July is the shortest and gentlest season of the year in the Northern Territory.
The sunlight, though faint, lightly sprinkles over the wilderness, brushing past the treetops and wheat fields, as if the cold wind has taken a rest, leaving only a slight coolness gently twirling between the hair strands.
On such a quiet afternoon, a caravan slowly approaches on the main road outside Red Tide City.
Leading the way is an honor guard dispatched by Duke Edmund’s Mansion, followed by more than a dozen carriages.
"Is this the Red Tide Territory?"
The Duchess Alina sits in the second carriage, lifting a corner of the curtain, gazing at the changing scenery outside the window.
Born from the old nobility of the Northern Territory, she has been well-traveled since childhood, following her husband on provincial tours for many years, having visited many famous places in both the north and south.
Yet the scene before her still causes her to pause slightly.
The streets are clean, with not a scrap of paper at the edges, and the cobbled path appears as if newly laid—immaculate and neat.
On either side of the road, workers are efficiently transporting sacks of wheat; their movents are skillful and orderly, with not a trace of fatigue on their faces.
Further away, several children are running and playing by the low fences, their laughter mingling with the sumr breeze.
Outside the carriage, a gray-haired middle-aged attendant approaches Alina’s carriage window, quietly sighing, "Madam... In all my life traveling through the provinces, I have never seen such a stable border territory."
"Is this truly... the main territory being developed for just over a year?" Alina murmurs to herself.
Opposite her, the maid Olivia adjusts her glasses, a slight appreciative smile on her lips, "The farmland is well-kept, and the roads are smoothly maintained."
She pauses, speaking earnestly, "The most important thing is that the villagers’ complexions are rosy; such a place, even if not wealthy, can never be poor."
On the other side, Emily listens to these praises of the Red Tide, a slight smile rising on her lips, a faint but unnoticeable pride erging from the depths of her heart.
As the caravan moves forward, the city gates gradually beco clear in the distance.
A row of Red Tide Knights is lined up on both sides of the main road, donned in cloaks with black backgrounds and red patterns, each standing solemnly with swords in hand.
The leading knight kneels on one knee, loudly announcing, "Red Tide Lord Louis Calvin commands us to welco Duke Edmund’s daughter, the future mistress, Her Highness Emily!"
Welcoming them is an elder but very dignified butler, dressed impeccably with steady steps.
"Welco, Your Highness, welco, Madam, the Lord is busy with the final preparations for the wedding, and I have been instructed to arrange rest for you both."
Louis did not co personally because, according to the Empire’s wedding customs, especially among the nobility, the bride and groom should not et before the wedding.
Thus, the carriages slowly enter the main street of Red Tide City.
Inside the city is busier than expected.
However, it is not a chaotic kind of busy, but one that is almost rhythmic and orderly.
Red and blue intertwined ribbons hang on either side of the road, symbolizing union and celebration.
The wind makes the ribbons wave gently like waves, adding a tender rhythm to the upcoming wedding.
The marketplace is at its afternoon peak, with stalls lined up neatly one after another, goods classified clearly.
The candy vendor, wearing a clean linen apron, is putting honey-drizzled dried fruit into jars.
Beside him, a traveling bard plucks the strings, singing a new tune of wedding hymns, surprisingly rhythmic.
Children hum the tune as they run by, pulling a ribbon to wrap around their head as a scarf, laughter bursting crisply among the crowd.
Just as the carriage is about to turn the corner, Alina softly lifts the curtain to look at the scenery.
Not far ahead, a long line has ford in front of a grain shop.
Strangely, those in line don’t appear anxious; instead, they are chatting and laughing, with a few roughly-dressed n spontaneously maintaining order.
This made her very curious, so she sent a few people to investigate.
Soon, a maid approached the carriage window, whispering, "Madam, that grain shop is a relief point set up by the Red Tide.
As long as they are willing to work, they can exchange labor for food, even for the refugees... everyone here is well-fed."
"Well-fed..." Alina murmurs, as if confirming.
An elderly knight accompanying the party added in a deep voice, "In Frost Halberd City, refugees outside the regular army troop are either stealing or causing trouble...
Yet, Red Tide can use full bellies to pacify them, without chaos. This is... truly incredible."
Hearing this, Emily’s lips couldn’t help but curl upward, feeling honored.
She stealthily glanced at her mother, only to find that Alina’s gaze had softened, even showing so thoughtful agreent.
Emily’s cheeks imdiately flushed, and she lowered her head to lightly bite her lip, a sense of sweetness welling up inside her.
He didn’t do anything earth-shattering, nor did he make people bow in servitude...
Yet the people here genuinely revere him like the sun, simply because he can feed them.
Soon they arrived at a three-story mansion.
In the flower beds at the entrance, the early sumr roses were in full bloom, the air filled with the rich scent of flowers, even the sunlight seed tinged with sweetness.
With the continued expansion of the Red Tide Territory and Louis’s growing influence in the Northern Territory, the collective cave-style dwelling is no longer all there is.
Todays’ Red Tide not only has a strictly ordered urban plan but also has gradually built a number of residences and reception areas for foreign guests, this mansion being one of them.
On the second-floor balcony of the mansion, the wind stirs the window voile, carrying a hint of rose scent mixed with the distant song from the market.
Governor’s wife Alina sits quietly, her gaze falling on the neatly arranged streets and rooftops in the distance, her expression dazed.
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