"Brothers—execute the plan!" Luke's throaty roar ignited the riverbank.

Ten fishing boats fanned out in formation, oars churning the water into froth. Fishermen lowered enormous seine nets into the river. These nets had been carefully modified—they barely touched the water before snapping taut.

"Hold formation! Don't let the school slip through!" The lead boatman, Greg, had veins bulging along his arms, the hemp rope stretched taut as a bowstring. Dark shapes darted beneath the surface, surging like a living tide.

"They're in the net! They're in!" Someone shouted first, and suddenly the whole river erupted.

Fat, broad-jawed river fish hammered against the netting, but the ring of ten boats gave them no escape. The fishermen hauled the ropes with swift, practiced efficiency, locking the catch in. The water erupted with countless splashes as fish leaped above the surface, silver scales flashing brilliantly in the sunlight.

"Pull! Don't let the net go slack!"

"Ha! I've never seen this many fish in my life!"

Muscles straining, they heaved in unison. The seine contracted, the sheer weight tilting the boats. When the final net was hauled aboard, the decks were buried in thrashing, gleaming fish—every one larger than ordinary river stock, their fat bodies writhing and twisting.

This haul exceeded anything anyone had imagined. Over two thousand fish—enough to feed the entire territory for days.

On the far bank, the net-casters were working just as furiously.

"Angle the throw right, or you'll miss the school!" An old fisherman coached a young apprentice beside him.

The kid took a deep breath, gripped his net, and hurled it in a perfect arc. It draped over a cluster of fish that hadn't yet fled. "Hit!" He yanked the rope tight, and the water exploded with thrashing—two-foot-long fat fish caught and struggling.

"This one's huge!" He hoisted a fish the length of his arm, and his companions crowded around with envious grins. "Put that in a pot and you'd get the best soup you ever tasted!"

Laughing so hard their eyes disappeared, they worked even faster. Though their haul couldn't match the seine team's, they still netted several hundred fresh fish, every barrel stuffed to the brim.

Further down the beach, the native traditional-fishing team waged their own hunt. Every man gripped a wickedly sharpened harpoon, their eyes drilling into the water.

"Now!" A veteran fisherman whipped his arm forward, and the harpoon knifed through the surface. *Splash!* Bloody froth bubbled up. A three-pound monster of a fish was pinned, thrashing wildly, but its fate was already sealed. In the span of moments, their barrels were stacked with seven or eight big fish, tails still flopping over the rims.

Farther out in the shallows, other fishermen calmly set their cage traps and waited.

"Wait… wait…" A fisherman's eyes lit up. He snatched up a cage. "Got 'em! A dozen at least!" Cheers erupted. These fish were smaller, but their meat was delicate—the most sought-after delicacy of all.

The operation lasted hours before the fishermen finally began hauling in their gear. Every boat was heaped with fresh, thrashing fish, scales flashing and tails slapping.

"Three thousand fish! Over three thousand!" When the final count came in, the dock exploded.

"The lord knew! He said there'd be fish today, and there are!"

"We've never fished like this before—so much in a single haul!"

"He doesn't just know how to govern—he even knows fishing!"

The fishermen high-fived and clapped shoulders, beaming, singing Louis's praises. Even those who'd doubted the operation now stood thoroughly convinced by the evidence before their eyes.

Luke watched from the side, his heart shaken. The anxiety he'd felt had been obliterated by joy. He truly hadn't believed Louis's prediction could be this precise—it was almost miraculous.

He couldn't stop himself from looking up at the young lord standing atop the dock. Louis wore a faint smile, watching the satisfaction spread across his fishermen's faces. His own spirits lifted with theirs. He knew he'd just taken the first step toward pulling Crimson Tide Territory out of its predicament. Their food crisis could finally breathe.

And today's catch was only the beginning. This was a long-term industry. As a transmigrator, Louis understood sustainability, and he'd already drawn up a meticulous harvesting strategy.

First, all net mesh sizes were to be enlarged so juvenile fish could slip through and grow, ready for the next spawning season. Fishing would be restricted to fixed daily windows, with at least one rest day per week to give the river and its stock room to breathe. Only then would the harvests keep coming, year after year, rather than collapsing overnight.

Beyond wild fishing, Louis planned to establish dedicated aquaculture zones, selecting prime fish as breeding stock to cultivate in controlled waters—making the industry stable, not wholly dependent on nature's whims.

He surveyed the mountain of fish piled on the dock and considered how to handle it. No matter how much food you had, poor management would turn it into waste.

A celebration feast, he decided. In just a few days, it would be exactly one month since he'd arrived at Crimson Tide Territory. A milestone worth marking.

Over that month, this barren, demoralized wasteland had regained order. Fisheries, farming, and other developments had given the people hope. Louis knew it wasn't entirely his own doing, so this feast would not only celebrate a bountiful catch—it would honor the fishermen, craftsmen, and soldiers who had contributed to the territory's rise.

But the feast could only consume a fraction of the haul. The vast majority still needed to be preserved. Though it was only enough to feed a thousand-some people for a few days, fishing was a long-term industry. They couldn't let the catch go to waste. They needed long-term storage for the winter, when food would be scarce.

Louis suddenly thought of a method to preserve fish for the long haul. He wanted to give it a try.