Louis stood on a slightly elevated hillside, his cloak fluttering faintly in the cold northern wind as he surveyed the barren land before him.
What lay beneath his gaze was the first settlement he had chosen for Red Tide Territory—the place that would one day become its central town and beating heart. At present, however, it was nothing more than frozen earth, scattered stones, and patches of stubborn snow clinging to the ground.
Yet to Louis, this desolate scene already held the shape of the future.
The location had been selected with great care. Beneath the ground ran geothermal vents that released a steady warmth, ensuring that the temperature here remained slightly higher than the surrounding plains. Even during the harshest nights of the Northern Lands, this subtle heat could mean the difference between life and death.
Behind the settlement rose the hillside itself, blocking the worst of the biting northern winds and providing natural shelter. Combined, these two advantages made the area one of the rare places where a permanent settlement could reasonably survive.
"This will be it," Louis murmured softly, more to himself than to anyone else.
Standing beside him was Mike, an elderly craftsman with weathered hands and sharp, experienced eyes. Among all the craftsmen Louis had acquired from Duke Edmund, Mike possessed the most practical knowledge of large-scale construction. For that reason, Louis had appointed him as Red Tide Territory's chief construction officer.
"My Lord," Mike said respectfully, following Louis's line of sight, "should we begin construction of the castle?"
To Mike, this was the most natural question in the world. A castle was the symbol of authority, defense, and nobility. Any newly established territory would normally prioritize its lord's residence first.
Louis shook his head without hesitation.
"The castle can wait," he replied calmly. "We'll build the residential area first."
Mike blinked, clearly taken aback. "The residential area? Then… where will you live, my Lord?"
Louis smiled faintly. "I'll live with everyone else for now."
"You'll… live with us?" Mike's voice rose slightly in disbelief.
"What, are you afraid I won't get used to it?" Louis shrugged, his tone light. "We're already in the Northern Lands. There's nothing left to be particular about."
The old craftsman stared at him for a long moment. In all his years, he had served many nobles—some proud, some cruel, some indifferent—but never one like this.
In that instant, the respect in Mike's eyes deepened considerably.
After further discussion, Louis and Mike quickly reached a decision on the initial housing design. They would construct semi-subterranean collective dwellings, combining traditional northern housing methods with ideas Louis remembered from Viking longhouses in his previous life.
Each dwelling would be dug roughly one-third of its depth below ground, with the floor set lower than the surrounding surface. This design allowed the earth itself to trap and retain heat, providing natural insulation against the brutal cold.
Wooden frames would support the walls, while the exterior would be woven with wicker before being sealed with layers of mud mixed with straw. Once dried and compacted, this mixture would block wind, resist dampness, and retain warmth remarkably well.
Most importantly, these houses could be built extremely quickly.
To Mike, the design was nothing short of astonishing.
This young Lord had arrived in the Northern Lands only recently, yet he had already devised a housing structure perfectly adapted to its climate and conditions. In Mike's eyes, Louis was not merely a noble—he was an architectural genius.
Once the plan was finalized, construction began immediately.
The workforce was divided into efficient groups of twenty. Each group consisted of two soldiers overseeing eighteen slaves or vagrants. Responsibilities were clearly assigned: some dug earth, others gathered wood, while the rest prepared mud, straw, and wicker.
The cold wind howled endlessly across the plain.
The slaves hunched their shoulders against the chill, gripping crude iron shovels as they slammed them again and again into the frozen ground.
Bang!
The impact sent painful vibrations up their arms, leaving their wrists numb. The soil resisted stubbornly, but after repeated blows, the frozen layer finally began to crack and loosen.
"Don't just stand there—keep going!" a soldier barked, his breath visible in the frigid air.
Despite the pain and exhaustion, the workers pressed on.
Then, suddenly, a figure descended into one of the excavation pits.
It was Louis.
Without ceremony, he rolled up his sleeves, took a shovel from the side, and bent down to dig alongside the others. He drove the shovel into the frozen earth again and again, his movements steady but unrefined.
The surrounding workers froze in shock.
"The Lord… is working too?"
Murmurs spread quickly. Even the soldiers were stunned.
