Louis pressed his fingers against his temples, the situation of the territory turning over endlessly in his mind.
Figures, terrain, manpower, resources—everything he had learned since arriving in Red Tide Territory flowed together like an unfinished map. Slowly, an outline of the future began to take shape.
Relying solely on the Daily Intelligence System to produce occasional windfalls might be enough to survive in the short term, but it was impossible to sustain nearly a thousand people that way forever. If Red Tide Territory was to truly stand on its own, it needed stable, self-sustaining industries.
When his thoughts finally settled, Louis lifted his head and looked at Silco.
"I'll speak," he said calmly. "You write."
Silco straightened instinctively and nodded without hesitation, already bracing himself.
Louis picked up a pen and pointed it toward the winding river marked on the map.
"First, have the hundred fishermen move to the riverbank immediately," he said. "Build a temporary dock and prepare the fishing boats in advance. We need to be ready to resume fishing as soon as possible."
Silco nodded and began writing.
"There aren't many fish in the river right now," Louis continued, "but once the water temperature rises, large schools will migrate upstream to spawn. When that happens, fishing will become one of Red Tide Territory's most important food sources."
He paused briefly before adding, "In the future, we should also establish aquaculture zones along the riverbanks. If we can successfully cultivate fish adapted to cold-water environments, we can develop a stable aquaculture industry instead of relying solely on wild catches."
"Understood," Silco replied, carefully recording each point.
"Next is agriculture and animal husbandry," Louis said. "Neither can be neglected."
He traced a line across the map, separating areas of geothermal activity from colder zones.
"We currently have over four hundred farmers. Their priority is land reclamation. Hot spring water can be diverted to thaw the frozen ground, and irrigation systems must be prepared in advance."
Silco's pen scratched steadily across the parchment.
"The soil here isn't particularly fertile," Louis said frankly, "but with proper use of geothermal resources, we can bring it close to acceptable standards. The first crops we'll plant are rye and potatoes. Both are cold-resistant and can grow in this environment."
"Understood."
"As for animal husbandry…" Louis paused, mentally reviewing the livestock numbers. "The current scale is far too small. The cattle, sheep, and reindeer we have can't support large-scale breeding."
He tapped the map lightly. "I'll arrange for people to go to Frost Halberd City to purchase additional livestock. At the same time, we'll establish a dedicated animal husbandry zone to develop this sector properly."
"Understood," Silco said again, his hand already sore but his posture unwavering.
Louis then circled a large portion of forest on the outskirts of the territory.
"We have over fifty experienced hunters. In addition to daily hunting, they'll patrol the forest perimeter. Their tasks are to monitor conditions, prevent magical beasts from approaching the settlement, and ensure no unknown forces infiltrate our land."
Silco's expression grew serious as he wrote.
"Finally," Louis said, "there are the artisans we brought from Frost Halberd City. Leatherworkers should prioritize winter clothing. Blacksmiths will focus on forging farm tools. Carpenters will build houses and storage structures."
He paused, then added, "We'll also establish a centralized workshop. Gather all artisans together, encourage collaboration, and recruit apprentices. Over time, we'll form a complete and self-sufficient production chain."
Louis spoke rapidly, each sentence clear and decisive, as if these plans had been rehearsed countless times in his mind.
Silco had never felt much affection for the title of 'Lord.'
In his memory, nobles were hypocritical and arrogant—people who spoke endlessly of benevolence and morality while treating common folk like livestock. When he first met Louis, Silco had simply thought him a kind-hearted man, nothing more.
But now, watching Louis lay out plans with clarity and purpose, Silco found his opinion changing.
This Lord not only had compassion, but also the ability to make full use of every available resource.
"He's capable," Silco admitted silently, admiration rising in his chest.
One by one, Louis's plans were put into motion.
Red Tide Territory, long dormant, finally began to operate.
