FL - Chapter 35: Fisheries and Agriculture Boom

After leaving the training grounds, Louis led Sif down a dirt path. Halfway along, he stopped and headed toward a simple but clean wooden cabin.

"I'm going to check on someone," he said, and pushed open the door.

The room was dim, the air carrying the faint scent of medicinal herbs.

On a wooden bed against the wall lay a knight. His face was still pale, but he looked far better than he had days before.

This was the knight who had been wounded in the battle against the Frost Giants—Havel.

Seeing Louis enter, Havel instinctively struggled to rise and offer a salute, but Louis gently pressed him back down.

"Don't move." Louis frowned. "Your wounds haven't fully healed."

Havel managed an embarrassed smile. "My lord, I'm already much better."

"Don't push yourself." Louis pulled over a chair and sat. "What does the doctor say?"

"He says I'm stable. It'll just take some time to recover." Havel lowered his head, frustration coloring his voice. "I'm sorry to have worried you."

"You're lucky to have made it back alive." Louis let out a soft sigh. "Don't worry—I'll find suitable medicine as soon as I can. We'll get your cultivation restored."

"Thank you, my lord. I will never forget your kindness. Once I'm healed, I will keep fighting for Crimson Tide Territory."

Havel's voice had gone thick, his words steeped in nothing but loyalty.

Sif stood to the side, watching. The scene stirred something in her.

She had assumed Louis was merely putting on an act—surface-level theater.

But looking at the unfeigned loyalty in this wounded knight's eyes, she suddenly felt her conviction waver.

"Don't talk like you're saying goodbye." Louis chuckled, stood, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Focus on healing. Don't rush back just to embarrass yourself."

Before leaving, he instructed the guards to take good care of Havel. The knight's eyes glistened once more.

After parting with Havel, Louis brought Sif eastward, toward the riverbank.

Morning light shimmered across the water's surface in rippling waves of gold. A few fishing boats bobbed lazily along the shore. Fishermen busied themselves mending their nets, the occasional burst of hearty laughter drifting through the air.

Louis surveyed the scene. The fisheries had entered a stable phase. There were more boats than before, but their catches were no longer as abundant.

This came as no surprise to him—it was, in fact, intentional.

To prevent overfishing and ensure the fish populations could sustain themselves, he had ordered the net mesh widened so that juveniles could slip through and escape.

At the same time, fishing was restricted to fixed hours, with closed seasons built in, giving the river and its stocks room to breathe. Sustainable fishing was the goal.

The fisheries officer, Luke, spotted Louis and hurried over, his face tinged with a touch of fawning eagerness.

Louis inclined his head slightly, his eyes sweeping across the river. "How is the fish farming coming along?"

"We've already begun the trials." Luke puffed out his chest.

"We selected a few species that thrive in cold waters and started experimenting with semi-enclosed cultivation." He pointed at a wooden raft bobbing on the water, his voice rising with excitement.

"Lord, you truly had the foresight. You planned for the long term long before any of us thought to. Without this, in a few years' time, we'd have fished the river clean!"

"You've done good work," Louis said offhandedly.

Luke's eyes immediately crinkled with delight. He waved his hands back and forth. "Not at all, not at all—it's all thanks to your wise leadership, my lord!"

Louis chuckled under his breath and let it pass.

Sif watched this little exchange from the side, a scoff forming silently in her mind.

She rolled her eyes at the fawning cries of "wise leadership"—but she couldn't deny that the people of Crimson Tide Territory truly trusted him.

Louis glanced at Sif, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. He could read her thoughts perfectly well but couldn't be bothered to explain himself.

"Let's go," he said, and set off toward the farmland of Crimson Tide Territory.

The broad fields stretched out beneath the morning sun. The stalks of black rye stood noticeably thick, their deep-green leaves swaying gently in the breeze. Potato foliage spread in lush clusters. The turnips, too, were thriving—a landscape bursting with vitality.

The agricultural officer, Mick, was making his rounds through the fields with a few farmers.

He hurried over the moment he spotted Louis, brushing the dirt from his hands, a simple, honest smile on his face.

"In another ten days or so, the turnips will be ready to harvest. The rye's growing well, and the potatoes haven't had any problems. Should be a good yield."

Mick delivered his report with a note of pride in his voice.

Louis nodded, his gaze sweeping across the fields. The furrows were neatly laid, the soil moist and clearly well-tended.

"Good work, Mick," he said.

Mick froze for a beat, then his smile spread even wider—almost to the point of visible emotion.

He clenched his fists, trying to contain his joy, but the grin at the corners of his mouth gave him away.

He owed everything he had come to be to the young lord standing before him.

Not long ago, he had been nothing but a slave scrabbling for food in the dirt, someone who didn't even have the right to look at a noble, let alone speak to one.

But Louis had not only granted him his freedom—he had put him in charge of all of Crimson Tide Territory's farmland, lifting a lowly slave into the role of agricultural supervisor.

Now, his greatest goal in life was to give everything he had to making Crimson Tide Territory's agriculture flourish.

To let this land feed more people. To make this territory richer than any other.

"My lord, I will not let you down." Mick's voice was solemn, and it trembled.

Louis smiled faintly and patted him on the shoulder. "Keep at it."

Then, looking at the red-cheeked, beaming Mick, something seemed to occur to him. He raised an eyebrow. "So, how's married life treating you?"

Mick blinked, and then his face flushed deep red. He flailed his hands, stumbling over his words. "W-What sort of thing is that to say, my lord—please, don't tease me."

Louis burst out laughing and gave his shoulder another slap. "Still, pace yourself. I'd rather not find you too exhausted to get out of bed one of these mornings."

The nearby farmers joined in the laughter, and the mood lifted at once.

Over the course of the morning, Sif's view of Louis had changed. He no longer seemed merely a cunning noble, but a leader who cared about his territory and commanded genuine respect.

Whether it was genuine or a mask, she couldn't say. But one thing was certain: his people loved him with all sincerity.

A troubling thought crept in. If every territory in the Northlands developed as steadily as Crimson Tide Territory, the Cold Moon Tribe would face a dire threat.

But a moment later, she dismissed the thought. *So what if it's a threat?*

*Those are the traitors who murdered my family. The sooner they die, the better!*

Sif pulled herself back from her thoughts and looked toward Louis, standing not far away.

The man stood among the fields, chatting casually with farmers and slaves alike. His tone was relaxed, and there was a lazy, half-amused smile resting in the corner of his eyes.

A breeze swept through, tousling his black hair. Backlit by the sun, his profile stood out in sharp relief.

Sif wasn't sure why, but she found herself staring—just a little too long.