Louis surveyed the surroundings; within the steaming light, the refugees were busy among the furrows.

The elders bent over, clearing the weeds from between the wheat furrows one by one, while the women carefully watered with clay pots.

There were also a few children, in tattered clothes, yet striving to mimic the adults, forcefully thrusting small shovels into the soil.

Further afield, a few disabled individuals were visible, including a robust man on one leg leaning on a wooden crutch, gasping heavily while turning the soil.

An old woman with one hand was using an iron rake, struggling to loosen the soil for a small patch of seedlings.

Their bodies were incomplete, but in those eyes burned a light that was almost obstinate.

It was a will to survive, and even more so, a cherishing of what could be kept.

If these people were in other noble territories, they would have long been driven out as burdens, left to wander the snowfields and die.

But in Red Tide Territory, not only did Louis not drive them away, he also gave them a way to survive.

As long as they could still move, they could work and receive a portion of bread and hot soup.

They understood that this was a grace bestowed by Louis.

Even more precious was that this grace was not charity but a dignified way of living.

Not relying on begging, not relying on sympathy, but earning every bite with their own hands.

This way of living gave them peace of mind and incited in them a feeling of gratitude and reverence toward the young lord.

A little girl, about seven or eight years old, squatted by the edge of the field, intently watching a snow bone wheat seedling that had just broken through the soil, its stem like a bone spike in the snow, delicate yet resilient.

The girl clasped her hands together, praying softly and devoutly in her heart: "Please, grow up quickly."

Mike stood beside Louis, his eyes slightly red, his tone low yet sincere:

"Lord... if it weren't for your fabrication of these greenhouses, gathering materials, manpower, and blueprints in advance... half the refugees might have starved this winter."

His gaze turned toward the distant, smoke-shrouded cluster of greenhouses, under whose low, arched roofs the last hopes of this winter were being nurtured.

Louis looked at the crowd before him, his tone calm as frost: "This is not a miracle."

He paused, sweeping his gaze over those who were still persistently working in the mud and water.

"This is the result of everyone's concerted efforts."

Emily stood beside him, having remained silent for a long time.

She looked at the people laboring in the fields, at those figures weary yet unyielding from war, and then at the young lord who experienced saving the Northern Territory.

Emily spoke softly, her voice as gentle as if it had been merged with warm mist, "They... will be grateful to you."

She slightly turned her head, looking at Louis.

Sunlight fell through the mist, landing just on his shoulder, casting a faint glimmer on his gray-white cloak.

His expression was serene, his gaze sharp, yet the shadows under his eyes bespoke exhaustion.

Yet it was this very youth who, amidst the despairing mire for countless people, upheld a semblance of order.

Louis had already stepped forward, his tone reverting to its usual crispness: "Continue to expand all greenhouses. Start the second batch of planting as soon as possible..."

With each command given, the accompanying civil servants immediately recorded them, and Mike repeatedly responded, turning to press others for arrangements.

And as Louis turned to leave, he couldn't resist glancing back at the group of greenhouses.

Rows of greenhouses stood like low hills, quietly in the fields not yet freed of morning mist.

Like silent warriors, they guarded the front line of this biting winter.

"I hope these... will allow for a little more harvest in winter," he mused for a long time, his gaze shifting from the greenhouses to the sky.

The clouds continued to gather, the chill continued to deepen.

Louis and his group left the greenhouse area, treading on snow, heading north along the main road.

The wind grew harsher, the sky slightly darkened, and the distant mountains topped with thick snow blurred even the outlines of the forests.

The shadow of winter was slowly but inexorably descending.

Red Rock Warehouse loomed close ahead.

It was a vast complex of warehouses carved into the mountain, with warehouse doors standing like iron fortresses in the rock walls, layered with stone steps and ramps extending within, naturally advantaged against wind and snow.

Upon arrival, two teams were seen working in front of the warehouse.

One was the Calvin Commerce Association grain transport team from the South, their captain, wrapped in a thick cloak, loudly directing the personnel.

They unloaded crates of salt-preserved meat and high-calorie dried rations wrapped in coarse burlap from the wooden carts, neatly stacking them by the warehouse entry rails.

The salty aroma mixed with the cold wind hit, making Emily instinctively swallow.

Simultaneously, another team led by the Red Tide Knight also arrived from the other side.

They carried surplus grain collected from abandoned villages and former noble storages.

On their carts were moldy, sifted rye, hardened carrots, and even some long-stored wild beans suitable as feed.

At that moment, the two teams crossed paths in front of Red Rock Warehouse, one bringing "hope," the other recovering the "remnants."

At that instant, Louis stood on the high ground at the warehouse entrance, overlooking the scene as if observing an artery stretched to its limits.

The Red Tide supply line was circulating.

Bradley was present, draped in a thick black cloak, examining a detailed ledger with his usual rigor.

"You're just in time, sir," he said, looking up to see Louis, stepping forward voluntarily, his tone as usual steady, yet betraying a hint of relief after a long wait, "this is the integrated inventory list of the granary, I was about to send it to you."

Louis took it, glanced at the slightly hefty ledger, and nodded.

Bradley explained beside him, "Regarding major grains, there's a stock of ten thousand tons of rye, with most stored at Red Rock Warehouse as the main reserve. Six thousand tons of potatoes are planned as the staple consumption for the first half of winter.

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