At this mont, Felan saw a kind of confidence in the eyes of the young overseer.
Beside him, Mike chuckled and lifted his calloused hand: "My lord, if you don’t believe , co with to the greenhouse and see.
Even in winter, vegetables can grow here, the canal water flows continuously, and the soil is as fertile as in spring."
Felan was silent for a while, thinking he had ntally prepared for the Red Tide Order’s harvest.
But these numbers, these people, these proud expressions in front of him made him realize: he might have underestimated it.
"This... this is astronomical," Felan finally spoke, muttering to himself.
Green, Mike, and Louis couldn’t help but show a trace of pride.
Green spoke with vigor, flattering as he said, "All of this is thanks to the Lord’s foresight and guidance."
Louis shook his head, his expression calm: "No, this is the result of everyone’s hard work together. I rely offered a few small suggestions; the real execution was by you all."
Mike chuckled softly, his calloused hand gently brushed his sleeve, the simple pride needing no words.
The group walked side by side into the fields, planning to take a look before formally moving in.
It was the first day of the harvest, with the horn blowing, villagers shouted in unison, tens of thousands waving sickles, the golden wheat waves rolled like a tide.
New long-handled sickles and hand-pushed mowers danced through the fields, far more efficient than the old-fashioned sickles, the air filled with the crisp sound of cutting wheat stalks.
Felan’s gaze was firmly drawn by everything in front of him.
Born in the Cold Iron Knight Order, he had road the Northern Territory for many years but had never seen a scene like this.
"...What is that?" He pointed to a semi-transparent greenhouse not far away, glimring silver under the sunlight, and surprisingly lush inside.
Green laughed as he answered: "That’s a greenhouse, using geothermal and piping to maintain temperature, so vegetables can grow even in winter. What you’re seeing are Southern vegetables."
Felan was stunned for a mont—in the Northern Territory, seeing fresh vegetables in winter was nearly fantastical.
Before he could regain his senses, the sound of "Boom! Bang!" echoed.
Accompanied by white steam, a machine shaped like an iron barrel was spewing steam at the field’s edge, roaring and drawing water from underground, flowing it into the field channels through wooden troughs.
"What on earth is that?" Felan instinctively gripped his sword hilt, his gaze wary.
Green laughed heartily, patiently explaining: "It’s a steam water pump, powered by burning fuel to generate steam that pushes a piston, continuously drawing well water up. So even in drought, it ensures the fields don’t lack water."
Felan opened his mouth, his heart too shocked for words.
Louis looked at his expression, secretly smiling to himself.
This was precisely the effect he wanted, to let the Cold Iron Knight Order witness the foundations of the Red Tide Territory firsthand, and thus put their minds at ease.
......
Felan originally thought the "Red Tide Bumper Harvest" was rely exaggerated rumors from Frost Halberd City.
After all, Duke Edmund had repeatedly ntioned in front of him that Louis had a talent for governance. He had only smiled, thinking it was nothing more than the ailing Duke paving the way for a successor.
But on the first day, standing on the slopes of Mai Lang Territory, seeing the vast golden wheat fields undulating like a tide, with tens of thousands shouting while starting the harvest, he silently retracted his inner disdain.
There was no exaggerated mobilization, nor an overbearing presence of miracles, only a steady, orderly, almost calm rhythm of harvest.
And as the days passed, Felan grew more and more silent.
He had thought the initial scenes of the harvest in those first few days were the peak, yet the autumn harvest rhythm never slowed, instead running like a tightly orchestrated machine day and night.
Harvesting by day, transporting in the afternoon, threshing by night.
Three-shift continuous farming was as precise and seamless as military deploynt orders.
Children bundled sheaves along the field banks, won carried them in teams, the Red Tide Knights patrolled in formation.
No one shouted urging commands, and there was no chaotic noise; everything was in perfect order.
It almost didn’t resemble harvesting grain at all, but rather a military operation without trumpets.
He once doubted this was rely a facade maintained by force.
Until one night, by the threshing floor, he finally whispered to Green beside him, "How do you make these people do this... how do you force them?"
Green didn’t imdiately reply but quietly watched for a mont at the people swinging flails amidst the wheat waves before speaking:
"It’s voluntary because they’re working for themselves. This is the power of Red Tide’s system, the greatness of Lord Louis."
In a short sentence, it ignited sothing long dormant inside Felan.
He watched the townsfolk toiling at night, so sweating profusely yet singing happily, others taking out freshly harvested vegetables from the greenhouse to make soup during a break.
They weren’t suffering; they were harvesting.
With their own hands, they were exchanging for a better future.
At this mont, Felan suddenly realized: what he couldn’t understand wasn’t these people.
It was this place, the order running on this land, as if it had completely changed from the Old North.
Torches stood tall around the threshing floor, lighting up the entire valley.
With every beat, the sound of separating wheat grains from stalks echoed like war drums.
The firelight flickered on their faces, revealing sweat and an indescribable sense of satisfaction.
Felan stood at the edge of the threshing floor, silent for a long ti.
He never thought one day he would use the word "magnificent" to describe a threshing scene.
At this ti, a craftsman pushed in a new drum thresher. Though its tal structure was not complex, its performance during trials was astonishing.
With just two operators, in one round, it could completely thresh an entire cartload, the grains flowing into the bags with a sound like rcury spilling.
"This thing, did you make it yourselves?" he couldn’t help but ask softly.
"The third-generation modification from the Red Tide Workshop," Green answered next to him, "Originally, it was Mike who modified an old watermill, and Hamilton proposed the reverse axle design to use here, saving much effort."
Felan nodded lightly, not entirely surprised.
Because in the past few days, there had been too many things that amazed him.
Greenhouses capable of growing vegetables in severe winter, steam water pumps automatically drawing water, light reflecting panels that adjust angles according to the sunlight, geothermal pipes that can store heat...
The miracle of Red Tide lies not in one or two inventions themselves, but in continuous progress.
An autumn harvest quietly changed Felan’s heart.
Initially, he didn’t have expectations for the Red Tide Territory or Louis, even doubting in his heart: why Louis?
What qualifies a young noble to bear the heavy responsibility of rebuilding the Northern Territory?
He even asked Duke Edmund himself.
At that ti, the Duke rely smiled and said, "Perhaps this young man... can bring sothing new to the Northern Territory."
And back then, he didn’t understand what the Duke ant, simply considering it the helpless words of an elderly, sick person entrusting a legacy.
But now he understood, having seen this land with his own eyes.
How hope was cultivated with a hoe and sickle; how vegetables from the south grew from permafrost; how everything ran in order amidst the wind and steam roaring.
He had seen the farrs’ pride, the townspeople’s calm cooperation, the knights’ composed and disciplined order maintenance.
He had also seen the drum thresher, the greenhouse, the water pump, and other novel tools.
But most importantly, he saw the will of the entire territory.
This was a will deeply rooted in the land, steadily advancing.
And its source, undoubtedly, was Louis.
At this mont, he no longer doubted the young lord’s abilities.
In so corner of his heart, he even had to admit, though it may be sowhat disrespectful, that in the realm of governance, not even ten Duke Edmunds could match one Louis.
Because this young man did more than maintain order; he changed the underlying structure, reshaping the Northern Territory’s hope.
For hundreds of years, the rulers of the Northern Territory focused on maintaining stability, but Louis was the first to try to change its essence.
Felan finally understood that what the Duke ant by rebirth wasn’t about changing who sat in high positions.
It was about soone truly intending to rebuild the Northern Territory, starting from the land.
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