Louis dug for over ten minutes before finally pausing. He straightened his back, exhaled slowly, and nodded thoughtfully.
"This work really isn't easy," he said. "You've all worked hard."
He glanced at the sky. "It's almost time for dinner. Take a short break."
With that, he handed the shovel back and moved on to the next construction site, repeating the process—digging briefly, observing, and encouraging.
Originally, many soldiers had felt discontent. They were trained for battle, not manual labor, and being ordered to build houses felt beneath them.
But now, seeing their Lord personally sharing the work, none of them dared complain.
As for the slaves, the effect was even more profound.
Most of them had struggled merely to survive in the past. Now, not only were they being fed regularly, but they were also building homes—warm, stable places to live. To them, this was nothing short of a miracle.
During breaks, Louis would casually "pass by" different sites. He would shovel a little, inspect the work, and leave behind simple but encouraging words.
"This frame is well set," he said at one site. "You'll sleep well tonight."
"Don't spread the mud too thin," he advised at another. "If you cut corners, the cold will find you."
"This side is nearly finished?" he asked elsewhere. "Good. We'll send over hot soup once this batch is done."
Wherever Louis went, morale surged.
Combined with plentiful food supplies, enthusiasm spread like wildfire. Soldiers stopped complaining altogether, while the slaves worked with a desperation fueled by hope.
The speed of construction became astonishing.
In just a few days, the first batch of semi-subterranean dwellings rose from the frozen earth.
From a distance, they resembled low earthen mounds, their roofs thickly covered in compacted mud and straw, blending seamlessly into the snowy landscape. Most of each structure lay underground, supported by sturdy log frames. The outer walls, woven with wicker and sealed with earth, used minimal wood while providing excellent insulation.
Built around the geothermal vents, the residential area benefited from natural warmth that spread gently through the ground.
Though simple in appearance, these dwellings offered living conditions superior to most settlements in the Northern Lands.
With their completion, Red Tide Territory finally established its true foundation.
But Louis knew that houses alone were not enough.
What truly mattered were people's hearts.
To further motivate his people and solidify his image as a benevolent and wise Lord, Louis decided to hold a grand celebration.
He wanted everyone to understand one thing clearly: following him would not be a loss.
As night fell, a massive bonfire was lit in the open space before Red Tide Territory. The flames roared upward, dispelling the cold and casting warm light across the snow-covered ground.
This open space had once been nothing more than barren frozen earth. Now, for the first time, it buzzed with life.
Nearly a thousand people gathered around the fire.
They came from all walks of life—slaves purchased from traders, native inhabitants of the Northern Lands, vagrants taken in along the journey, and soldiers and knights who had sworn loyalty to Louis.
Yet at this moment, they shared a single identity.
They were citizens of Red Tide Territory.
All eyes turned toward a tall stone positioned before the bonfire.
Standing atop it was their Lord—Louis Calvin.
The young pioneering Baron wore a long black cloak, his features flickering in the firelight. His expression was calm and composed, but no one could guess what he intended to say.
When the crowd had fully gathered, Louis finally spoke.
"Today is Red Tide Territory's first celebration," he announced. "We gather to commemorate the completion of our first homes."
"With houses," he continued, his voice steady, "this land becomes your home. And you become the true masters of Red Tide Territory."
The crowd remained silent.
People exchanged confused glances. Some frowned. Others looked down, uncertain.
Masters?
What did that even mean?
These slaves, vagrants, and laborers had never imagined themselves as masters of anything—let alone land. They had lived their lives obeying orders, enduring hardship, and suppressing even the thought of resistance.
Many had expected this gathering to be an oath of submission or a warning from their new Lord.
Louis had anticipated this reaction.
He raised a hand.
"Next," he said, scanning the crowd, "I will reward those who have shown diligence and loyalty."
Behind him, Silco stepped forward and unrolled a parchment.
He began reading names aloud.
"Hark. Morgan. Sharna…"
At each name, the person called flinched.
Panic spread across their faces.
In their past experience, being singled out by a Lord rarely meant anything good. Punishment, branding, or even death—all seemed possible.
Some began to tremble. Others lowered their heads. A few nearly fell to their knees, ready to beg.
They had no idea that their fate was about to change.
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