herel
A row of crude iron cauldrons sat above blazing firewood, their undersides blackened by soot. Thick steam rose into the cold air, carrying with it the faint but comforting aroma of wheat porridge.
The slaves formed a long, orderly line, each person clutching a rough wooden bowl with both hands. Their movements were cautious, almost reverent, as if afraid that this warmth and fullness might vanish if they moved too quickly.
Their eyes were filled with gratitude.
In the past, hunger had been their constant companion. Every single day was a struggle just to survive. Even a handful of leftovers had to be fought over, often with blood and tears. Many had gone to sleep with empty stomachs so often that they had forgotten what it felt like to be full.
Now, however, they had hot porridge.
To them, this simple meal was nothing short of a miracle.
"Lord Louis's kindness is truly endless…"
Such whispers spread quietly through the line, carried by steam and breath in the cold air.
Behind the stove, George stood holding a large wooden ladle. He carefully scooped the thick porridge into bowl after bowl, but his brows were tightly furrowed. Worry clouded his expression, and he muttered under his breath as he worked.
"My Lord," George finally said, unable to keep his concern contained, "if you keep cooking like this every day, I'm afraid we won't have enough grain…"
He hesitated for a moment before continuing cautiously, "What if the deficit keeps growing? One day, when the storage is empty, then we…"
Before he could finish, Louis casually waved his hand, cutting him off without even looking in his direction.
"When people are hungry, they eat," Louis said calmly. "I told you to cook, so cook. Where is all this nonsense coming from?"
George opened his mouth, wanting to argue further, but the words caught in his throat. In the end, he could only sigh helplessly and continue scooping porridge.
His new master was good in every possible way—kind, decisive, and strong—but there was one flaw George simply couldn't ignore.
He was far too generous.
And he cared far too little about grain.
"If this continues," George thought bitterly, "I'm afraid I'll be back in the slave market in less than half a year…"
The thought filled him with sorrow and resentment.
"Well, if that's how it's going to be," he decided silently, "then I might as well eat two more bowls while I can. Who knows when I'll be hungry again?"
Louis, however, paid no attention to George's internal struggle.
He wasn't worried in the slightest about food supplies.
The Red Tide Territory was unimaginably rich in resources. With the golden finger he possessed, starvation was an impossibility. This was not arrogance—it was absolute confidence.
Just as the porridge distribution continued, Louis felt a familiar sensation in his mind.
Today's daily intelligence had refreshed.
[1: Baron Hayes, the pioneer noble, froze to death on the way to his territory due to excessive drinking.]
[2: Emily Edmond, the youngest daughter of the Governor of the Northern Territory, has broken through to Elite Knight.]
[3: Seventy hungry Icefield Wolves, drawn by the scent of food, are hiding in the canyon ahead, waiting for an opportunity to ambush the convoy.]
Louis skimmed the first two pieces of intelligence with little interest.
Baron Hayes's death was unfortunate, but it had nothing to do with him. At most, it earned a brief moment of sympathy. As for Emily Edmond's breakthrough, it was impressive but irrelevant for now.
The third message, however, made his expression turn instantly solemn.
Seventy Icefield Wolves.
Even with his current military strength, such a number was not truly threatening. However, if he became careless and allowed these vicious beasts to launch a surprise attack, it could still result in unnecessary casualties.
That would not be worth the cost.
Louis immediately summoned Lambert, the Knight Captain.
When Lambert arrived, Louis spoke in a low, firm voice, "Have the knights form scouting teams of five. Search the area around the canyon thoroughly and report any unusual activity immediately."
Lambert nodded without hesitation. "Yes, my Lord."
He turned and began issuing orders.
Soon, the knights split into small groups and mounted their horses, galloping swiftly toward the canyon.
The cold wind howled through the narrow passageways, carrying with it an eerie chill that seeped into the bones. Snow crunched beneath hooves as the knight squad advanced cautiously.
An unpleasant stench lingered in the air.
It was the smell of rot mixed with the unmistakable odor of wild beasts—strong enough to make one instinctively frown.
Lambert dismounted and crouched down, brushing aside the thin layer of snow with his gauntlet. Beneath it were chaotic paw prints, deeply embedded into the frozen ground.
