FL - Chapter 93: Redrock Granary

Midday sunlight fell at a slant, the breeze carrying a touch of coolness.

Louis rode along the dirt road, a dark gray wolfskin cloak draped over his shoulders and a sword at his hip. Behind him followed a handful of guards, all armored, all silent. The most conspicuous figure in the guard formation was not one of the burly Elite Knights. It was a slightly callow silhouette.

It was Weir, wearing light knight's armor that did not quite fit and a short knight's sword at his waist. His slight frame looked almost comical atop the sturdy warhorse, yet his seat remained perfectly steady. He had clearly worked hard on his horsemanship.

Only his expression spoiled the effect: a painfully earnest attempt at stern dignity that could not hide his youth. He was trying very hard to look like the personal guard of a great lord.

Louis passed by him and caught the sight out of the corner of his eye. He nearly laughed out loud.

The savory aroma of smoked fish greeted them as they passed the smokehouse. Smoke curled through the half-open shed, where rows of fish hung from iron hooks and darkened over the fires.

A woman in a coarse-cloth apron stepped out of the shed and happened to catch sight of Weir riding past. It was his mother. Sweat still clung to her face, but the moment she saw Weir, her eyes brimmed with joy.

"Hey, it's Weir!" She waved, her eyes curving into crescents. "And the lord is with you!"

Louis dipped his head in acknowledgment.

Weir pretended not to hear. He straightened further and stared rigidly ahead, determined not to be distracted while on duty.

The next second—*smack.*

Louis lifted a hand and delivered a light slap to the back of Weir's head. "You little brat. Say hello to your mother."

"I-I…" Weir froze up completely, his face blazing red in an instant.

"Hurry up." Louis pressed.

"Yes!" Weir spun his head around in a panic, his voice coming out higher than intended. "Ma! I'm—I'm guarding the lord!"

He waved at his mother without daring to lift his eyes.

The woman in the workshop beamed. "Ah, good, good! You guard the lord well! I'll stew you some fish soup tonight!"

"Ma! …Just stop talking…"

"Ha ha ha ha."

A few of the guards had been holding it in for too long and finally burst out laughing.

Weir's composure collapsed. Red spread from his face to his ears and down his neck as he lowered his head and muttered under his breath.

Louis shook his head, suppressing a grin, and turned his horse to continue onward.

The purpose of this outing was to inspect Crimson Tide Territory's main grain storage site: Redrock Granary.

The underground granary occupied a natural cave beside a mountain stream. Its concealed location, year-round cold, and remarkably stable humidity made it a natural storehouse.

Louis had picked the site himself.

Louis had supplied a rough sketch and a list of requirements—keep it cold, keep out rats, maintain ventilation—then handed the monumental task to Bradley.

Bradley was the sort of elite steward who could turn an empty patch of earth into a granary and two hidden vaults. He had not risen so high in House Calvin without reason; the task lay well within his abilities.

Louis had visited the site once before marching off to war. He'd strolled around, tossing out plenty of detailed suggestions. "The interior shelving must be removable." "Wet and dry zones must not be mixed." And so on.

Then he'd dusted off his hands and gone off to the battlefield.

Now he was back. It was time to see how this underground granary had turned out.

"Redrock Granary is just ahead," a knight called out, riding up and pointing toward the end of the cliff face.

Following the gesture, Louis's eyes landed on a natural rock wall that had been carefully worked. Its exterior retained a rugged, rough look, but one could already sense a deep structure hidden behind it. The surroundings were quiet, the humidity moderate, the position thoroughly concealed. If you didn't know the location beforehand, finding it would take serious effort.

This mountainside cave was exactly what the Daily Intelligence System had indicated: a perfect natural cold-storage site.

Five or six Crimson Tide Knights and over a dozen soldiers stood guard at the entrance, ensuring absolute security. When they saw Louis and his party approaching, the guards snapped ramrod-straight and saluted with reverence. "Lord!"

"Good work." Louis returned the greeting curtly, dismounted, and walked toward the granary entrance.

A figure was already standing at the door, waiting respectfully for his arrival. A black cloak lined with dark green. Silver-white hair, slightly curled. An ebony cane in hand.

It was Bradley—the old retainer Louis trusted most in Crimson Tide Territory, and the man who now controlled the territory's internal affairs.

"My lord." The old man inclined his body in a bow, his tone deferential. "Redrock Granary is prepared. Please, follow me."

Louis nodded and followed Bradley inside.

The air that greeted them was cool and crisp. Moisture-proof stone tiles lined the floor. The interior was clearly partitioned, everything laid out in perfect order.

Bradley led the way as he spoke, his introduction measured and thorough. "The main storage is divided into three chambers: the grain vault, the smoked fish vault, and the meat cold room and dried herb storehouse."

He gestured lightly toward a roof vent. "Per your suggestions, each chamber is equipped with ventilation shafts and rat guards. The smoking chamber also includes a simple draft system to disperse smoke and moisture."

"Grain, fish, and meat are all shelved by category. The removable wooden racks you proposed save considerable space. The double-door buffer design prevents sudden temperature shifts…"

Louis surveyed the immaculate chamber. The layout was sound, with no mildew or dust even in the corners. Details he had mentioned in passing, including small wheeled tracks for moving goods, had all been implemented precisely.

"Well done," Louis said quietly, the praise carrying a note of genuine acknowledgment.

Bradley bowed without pride or excitement. "Thank you, my lord. It was my duty."

As he spoke, Bradley pushed open another vault door and ushered the group inside. The air was cold and dry, moisture-proof tiles underfoot, everything orderly and pristine.

A guard lit an oil lantern, illuminating the interior with perfect clarity.

Weir's eyes went wide at the sight. He gasped. "Th-this... this much grain?"

He remembered his mother worrying whether the lord had prepared enough, whether people like them would go hungry through the winter. She'd even whispered about eating less to lighten the lord's burden.

Looking at this now, it seemed she wouldn't need to worry anymore.

*The lord really is just too reliable.*