The third batch of grain convoy led by Louis arrived at the Red Tide Territory in the afternoon.
The people along the streets had long been accustod to this scene. Dozens of horse-drawn carriages, fully loaded with bags of golden wheat, slowly passed through the main road and went straight to the newly expanded warehouse.
The warehouse doors were open, and the workers seamlessly carried out transportation, registration, and storage.
Sentinels on distant towers patrol quietly, guarding against any possible disturbances.
Bradley stood in front of the warehouse entrance, holding a record board,waiting for a while until he saw that familiar figure dismount from his horse; only then did he slightly nod.
"Third batch already. Thankfully, this warehouse was expanded in advance, otherwise it wouldn’t fit." Bradley comnted.
"We’ll have to wait another half month for the fourth batch." Louis drank so water, speaking casually as if discussing the weather.
Bradley did not respond, just watched as bags of wheat were moved into the dry and clean warehouse.
Sunlight ca down, reflecting a faint glow between the grains.
A year ago, when Louis proposed cleaning up Mai Lang Territory to specialize as a grain production site to supply the entire Red Tide domains with food, it wasn’t that he disbelieved; he just thought such a thing would be impossible in the post-disaster chaos of the Northern Territory.
After all, a year after the disaster, most territories in the Northern Territory were barely surviving thanks to aid from the Imperial Capital.
Maintaining order in the Red Tide Territory was already quite remarkable.
Yet Louis managed to accomplish this, without relying on others, he created the greatest miracle ever seen in the Northern Territory.
Mai Lang Territory has truly beco Red Tide’s own granary. And now it has beco the fundantal guarantee for the entire domain for the coming year, and even if Louis wished, he could sell a part of this grain, though he wouldn’t do it.
"You once said you wanted Red Tide to no longer rely on others to sustain itself." Bradley whispered, "Back then, I thought it was just a young man’s bold words. Now it seems...my vision was narrow."
From inside the warehouse sounded the workers’ cheers, as bags of grain were moved in endlessly like the tides.
Bradley pulled himself out of his reverie and chuckled, "Before winter this year, this warehouse will have to be squeezed again."
After the grain convoy finished unloading, the warehouse doors slowly closed, and the record book was presented by the soldiers responsible for docuntation. Bradley flipped a few pages and glanced at the sky.
"Lord, are you heading back to the castle next?"
"I still need to make a trip to the rear warehouse." Louis turned back, "To see how the winter supplies preparation is coming along over there."
Bradley nodded and followed him.
The rear warehouse area was near the west side of the main warehouse, reinforced in the last half-year.
Along the way, several small trucks were being dispatched, carrying not grain but boxes of firewood, fabric, and dry food packs.
Louis’s gaze swept past the barrels filled with pickled radish and smoked fish.
After sealing the barrel lids, the warehouse workers carried them into the cellar, their actions swift.
"How is the stock of dried and pickled foods?" he inquired.
"Salted at, smoked at, smoked fish, pickled radish, dried mushrooms, all are being prepared in batches as planned. The pickle factory started work two weeks early, and the progress is currently over seventy percent." Bradley paused, flipping open the second thin book.
"As for fuel, the firewood, coal, and flint marrow oil have been distributed according to population quotas. Before the mountain roads are closed, we can still bring back two more batches."
"What about the Fire-backed Turtle setup?" Louis asked.
"The barracks has completed its setup, while the residences are slowly expanding according to requests." Bradley showed a rare satisfied expression, "It’s a good thing."
They stopped in front of a row of fabric racks, where several female workers were fitting soldiers for newly made coats.
"As for warm clothing, civilian segnts are eighty percent complete, while the workshop is still rushing to make military boots and animal fur cloaks. As long as there isn’t a sudden climate change, no one will be cold this winter."
"And the dicines?" Louis glanced at the neatly stacked dicine boxes in the corner.
"All standard pharmaceuticals, pain-relieving grass powders, antifreeze balm, and fever-reducing water plants have been replenished. We’ve also re-verified the consumption model submitted by the dical camp, equipping every ten households in the risk zones with a dicine kit, implented according to the new regulations."
Louis looked around, nodding slightly, as he watched boxes of supplies being labeled and sealed, ready to be distributed to various districts according to quotas in the coming days.
His gaze swept over the warehouse racks, then looked at Bradley beside him:
"Everyone worked hard this year. Also, there were no major disasters, no wars, which makes it a rare good year. Since we have enough grain, clothing, firewood, and dry food, there’s no need to be too frugal.
This year, we can distribute more items down, without being stingy."
At his words, Bradley was montarily stunned, then gently chuckled.
While other lords were figuring out how to save materials and hoard surplus grain as a backup, Louis proactively proposed increasing winter supplies.
This abundance stems not only from his confidence but also from his genuine care for the people.
Bradley whispered, "No wonder...everyone is willing to follow wherever you go."
Louis did not respond, just walked closer to the warehouse rack, touched the stamp on a bag of dried mushrooms to confirm its clarity, then nodded to indicate the adjutant start conveying the new distribution orders.
This year’s winter is going to be very good.
......
In the late autumn afternoon, the cold wind, tinged with a slight tallic rust scent, hovered over the demonstration field in the Artisan District.
Louis, draped in a half-cloak, steadily walked through the thick stone gate, his black and gold military robe shimring with a cold light under the sun.
The demonstration field had long been set up: the tools in place, devices secured, test tracks covered with a thin layer of coal dust, the air carrying scents of molten gold and alchemy residue, the heat mingling with an impending burst’s subtle pressure.
Mike ca up first, his hands stained with tal dust, yet not bothering to wipe them.
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