"What kind of witchcraft did you use!" he roared, his voice hoarse like burnt cloth, "Poison? A curse? Or... what evil spirit got into our heads, tearing us apart one by one?"
He staggered forward a step, as if to pounce, but suddenly halted at the mont of approach, as if hitting so invisible deadly boundary.
"Your n... your handful of n! How could it be?! Five tis the troops, triple-layered walls, ancestral banners held high, how could we lose?!
Your n aren’t warriors; they’re the scum that betrayed the chieftain! How could they tear us apart?!"
His eyes twitched, and the hand pointing at Titus trembled slightly, like a final struggle before madness.
"You’re not human," he murmured, as if cursing or talking to himself, "You’re not human... you’re so breed of... catastrophe."
Finally, he staggered back a step, almost like a madman: "This shouldn’t happen... this can’t happen... this isn’t a strength this world should have."
The wind blew across the scorched earth, fluttering the tattered edges of the broken axe banner.
Yet Titus only sneered.
The sneer was icy like a spike penetrating from the depths of the ice, neither happy nor angry, just a kind of disdain.
"You still don’t understand," his voice was raspy.
Batu wanted to argue, but it was as if sothing was blocking his throat, his tongue heavy as lead, the words churning at the base of his tongue but unable to co out.
Suddenly, his mind felt as though a long-sealed book had been violently flipped open, filled with mories he was unwilling to recall.
He saw Empire cavalry riding through his childhood village brandishing flaming guns, his mother’s blood shed on the snow, his father forced to kneel and swallow orders.
He recalled the first night he gritted his teeth and endured humiliation, hearing the silence, sches, and compromises disguised as "oaths" within the Red Rock Tribe.
These humiliations and resentnts, which should have been deeply buried, now surged back like a tide, flooding his mind fra by fra, as if forcibly unveiled by "so power."
The corners of his eyes twitched violently, his knuckles turned white, yet he couldn’t utter a single word.
And Titus just kept watching him, silently.
No raised hand, no magic fluctuations, not the slightest intimidating posture.
But standing there, he seed to be the axle of the entire world.
Around him, not a single Frost Fierce warrior moved, yet they were as steady as statues, breathing in sync and stable.
At so point, Batu unconsciously started to follow their rhythm of breathing, his body expanding and contracting, as if being pulled by invisible strings.
He saw Titus’s figure flicker unsteadily in his pupils, like a ghostly figure engulfed by flas, eventually blurring into an eerie scene.
It was a grey land entwined with vines, cold flas burning on the vines, hills collapsing, streams freezing, and countless black shadows kneeling in the distance, as if silently begging for rcy.
......
The grey-blue morning mist had not yet dissipated, but smoke was already rising from the smokestacks above the slting plant, and the aura of chi stones faintly fluctuated in the air.
Louis stood by the ironwood railing on the high ground, looking distantly at the bustling scene in the pit area.
A stream of workers in gray cloth uniforms entered one after another, with knights patrolling by the pit entrance, ensuring order was not chaotic.
"Have they gone down the shaft yet?" he asked casually.
Kael stepped forward, wearing his usual serious expression, "They just finished this morning, and the branch mines around the main mine have all started operations. According to the staged arrangent, the labor support from the Empire has also been fully integrated into the mineshaft work teams."
Louis nodded: "How many in total?"
"Five thousand seventy-three," Kael replied precisely, "Nearly seventy percent of whom have criminal records, mostly redemption soldiers, families of disgraced officials, or exiled slaves. They’ve been assigned to the mines in batches as per your instructions. Each group consists of ten people, led by an experienced worker."
"No trouble, I presu?"
Kael shook his head: "Few incidents, any minor conflicts have been suppressed. Surprisingly, they work harder than expected. So even work overnight, eager to change their status by tomorrow."
Louis smiled: "Seems these criminals still have hope. What about those without records?"
"As you instructed, I’ve integrated them into the factory line," Kael nodded, "They’re responsible for sorting, cleaning, pre-furnace mixing, cooling, and molding...
Although they’re not fast yet, they are seriously learning the rules. Perhaps it’s because of your ’excellent perforrs can gradually leave slavery’ policy."
Louis spoke calmly: "As long as they’re willing to work, I don’t care whether they’re slaves or not.
The Red Tide Territory has already proven that as long as the system holds, these people, if willing to endure hardship and work desperately for freedom, are far better than those free people who idle away."
Kael paused, then asked softly: "You... really plan to free them all?"
"Not free, let them earn it themselves," Louis said calmly, "I give them a path, whether they take it is up to them."
With that, he patted Kael’s shoulder: "I’ll return to the Red Tide Territory first, it’s the harvest season over there, and they can’t do without ."
Kael imdiately raised his head: "Lord Louis... it’s just begun here, without you..."
"It’s already on track," Louis interrupted him, raising his hand, "Follow my plan. Once the second batch of equipnt arrives, expand by two lines and integrate the newcors as reserve skilled workers.
Rember to report weekly, and use Gale Bird to inform of any issues, I will surely respond."
Kael was silent for a mont, then bowed solemnly: "I... will not disappoint you."
Louis said nothing more.
He gave one last look in the direction of the mine.
In the distance, the flas at the mine entrance flickered like a heart burning underground, hundreds and thousands of figures moved like ants, yet in orderly steps.
The heavy rails humd softly, one mining cart after another heading toward the alchemy factory, chi stone fuel piled like small hills.
Sweat, heat, and the sound of gears combined at this mont to form the true pulse of the Star Forging Territory.
Then he turned, his cloak swaying lightly in the wind.
At the end of the slope, Sif waited for him, simply dressed and holding the reins, eyes containing a hint of humor but no words of urging.
The convoy behind her had already ford up.
Several reinforced Black Iron Boxes had been loaded into the middle carriages, sealed personally by Kael.
Inside were assorted graded samples of chi stone, along with recently registered recipes and equipnt paraters.
Each item was not rely stone or paper, but the most crucial "achievent list" of the Star Forging Territory over the past two months.
Alongside were nearly fifty knights, each in light armor, ready to depart.
Louis didn’t say much, just glanced at the sky, then raised his hand to signal.
With the sound of a horn, the convoy turned onto the mountain path, leaving a trail of dust as the Star Forging Mine’s towers and elevated structures were silhouetted in the twilight.
......
The carriage gently jostled along the wide, smooth official road.
Soft curtains covered all four windows, shielding the sun, yet the rising sun’s presence could still be felt outside.
Louis awoke on the soft cushion inside the carriage, staring at the ceiling adorned with golden vine patterns, the scent of fragrant wood and saffron mingling in the air.
This was no longer the modest carriage of earlier days.
With the rapid developnt of the Red Tide Territory, Louis no longer confined himself to the early "pretend poverty for popularity" strategy.
Nobility, in this world, is sotis not a burden but essential armor.
This carriage was built to Empire southern "Count’s Chariot" standards, with widened shock-absorbent axles, all-leather silver-covered seats, a small ceiling ventilation array, and an independent cold water cabinet.
Luxurious yet practical, it could travel muddy roads, cross snowfields, or park outside a noble hall without seeming the least bit shabby.
Beside him, Sif was nestled.
She slept soundly, half her face buried under his arm, breathing evenly.
Louis shifted his shoulder gently, not waking her, making a light gesture in the air.
[Daily Intelligence Update Completed]
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