforce his image as a benevolent and capable leader, Louis decided to host a grand celebration.
He wanted everyone to understand one thing:
"Follow me, Louis Calvin, and your lives will get better."
As night fell, a massive bonfire was lit on an open field before the Red Tide settlement, driving away the cold darkness of the Northern Lands.
The once-barren clearing came alive with movement and light.
Nearly a thousand people gathered around the fire.
Their backgrounds varied—slaves bought from traders, natives of the north, refugees rescued along the journey, and soldiers who had followed Louis loyally.
But in that moment, they shared something profound: they were all citizens of the Red Tide Territory.
All eyes turned to a large stone in front of the firelight.
There stood Louis Calvin.
Draped in a long black cloak, his features flickering in the firelight, he looked every bit the leader of a rising domain.
He waited until the entire crowd had assembled before speaking.
"Today," Louis began, "marks the first celebration of the Red Tide Territory. We gather to commemorate the completion of our first homes.
With houses comes belonging. And with belonging, this land becomes your home. From this day forward, you are the rightful masters of the Red Tide Territory!"
The crowd stood silent.
They exchanged confused glances.
What did it mean to be a "master"?
These people had never imagined such a thing.
They had spent their lives working under orders—slaves, peasants, refugees. The very idea of owning anything, let alone land, was foreign to them. Most assumed this was just some ceremonial speech, maybe even a prelude to punishment or intimidation.
Louis had expected this.
That's why he was ready for the next step.
"To show my appreciation," he announced, "I will now reward those who have shown the greatest diligence and loyalty."
He raised a hand.
Behind him, Silco, his steward, unfurled a long parchment scroll and began to read names aloud:
"Hark. Morgan. Sharna..."
The people whose names were called flinched.
Fear spread across their faces.
In their old lives, being singled out by a noble usually meant punishment—or worse.
Some trembled. Others looked down. A few even dropped to their knees, prepared to beg for mercy.
They didn't know it yet, but their fates were about to change forever.