Chapter 130: Chapter 129: Dongxi Territory

In less than half a day, the Gale Bird swept through the cold sky and landed steadily on Louis’s shoulder with a reply.

He took down the letter, his eyebrows slightly raised, clearly not expecting such a quick response.

The reply was not long, and it didn’t mention McKinney’s death at all, as if the life and death of a small lord of this level were insignificant and not worth Duke Edmund’s additional words.

The focus of the letter was in the last paragraph.

Without a direct bloodline heir, the territory is temporarily administered by Louis, with further arrangements to be notified separately.

After reading the letter, Louis smiled lightly, it was exactly as he guessed.

In Edmund’s eyes, McKinney was just an insignificant pawn, and his death was of little consequence, not even worth investigating further.

Instead, he naturally gained an extra piece of land.

The so-called further arrangements likely won’t ever materialize, as long as he governs it, it’s tacitly his territory.

This unchallenged gain is precisely the outcome he desired.

New issues subsequently surfaced, what should be done with those emaciated, near-death freemen and slaves?

Louis stood in the center of the dilapidated plaza, his gaze coldly sweeping over the huddled, dying masses.

The best approach would be to let them gradually die out and then introduce new residents, the most resource-saving method.

Of course, this answer never appeared in his mind.

After all, he wasn’t like McKinney, treating people like livestock, but rather the rising sun of the Northern Territory.

Louis immediately raised his hand and ordered, “Distribute the food.”

The knights obeyed, dragging out the pile of food McKinney had forcibly seized.

The bags were ripped open, grains, smoked fish, and salted meat spilled onto the ground, and soon pots were set up to cook porridge.

Even shredded meat drifted in the porridge, the aroma spreading in the cold wind, making the crowd’s eyes glaze over.

Initially, people just trembled and watched, filled with fear and doubt, swallowing saliva but not daring to step forward.

“This… is this a trap? It can’t be… how could such a good thing happen to us?”

“Do they intend to lure us in and kill us all?”

“Don’t… don’t go over… this isn’t real…”

But when they truly saw food being served to them, those emaciated, disheveled men, women, and children widened their eyes, making hoarse sounds like they were seeing a mirage:

“Isn’t this a dream? Really… someone is giving us food?!”

“Can I really eat it, not a joke?”

“Oh my god… there’s meat in the porridge… it’s meat! I haven’t had meat in three years…”

“Look, it’s real! It’s real! Someone’s eating it!”

The knights distributing food loudly announced, “Listen up! All of this is given to you by your new lord, the great Lord Louis!

From today, you are under the jurisdiction of the Red Tide Territory, and Lord Louis is your true master!”

At that moment, all doubts, all hesitations were shattered by those words.

“He’s… he’s the new lord? He gave us such good things…?”

“People like us, do we really deserve to live?”

“He’s not human, he’s a messenger of God, a savior sent by the Dragon Ancestor!”

When steaming hot porridge was actually served to them, those numbed for so long finally broke down.

The cold wind still howled, ice and snow mercilessly smacking against the rundown eaves, the frigid air seemed to tear skin apart.

The freemen and slaves should have huddled in corners shivering, but at this moment, none of them cared about the cold anymore.

Each wrapped in tattered burlap sacks, moldy blankets, or just a few pieces of scavenged rags, without even shoes.

Barefoot on the frozen muddy ground, though shivering, they still rushed out madly.

“Food… there’s food!”

“Really, it’s real!”

Hunger trumped everything; even the icy wind making their bodies tremble couldn’t stop their approach.

Some mothers tremblingly held their children while taking the first sip, tears mixed with broth streaming down their faces, cheeks reddened by the cold, tears instantly forming frost marks.

Some children sipped little by little, as if tasting the world’s most precious holy water, stopping halfway to give the rest to a brother lying nearby.

Some elders knelt on the icy stone ground, trembling uncontrollably, eating while muttering, “Dragon Ancestor bless… Lord Louis… live long and prosper…”

A little girl clutched her bowl, laughing and crying, crumbs of rice sticking to the corners of her mouth, her cheeks reddened by the cold, refusing to set the bowl down.

White breaths rose in the air, mixing with the fragrant aroma of hot porridge and their heavy breaths, spreading across the plaza, creating the warmest scene.

This was the first true “warmth of humanity” they felt amidst the intertwining of death and cold.

The entire plaza seemed to tear open a rift from its frozen hell.

That steam, those tears, and that trembling gratitude interwove into an almost sacred picture.