The depth of the tracks told him everything he needed to know.
These wolves were starving.
So hungry that they didn't even bother hiding their movements.
Lambert slowly stood up, his expression grave. "Something is wrong."
The scouting teams wasted no time and quickly returned to Louis's position, reporting everything they had discovered in detail.
After listening to the report, Louis showed no sign of panic.
Instead, a faint, confident smile appeared on his face.
"Very good," he said calmly. "Since they've come knocking, let them see who the real prey is."
He immediately ordered traps to be set throughout the canyon, carefully positioning them to funnel the wolf pack into a deadly snare.
Meanwhile, the Icefield Wolves lay hidden beneath the snow.
Their eerie green eyes glowed faintly as they stared at the distant convoy. Their thick fur ranged in color from grayish white to deep blue, blending perfectly with the frozen landscape and making them almost invisible in the wilderness.
Hunger had made their bodies lean and angular, but the terrifying explosive power hidden within their muscles was unmistakable.
The wind carried a tantalizing scent.
Food.
Prey.
"Awoo…"
A low growl escaped from the throat of the wolf king.
In an instant, dozens of dark figures rose silently from the snow like ghosts. They spread out and began stalking forward, their movements precise and soundless.
Closer.
Closer.
Then—
"Bang!"
A dull explosion shattered the silence of the canyon.
Hidden wooden mechanisms suddenly sprang into action. Thick stakes shot upward from the ground, and sharpened spears pierced through the leading wolves.
Blood splashed across the snow, staining it a vivid red.
The wolf pack erupted into chaos, startled by the sudden attack. Before they could recover, arrows rained down from above.
"Swish! Swish! Swish!"
The sound of bowstrings snapping echoed through the canyon as arrow after arrow tore through the air. The Icefield Wolves had no time to dodge.
Several were struck cleanly through the throat, collapsing instantly as their blood soaked into the snow.
"Now—attack!" Lambert shouted.
His longsword carved a silver arc through the air as the knights charged forward in unison.
Violent battle qi ignited across the battlefield.
One knight leaped into the air, his spear glowing red as he drove it straight through a charging wolf. The explosive force pinned the beast to the ground, cracking the frozen earth beneath it.
Another knight swung a heavy sword wreathed in crimson battle qi. He brought it down in a powerful overhead strike, cleaving a giant wolf in half at the waist.
Blood bloomed like crimson flowers across the snow.
The wolf pack's ferocity quickly gave way to fear.
They turned and attempted to flee.
"Close the net!" Lambert commanded.
The knights adjusted their formation seamlessly, surrounding the remaining wolves. Each strike was precise and deadly, accompanied by the harsh sound of steel cutting through flesh.
One by one, the Icefield Wolves fell, their miserable howls echoing through the canyon.
At last, only the wolf king remained.
It stood alone on the blood-soaked snow, its massive body trembling, thick fur drenched in red. Its glowing green eyes locked onto Lambert with undying hatred.
"Awooooo!"
With a final roar, the wolf king lunged forward, claws flashing with enough force to tear through steel.
Lambert calmly sidestepped.
Battle qi surged, forming a condensed blade of red light around his longsword.
"Strike!"
The sword descended like lightning.
The wolf king's head separated cleanly from its body, hot blood spraying into the air before the corpse crashed heavily onto the ground.
The battle was over.
The entire wolf pack—seventy Icefield Wolves—had been completely annihilated.
The knights suffered almost no casualties.
As the snowfield fell silent, Lambert turned toward Louis, who was riding toward him.
"My Lord," Lambert reported steadily, "the wolf pack has been wiped out."
The spoils of war were quickly tallied.
Seventy thick wolf pelts. Sharp wolf fangs. And most importantly—a massive amount of wolf meat.
Louis surveyed the results with satisfaction and nodded. "Good. Skin the wolves. Distribute the meat among the soldiers. Everyone gets an extra meal."
Cheers erupted instantly.
In the harsh Northern Territory, a hot meal of meat was a luxury beyond imagination.
And wolf meat, if prepared properly, was no worse than ordinary game.
"My Lord is far too generous…"
At that moment, the soldiers' gazes toward Louis changed.
What had once been mere obedience had transformed into genuine loyalty.
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