Bonfires lit the gathering dusk, illuminating countless busy figures. Smoke curled upward into the cold air. Hunters checked their weapons and prepared to depart. Fishermen repaired old boats along the riverbank. The steady rhythm of hammer strikes echoed as blacksmiths began their work.
Under Louis's direction, the silent land slowly awakened.
Spring had arrived quietly, yet most of the northern regions remained buried beneath lingering snow, their soil still frozen solid and unsuitable for cultivation.
But the land beneath Louis's feet was different.
The soil was soft and damp, carrying the faint warmth and scent of life.
A week earlier, Louis had ordered workers to divert hot spring water into the fields, using geothermal heat to melt the frozen earth. The effect was remarkable. Ground that had been frozen all winter gradually softened, and land once considered barren began to show signs of vitality.
"Is this really land in the North?" a farmer exclaimed, scooping up a handful of soil.
He let it crumble through his fingers, astonishment written across his face.
The people around him followed suit, bending down to touch the earth.
"The hot water actually melted the frozen soil!"
"We can plant crops this early in spring?"
Excited voices rippled across the fields.
Of course, using hot spring water was only a temporary measure. The water contained a high salt content, and repeated use could eventually turn the land into saline-alkali soil, making it unsuitable for farming.
When conditions allowed, greenhouse cultivation would be necessary.
Standing beside Louis was a middle-aged man with mud-stained clothes and bits of dry grass clinging to his boots.
His name was Mick, the Agricultural Affairs Officer of Red Tide Territory.
Before this, Mick had been just another slave—quiet, unremarkable, and poor with words. Without the Daily Intelligence System, Louis might never have noticed that among the slaves was someone with exceptional farming talent.
Mick possessed an instinctive understanding of soil, crops, and climate—an almost innate gift.
When Louis had found him, announced his release from slavery, and appointed him Agricultural Affairs Officer, Mick had thought he was dreaming.
He hadn't known how to express his gratitude. Instead, he threw himself completely into his work, pouring every ounce of effort into the fields.
Today was the day for plowing and applying base fertilizer.
Mick knelt, scooped up a handful of soil, and gently rubbed it between his fingers. A satisfied smile spread across his weathered face.
He stood, wiped his hands on his clothes, and looked at Louis.
"My Lord," he said simply, "everything is ready."
"In that case," Louis replied with a nod, "let's begin."
"All hands—turn the soil!" Mick shouted.
The order was carried out immediately.
Hundreds of farmers bent down in unison, plunging iron plows deep into the earth.
"So soft!"
"It's warm!"
The softness of the soil shocked many who had spent their lives farming in the North.
And all of it was thanks to Louis's unconventional approach.
The people's reverence for him grew yet again.
Watching the farmers work, Louis asked calmly, "Is the fertilizer prepared?"
"It's been ready for a long time," Mick replied, gesturing forward.
A dozen wooden pushcarts rolled slowly into the fields, piled high with dark fertilizer that emitted a strong, pungent odor.
This was a special base fertilizer Louis had ordered to be prepared as soon as he arrived.
It was a mixture of human and animal waste, straw, fish offal, and crushed rubble powder created through alchemical means.
The waste and straw provided basic nutrients. The fish offal was rich in organic matter. The rubble powder not only enhanced fertility but also helped prevent pest infestations, creating a healthier environment for newly planted seeds.
The smell was overwhelming. Some people frowned and turned their heads away.
But no one complained.
Even Louis showed no sign of disdain.
They all understood one thing: this fertilizer meant survival.
The farmers spread the fertilizer evenly across the fields, then worked it into the soil with hoes until the nutrients were thoroughly mixed.
"We can sow seeds in four days," Mick said confidently, stamping the soil beneath his boots.
Louis stayed for a while longer, observing quietly. After confirming that everything was proceeding smoothly, he turned and left.
It wasn't the smell that drove him away.
Rather, the Daily Intelligence System had just updated—with three pieces of information too important to ignore.
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