And when Louis passed through the crowd again, the scene was already out of control.

Originally sobbing and trembling with gratitude, their gazes captured that youthful figure, freezing in place as if struck by lightning, followed by wails pouring out like a breached flood.

“Lord Louis…!”

“Savior!”

One by one, people knelt to the ground. At first, just a few scattered individuals, but in an instant, the entire sea of people bowed down simultaneously, their foreheads striking heavily against the cold stone slabs, producing a muffled “thump, thump” sound.

“It was he who saved us! It was he who kept us alive!”

“Great Lord, please accept our loyalty… even if it’s repaid with our lives!”

They disregarded decorum, ignored the mud and rubble beneath their knees, and even when their wounds opened from the bows, they continued to prostrate over and over again.

Like believers who have witnessed a Divine Being descending from the heavens, they just wanted to get a little closer, even if only a little.

“Thank you, thank you… Lord Louis…”

They cried, shouted, and trembled, the scene was almost suffocating.

Standing beside Louis, Weir was already moved to tears, shaking with emotion at the sight.

He stood with his chest out, his voice exceptionally firm, “This is the man I follow, Lord Louis!”

These people were so agitated because they had never been regarded as “people”.

During the years of the McGinnis Clan’s rule, they were merely tools, livestock, living corpses whose lives were worse than death.

Even the most basic sustenance was a luxury.

Even a light word of comfort was something no one had ever spoken.

They lived only to make others’ lives better, and their deaths, too, went unremembered.

These people had long given up on seeking redemption, had long learned to close their eyes, clench their teeth, living one day at a time.

But just when they thought everything would remain the same, the young lord arrived.

He ordered food distribution, porridge cooking, knights to maintain order, and even instructed people to carry the weak elderly and children out of the house one by one, serving them hot food.

There was meat in the porridge, oil spots, steaming hot, untainted by water or ash—a food that could genuinely save lives.

This was not a mere pretentious act of charity, it was a mercy they never dared to dream of.

Of course, they knew that Louis didn’t have to do this.

He was the new lord; he had every reason to continue treating them as a “mess”.

Like McKinney, allow them to die and then clear out a “clean” piece of land.

But the great Lord Louis did not.

He chose to save them, even though they were as dirty as soil, as thin as withered branches, almost forgetting what “living” felt like.

Hence, they knelt like this, cried out like this.

Not because of who Louis was, nor because they blindly worshipped him.

But because they finally believed that their lives mattered to someone.

They wailed for the loved ones who fell yesterday without anyone to collect their bodies.

They knelt for the late bowl of hot porridge today.

They cried out for a tomorrow where, no matter how bitter it may be, they could finally see a glimmer of light.

At that moment, they finally remembered that they, too, were originally “people,” not just labor tools.

Of course, it wasn’t just about distributing food; Louis ordered a thorough census of the population first.

Half a day later, the knight in charge of the matter reported a heavy number.

“In the entire territory… only a hundred and thirty-two people are left who can still move.”

Standing in the cold wind, Louis gazed at the countless corpses on this lifeless land.

This was the number he could anticipate, given that winter had been here for some time. Even if the Snow Swearer hadn’t harassed this place, under the wasteful governance, most people should have died anyway.

“We can’t leave them here,” he said softly.

Starting construction from scratch?

It’s no longer possible.

The McKinney’s territory had long rotted away, and now, in the midst of winter, rebuilding from scratch would only drag everyone to death.

Louis quickly ordered, “First, migrate them in batches, send them to the Canglu Territory, Ice Ridge Territory, Snowfield Territory, Cold Fir Territory.”

These were the four camps newly established by Red Tide in recent years. Although order was just being established and resources were scarce, as long as he allocated more grain, there shouldn’t be much problem.

As for the Red Tide Territory, he did not arrange for these people to settle there.

That place is the true core of Red Tide; should any unstable factors mix in, even a contagious illness, it could lead to irrevocable consequences.

Thus, a grand winter migration commenced.

Initially, there were concerns about being rejected.

But on the first day of arrival, someone took over the burdens on their shoulders and handed them hot porridge and clean bedding.

The people of Red Tide had long been accustomed to helping one another.

Because they, too, were rescued by Louis in their recent bleak lives.

So there was enough empathy to welcome new residents.

This was faith in Louis, not worshipping with bowed heads, but sharing the fire to help others in the snowstorm.

And this wasteland, Louis bestowed upon it a new name: Dongxi Territory.

“Symbolizing the first rays of light at the end of winter,” he said.

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