They quietly disbanded like the wind scattering sand, dispersing into the alleys, ruins, and crowds, as if they never existed.

In just one day, the undercurrent of the entire Red Tide City seemed to have been severed by a heavy blow.

No one mentioned "Red Tide's hidden grains" anymore, and no one dared to gather for discussions.

They suddenly realized:

This land was not the Northern Wasteland that could be plundered and burned at will.

It belonged to the man who dared to kill nobility, execute the unruly, and showed no mercy.

This is Red Tide.

In Red Tide, those who disobey, disregard the law, or are unafraid of death, will die quickly.

The sound of the whip finally ceased, the blood on the execution platform not yet dry, but the crowd in the square surged like a tide.

Some knelt on the ground with tears streaming, repeatedly kowtowing and murmuring, "Thank you, my lord... Thank you, Red Tide... Thank you for saving us..."

Others shouted emotionally, "It is Red Tide that gave us a place to stay!"

"We were hiding in a cave, almost freezing to death, and they brought us out!"

"We can drink porridge because Lord Louis sent people to cook it!"

"My spouse is in the medicine camp; Red Tide dressed his wounds three times, and they're almost healed!"

The shouts rose and fell, the originally oppressive square welcoming a glimmer of sunlight after the thaw of spring snow.

It was the joy of surviving calamity, the fervor of grasping a lifeline in desperation.

A middle-aged man raised a half-tattered flag high—one he had picked up from the ruins during the Insect Tide, now painted with Red Tide's moon emblem using dye.

"Long live Lord Louis!"

He was the first to shout this slogan, his voice hoarse but deafening.

The next moment, as if engulfed by flames, the entire square erupted:

"Long live Red Tide!"

"Long live Lord Louis!!"

"We swear to protect Red Tide to death!!"

The civilians waved their torn hats, split hands, and not yet scabbed palms high, their voices hoarse but still shouting.

Children joined in, even if they did not understand the meaning, knowing it was "that lord who protects them."

Amidst the thousands of cheers, a deep yet authoritative voice came from the south end of the square.

"Silence."

The voice was not loud, yet it felt like a heavy hammer from within, quieting the boiling crowd.

Following their gaze, it was a typical red and black cloak of the Red Tide Knight Order, with fire-lacquered edges shining in the morning sun.

Louis slowly ascended the high platform.

His cloak undisturbed, his expression stern, each step as steady as a hammer.

But when he stood still, scanning the people below, he did not rebuke them; instead, he calmly spoke:

"You stand here because you held your ground.

Red Tide Territory is your shelter.

But remember—this land is safe not because someone favors it but because of the iron laws here."

The wind howled as Louis raised his hand, pointing below the platform:

"As long as you're willing to follow Red Tide's rules, as long as you're willing to unite, obey orders, cause no chaos, harm no one, this iron law will protect you!"

The instant his words fell, the square was silent, then erupted into thunderous applause and cheers.

"We vow to uphold Red Tide's law!"

"We vow to serve my lord with all our might!"

"As long as we can survive, we are willing to do anything!"

Some even knelt down, shouting, "This is not a land of exile; it's our home! Red Tide allows us to have a home to return to!"

And Louis stood on the execution platform, the red cloak billowing in the wind, amidst the blood-stained snow and mountains of cheers, like a true king ascending the throne.

Refugees in millions, food routes paralyzed, the old system collapsed, the new system not established...

The entire Northern Territory was like a severely wounded beast, skin torn, and blood streaming, only a strong medicine could stop the life from flowing away.

And before Red Tide's true laws, food routes, and allocation systems were established, Louis knew that human nature was unreliable.

So he picked the worst chaos and laid down the harshest blade.

The survival instinct would drive refugees to raid granaries, hunger and hatred would ignite armed fights, and the struggle for territory and interests would replay the madness before the collapse of the Northern Territory.

He couldn't wait.

Couldn't wait for the laws to be perfected, , couldn't wait for the city defenses to be built, couldn't wait for negotiations with the old nobility to conclude.

He needed to kill a batch of people first.

Kill with enough ruthlessness, enough volume.

Killing so that the people on this land would hear the sound of iron touching bone, there would be the first hint of "rules."

This public trial was the horn of iron and blood, the vanguard of rebuilding, Louis carving out a "boundary" amidst the chaos.

And since that day, no one dared to engage in private armed fights or raiding in Red Tide Territory.

No refugee dared to break into the granary without permission.

And no one dared to disrespect the name Louis Calvin.

Because everyone knew that it was not just a lord's name, but a new code written in fresh blood, above the old nobility.

In the center of the square, that familiar flag slowly rose.

The Red Tide flag, like a blazing sun, flapping in the Northern wind, like an undying flame, lighting up the ice and snow, reflecting the bloodstains beneath the execution platform yet to solidify.

The two red colors resonated with each other, and it was this hue that spoke more than a thousand words.

It symbolized order, protection, and that name which had pulled everyone back from the brink of death on the darkest night.

"Long live Red Tide!"

"Long live Lord Louis!!"

The shouts like tides spread from the heart of the square to the city walls, streets, and even to those huddled on rooftops.

It was not commanded by anyone, not led by anyone, but the most primitive, most instinctive outburst of emotion.

The representatives of the nobility stood aside, their expressions complex. They intended to leave amid the commotion but were briefly struck by the sudden wave of sound.

Many felt a chill in their hearts, stepping back half a step involuntarily.

Someone whispered, "Are these still refugees? They're... believers."

Ultimately, they dared not linger, bowing their heads and leaving quickly without a word.

They dared not look back at the high platform, only feeling that the Red Tide flag watched them silently.

But the indigenous people and new settlers in the square still stood in the cold wind, looking at the figure once standing amidst the flames and Insect Tide, tears of intense emotion in their eyes.

One shout followed by ten, a hundred, a thousand—

"Long live Red Tide!"

"Long live Lord Louis!!"

It was an oath beneath the snow; it was loyalty in the ruins, the people's most fervent gratitude and submission to their protector.

After this turmoil, on this blood-stained square, the order belonging to Red Tide finally took firm root.

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