The large window in the study was open, and the wind blew in from the snow-melted mountains, carrying the scent of earth and lingering snow.

Louis, draped in a deep blue cloak, sat on the wooden chair in the middle of the meeting room.

Before him was no high-backed throne, only a round table covered with a linen tablecloth, the fire casting a soft glow on the side of his face.

This was the seventh visitor seeking funding in these two days.

An elderly Lord with graying hair and a stooped posture.

He had originally served as a steward in Frost Halberd City, but because his distant relative had frozen to death in winter, he was pulled in to be a so-called Baron.

But he was completely clueless, and seeing the remaining populace in a pitiable state, had no choice but to seek Louis' assistance.

With trembling hands, he took the territory map, damp with sweat, from his attendant and offered it with both hands, saying in a low voice:

"Our land... as long as you... can send someone to take a look, I am willing... willing to give up management rights if necessary..."

As he spoke, his speech became faster and softer, as if afraid of being refused.

Louis took the territory map, his thumb lightly brushing over the damp corners, as if he could feel the weight and helplessness held in those trembling hands.

He did not speak immediately, instead carefully examining the rivers and lakes marked on the map.

"Does the tributary in your territory freeze late in winter?"

The old Lord was momentarily stunned, then quickly nodded: "Ye... yes, previously hunters fished there, but later, with insufficient manpower, no one went anymore..."

Louis nodded slightly, speaking in a low voice: "Although the farming conditions are poor, this water system is still intact, and the cold-water fish in the winter stream can live long and are rich in fat.

You don't have many people, so it's not suitable for large-scale farming, but you can organize a few people to try fishing first."

He looked up, his tone gentle: "I will have the materials team allocate some basic fishing gear for you—ice picks, net cages, salt barrels, and insulated tarpaulins.

Fish can't be used as staple food for the year, but it can help you through the toughest months, and perhaps trade for some grain. Once the territory is fully surveyed, you can then decide on what industry to pursue."

The old Lord listened, his eyes turning red.

He had already prepared himself to be refused, or even driven away, yet unexpectedly, Louis did not scold him. Instead, he offered a practical and narrow but viable path forward.

He opened his mouth, as if wanting to express his gratitude, but was choked up.

Louis stood up, gently returning the map. "Hold onto this piece of land for now. Prepare for fishing, and we'll see the results in three months."

The old noble took the map, bowing repeatedly, his shoulders shaking as if struggling to contain his emotions.

Before leaving, he hesitated for a moment, then suddenly knelt down with a choked voice:

"Thank you for your mercy... In this winter, that someone is still... willing to help us... these almost rotten nobles..."

Louis did not assist him up, nor did he avoid the kneeling, simply observing him quietly.

The news of the Red Tide Aid Fund stirred a silent wave of frenzy in the snow-laden Northern Territory.

After Lady Grant received assistance, seven or eight small nobles hurried to Louis' office within two or three days.

They came with haggard faces, wearing shabby robes, presenting family crests and maps, quietly pleading for support.

In the warm and brightly lit conference hall of the Governor's Mansion, Louis sat in the chief seat, surrounded by his team of secretaries and advisory officials.

Every petitioner's speech was carefully recorded, archived, and analyzed by designated personnel.

He himself quietly listened, occasionally twirling a feather pen without expression, softly offering suggestions now and then.

He resembled a godfather.

Of course, this wasn't charity; it was thorough resource selection and strategic infiltration.

"Submit a detailed development plan," he said calmly. "Land utilization maps, current resources, manpower lists, none of which can be omitted."

Once preliminary approval was granted, Red Tide would dispatch its technicians and financial observers into the territory to assist in constructing so-called "infrastructure."

In reality, it aimed to fully control every aspect of the industry.

More crucially, all products must be collected and resold by Red Tide.

Channels were determined by Louis, and prices were set by Louis.

The true purpose of this aid fund was to integrate these dying small territories into Red Tide's economic network.

Using three chains of material, technology, and market to create a "semi-colonial body" that was both dependent and controllable.

Saving people? That was just a fortunate side effect.

The goal for Louis was mastering territories, consuming land, expanding logistics nodes, processing points, and external sales markets.

For those lands with no development potential or of no geographical value, he had no hesitation in offering a casual suggestion.

Then, smiling, he declined, "I suggest you first attempt self-rescue. If there are tangible results, we will reassess."

And among these lords, there were certainly those with their heads held high.

That afternoon, a noble draped in a white fox fur cloak strode into the Governor's Mansion.

He did not remove his hat in greeting but merely tossed an application letter: "I've come as a favor to you."

The secretaries' expressions changed.

Louis glanced at him, his tone icy: "A favor? You don't even address me as 'Prefect.'

The man seemed to want to say more, but was quietly "escorted" out by two Knights, the application letter left intact at the door.

Silence returned to the hall.

Louis opened the next document, coolly saying, "Next."

He was in no rush. Once the first batch of successful cases showed results, others would eventually line up to offer their land and resources, eager to join Red Tide's system.

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