FL - Chapter 94: Not Enough Grain

Bradley paid no mind to the young knight's wide-eyed wonder. He produced a ledger, flipped it open to a specific page, and began his report.

"Current grain reserves are as follows: rye, one hundred and seventy tons. Potatoes, seventy tons. Turnips, twenty tons… With proper rationing, this supply of staple food can sustain two thousand people for three to four months."

Louis studied the orderly rows of grain sacks. Every crate was clearly marked and stacked with gaps for airflow and rat prevention.

"Well done," he said.

Bradley continued the tour, pushing open a neighboring vault door. A smoky, savory aroma—with a hint of char—rushed out to meet them.

"On the smoked fish front, this season's output stands at twelve tons, with an additional ten tons of fresh fish kept in ice-water pits for preservation." He walked as he spoke. "To increase winter stores, we switched to finer nets. When the final wave of migrating fish runs this autumn, we should still be able to bring in a substantial catch."

Louis nodded.

Early on, to maintain sustainable fishing, he had ordered the use of wide-mesh nets to let the smaller fish escape. But the current situation was exceptional. For the sake of emergency stockpiling, he had personally approved switching to finer mesh—a harvest-maximizing push.

Farther inside lay a small but meticulously organized chamber for cured meat and herbs. Air-dried game hung from wall hooks, butchered livestock rested on racks, and several bundles of medicinal herbs occupied one corner—too few for comfort, but enough for emergencies.

"All from the hunting and culling rounds before autumn," Bradley explained. "Not much, but it'll go a long way."

Having completed the full circuit, the group retraced their steps back through the chambers and returned to the main vault's exit. Bradley opened his notebook once more, tidied his figures, and delivered a measured summary.

"In aggregate—staple grain, smoked fish, dried meat, and miscellaneous herbs—current reserves are as follows:

Rye, one hundred and seventy tons. Potatoes, seventy tons. Turnips, twenty tons. These constitute the staple grain supply.

Smoked fish, twelve tons. Fresh fish, ten tons, with processing ongoing.

Cured meat and game, approximately four tons, some still air-drying.

Herbs, while not abundant, are barely sufficient to treat several common cold-weather ailments."

He paused, his tone even. "At a standard of roughly two pounds of grain per person per day, with measured distribution, rotational substitution, and the work-for-food policy, Crimson Tide Territory's current resident population of over two thousand can be barely sustained through four months of winter.

However, should we encounter extreme cold, blizzards that seal the roads, or external calamity, the margin will become dangerously thin. Over the coming months, strict controls on entry, exit, and consumption will be essential."

Louis listened in silence. He knew Bradley was right.

The grain was "enough." Technically.

But that narrow sufficiency depended upon strict rationing, sound administration, and public cooperation. One broken link—an epidemic or a late spring—could consume the surplus within weeks.

Crimson Tide Territory lay in the southern reaches of the Northlands, milder than the true frozen zones but still dangerous in winter. From early December through late March, the ground remained frozen for four months. Blizzards struck once or twice a week, snow could pile nearly ten feet deep, and the coastline froze for at least one or two months.

No matter how full the granaries, there was no guarantee they could withstand that stretch of wind and snow.

And this was already the best that Crimson Tide Territory, or even the entire Northlands, could manage heading into winter.

He couldn't ask the people to do more. They were already frugal enough. They had already worked hard enough.

And Bradley's ledger had only accounted for the two thousand five hundred people currently living in Crimson Tide Territory.

More refugees waited across the newly acquired territory of over three hundred and eighty-six square miles. Displaced by war, they possessed no surplus grain for winter. Without relief, they would die one by one beneath the snow, many without anyone ever finding their bodies.

"Even with the grain my father's sending, it's barely a trickle. Not nearly enough to save those people."

Louis ran the numbers in his head, his gaze darkening.

House Calvin's black rice, legumes, dried wheat flour, and salted meat totaled less than one hundred tons. After transport losses and spoilage, perhaps seventy or eighty tons would reach the storehouses. That could sustain a few hundred people for a time; for thousands upon thousands, it was a drop in the bucket.

Louis tapped his fingertips lightly against the edge of the vault door and thought for a long while.

He understood there were only two choices before him.

The first was to abandon the refugees, wait until spring, then buy slaves from the South. With cheaper labor, he could develop the land over time into a true domain of his own.

That path was the correct one.

All he had to do was close his eyes to their shivering, starving forms. The practical course would follow naturally.

But Louis couldn't do it.

His gaze drifted toward the valley mouth, and he pictured ragged figures kneeling in the snow. He could not abandon them.

Yet the grain reserves were at their limit. Foraging in the wild wouldn't come close to making up the deficit.

There was only one real way to fill the gap. Buy the grain. That was the second choice.

As House Calvin's agent in the Northlands, Louis could mobilize the family's trading resources and transport routes. Those channels would let him buy grain far more cheaply than an ordinary noble.

"Bradley."

The old man stepped forward at once, bowing slightly. "Yes, my lord."

Louis gave the order. "Arrange a team. Purchase grain directly through the House Calvin trading company's channels."

A flicker of surprise crossed Bradley's eyes, but he lowered his head and answered, "Understood. However… the matter of funds…"

"Don't worry about the money." Louis's tone was calm.

His campaign reward, Mana Marrow income, and other profits left him with more than twenty thousand Gold Coins in cash. For once, money was the resource he did not lack.

But that was exactly right. Because this money needed to be spent on the most critical thing.

Spent carefully, it could buy those people a winter's worth of hope.

So this was something he could do. And he would do it cleanly, with no hesitation.

"Buy the most shelf-stable stuff. The most filling. The cheapest, the most practical." He locked eyes with Bradley, his voice unhurried but firm. "And most importantly—fast. Before winter arrives."

Bradley nodded gravely. "Understood."