The next morning, after the hearty chicken soup feast from the previous night, a visible shift had taken place in the knights' moods.
No longer did they move like lifeless machines performing assigned tasks. Their steps had quickened, and there was a spark in their eyes—a flicker of fighting spirit. Some began proactively inspecting their gear. Others gathered in quiet discussion about the situation in the Northern Territory. A few even started formulating ideas for strengthening the camp's defenses.
The future Louis had spoken of still felt distant, like a dream hanging just out of reach. But compared to the endless waiting and slow march toward death that had defined their days until now, having a purpose—even a fragile one—was undeniably better.
Of course, Louis was under no illusion that a single impassioned speech could completely change hardened minds. Words alone couldn't transform despair into hope. Without something real, something tangible, this spark of morale would quickly vanish like smoke in the wind.
So he needed to act—now.
He had to give them actual benefits, something that proved his promises weren't empty. Only with practical rewards could he begin building true trust. Only then could he offer these knights a taste of real hope.
The cold wind howled across the frozen ice river, its sharp breath biting through armor and cloaks. The knights stood on the thick layer of ice, exchanging skeptical glances.
"Can we really catch fish here?" someone muttered, half to himself.
"The Lord said so. No harm in trying," Lambert replied, stepping forward and swinging his iron hammer down onto the ice with a loud crack.
Some of the knights quietly chuckled. Did he really believe he could just walk up to any frozen river, smash it open, and catch fish? How naïve could this Lord be?
Still, no one dared to question Louis's command openly. And so, without further protest, the knights followed the order. One by one, they stepped forward and began striking the ice with weapons and makeshift tools.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
After repeated blows, a narrow fissure opened up. From deep within the crack, dark, cold water surged to the surface.
They lowered a large net into the newly opened hole, their breaths misting the air as they waited, eyes fixed on the water with cautious anticipation.
Suddenly, the rope tightened—violently.
"Pull!"
In the next moment, a flash of silver burst from the water. A fish—gleaming, struggling—was hauled onto the ice.
"A fish!" someone gasped.
"It's real! There really are fish under here!"
"Quickly, pull more! Don't let them escape!"
The mood shifted instantly. Knights who moments before had laughed in disbelief now scrambled to cast their nets. One after another, they lowered and hauled, hearts racing. The catch grew quickly—slippery, silvery fish flailing on the frozen surface.
When the final tally came in, there were twelve fish in total.
Then a sharp voice rang out, full of amazement.
"This is Northern Crystal Cod!"
The knights all turned to the speaker—one of their better-informed comrades—who continued, nearly shouting, "They're rare! Found only in the most extreme cold! Their bones can purify bloodlines and enhance strength!"
A hush fell over the group.
They all knew what those words meant. To purify one's bloodline wasn't just about temporary strength. It was a deep transformation—an elevation of potential. It was the kind of opportunity that most knights could only dream of. Even nobles, with all their wealth and resources, might only taste such a treasure once or twice in their lifetimes.
If they could just have a sip…
And then, just as their minds began to drift into fantasy, Louis's calm, understated voice cut through the air:
"Half of these fish are for you. We'll make fish soup later—everyone gets a bowl."
It was a quiet statement—but it struck like thunder.
For a few seconds, the knights stood motionless, stunned. Did they hear that right?
"This… this is Northern Crystal Cod!" one knight finally blurted, his voice trembling. "Even Southern Nobles might not eat this more than a few times in their lives!"
"Lord, are you serious?!"
And then, an eruption.
"Long live the Lord!!"
Disbelief, excitement, joy—it all mingled into shouts of praise that echoed across the icy plains.
Soon, a massive pot was placed over a bonfire. The fish were cleaned and added to the boiling water. A savory aroma filled the camp, thick and rich, the scent warming hearts even before the soup touched their lips.
As the broth simmered, the fish soup began to glow faintly—a pale, silvery-white sheen, like scattered moonlight captured in liquid form.
The knights lined up, bowls in hand, watching in awe as the mystical soup was ladled out.
"Can… can we really drink this?" one knight whispered, gripping his wooden bowl with trembling hands—not out of fear, but from sheer disbelief.
"Less talking, more drinking," Louis replied, lifting his own bowl and downing it in a single gulp.
The others hesitated no longer. One by one, they raised their bowls and drank.
Warmth spread through their bodies. It began in their stomachs, but quickly moved outward, flooding their limbs like molten light. A wave of cleansing energy surged through their veins, washing away fatigue, pain, and something deeper—something ancient and bound within their blood.
Without a word, the knights sat down cross-legged. Eyes closed, they began circulating their breathing techniques, focusing every ounce of will on absorbing the power within.
Some trembled, overwhelmed by the transformation occurring within them. Some gritted their teeth, enduring the fiery rush as their very blood and bones seemed to reshape. Their bodies felt lighter—sharper, stronger—as if a weight had been lifted that they never even knew was there.
The camp grew quiet.
Only the steady rhythm of breathing remained, rising and falling like a calm tide. The sound wove together into a quiet, powerful harmony—an invisible resonance that pulsed beneath the surface of the frozen world.
Then—suddenly—
"My… my body…" a young apprentice knight gasped. His eyes flew open, revealing a strange silver glow deep within.
Boom!
A faint aura shimmered around his body, and all those nearby froze.
"That's… that's the aura of an Official Knight! He… he advanced!!"
Gasps echoed across the camp. But before anyone could even react, another knight nearby shuddered violently. His breath quickened, a glow rising from his chest—and then he, too, burst through.
Two breakthroughs. Back-to-back.
For a moment, the camp was silent.
Then chaos erupted.
"Madness! It's true!"
"He just advanced from a bowl of soup?!"
Their voices blended together, a mixture of awe and shock. Many of them had spent years struggling just to reach the next stage of training. But here, now, a simple bowl of soup had done what years of effort could not.
Every gaze turned to Louis, and their expressions were completely transformed.
A few hours ago, many still questioned his right to lead them. He was, after all, a disgraced noble exiled to this frozen wasteland. His speeches, though stirring, had seemed like hollow dreams.
But now—those doubts had been obliterated.
They had seen it with their own eyes: the fish, the glow, the breakthroughs. They felt the change in themselves, even if they hadn't advanced like the lucky two.
And the most shocking part?
Louis had shared these treasures. Shared them!
Not hoarded. Not sold. Not rationed in secret.
Shared freely, without hesitation.
Even Southern Nobles would fight over a single fillet of Northern Crystal Cod—and this man had boiled it into soup and fed it to exiled knights.
It felt… divine.
The knights couldn't explain it. They didn't know about the mysterious intelligence system Louis possessed, the one that guided his every move. To them, it could only be one thing:
Divine grace.
Louis had been chosen—blessed—by something greater.
And in that moment, every remaining seed of doubt was swept away.
He wasn't just their commander anymore.
He was their hope.
He had given them more than food. He had given them strength, belief, and a future worth fighting for.
The knights dropped to one knee, voices rising in unison.
"Long live the Lord! Long live Lord Louis!"
Their cries echoed across the Northern Territory—resounding over snow-covered peaks and across frozen rivers.
Lord Louis's kindness was not over.
It was just beginning.