But the main reason is still the corruption of the Empire, which has caused these supplies to be delayed.
Moreover, those people in the Imperial Capital never intended to fulfill their promises. I’m afraid the Regent King does not care about the future of the Northern Territory."
Astha’s face grew even darker: "So, how are we going to get through this winter?"
Sai Fu sighed: "In the worst-case scenario, half of the people in the Frost Dragon Territory will perish after winter. All we can do is take care of ourselves first. As for the others...we can’t manage."
Astha said nothing, remaining silent for a long ti.
These supplies are not enough to support his people, not even half of what they need.
Of course, he didn’t care whether those ordinary people would starve to death in winter.
They are rely tools, pawns to gain more power for himself.
What Astha truly cared about was how to maximize the limited food resources to draw his allies to his side.
"I must accumulate enough influence in a short period." Astha muttered to himself, "These grains cannot all be given to ordinary people. They can only get a little bit, and the rest must be used to strike deals with the nobility."
He thought of those allies; without sufficient resources, these supporters would imdiately turn to Louis.
"It’s ti to consider how to allocate." Astha slightly lowered his head, a hint of coldness in his eyes as he started calculating his next move.
Distributing the grains to those nobles, giving them enough assurance in exchange for their support."
He chuckled self-deprecatingly: "As for the commoners...if they have bad luck, who can bla them?"
Sai Fu looked at him, eyes carrying a hint of depth.
Once, this child was sowhat naive, always thinking about making the lives of the people better, pondering over the responsibilities of the Royal Family.
However, after arriving in the Northern Territory, Astha gradually broke free from the constraints of the Imperial Capital, starting to take control of his own destiny.
He has grown from an idealistic prince into a calm lord.
Understanding how to strategize, how to maximize his resources into his own power.
But Sai Fu didn’t feel too disappointed, instead, he felt more recognition.
The ga of power has never been sothing pure idealism could handle.
Astha’s decision-making is precisely the quality he must have.
Sai Fu slowly turned away, silently approving of Astha’s decision in his heart.
......
Above Red Tide City, the cold wind mixed with the rustling of canvas drifted by.
Around Fierce Tide Square, the warehouses were filled with heavy bags of grain, neatly stacked wooden boxes, hefty beast skin packages, and iron barrels glistening with oil.
The supplies have not yet been distributed, but the scene was already orderly.
Pete dropped a bundle heavily behind the distribution platform, feeling a numbness in his palms as soon as he let go.
Gasping for breath, he took off his gloves to rest for a mont, but his eyes unconsciously fell on an open wooden box at his feet.
"Tsk, tsk, in Baron Preston’s territory, even knights would have to wait for the harvest festival to get a bite of this... but there’s so much here." Pete muttered in disbelief.
Inside the box were neatly packed golden wheat grain bags, each sealed with fine hemp cloth, tied with two circles of cowhide rope, and bearing a red label on top.
"Already surprised by a bit of good stuff?" A hearty voice sounded from beside him.
Pete looked up to see a middle-aged man nad Jack, unkempt yet full of deanor, wearing a pair of leather boots.
"Your shoes..." Pete was surprised.
Jack grinned, lifting his foot: "They were issued to us Red Tide elders yesterday, made by the cobbler’s workshop from top-grade cowhide, non-slip in the snow, windproof when stepping on a barbarian’s head."
Pete paused, still astonished: "That’s... amazing, isn’t it?"
"You call that amazing?" Jack clicked his tongue, raising his hand to point towards the warehouse, "Go have a look at those few baskets of dried at and smoked fish inside.
And the salted at, pickled radishes, dried mushroom packs freshly packed this morning... Our squad is responsible for packing one parcel per household."
Pete paused, looking at the packed-to-capacity row of carts not far away: "Is this also... distributed to the whole city?"
"Yes." Jack lowered his voice as he leaned in, "And not just that, children and the elderly get an extra parcel, a blue-labeled subsidy pack."
Pete was montarily speechless.
He was once a free man with land, even having three cows at ho, and in the early days, he could send so gifts to the tax official, though life was still tight, enduring hunger in winter.
But the catastrophe of the Barbarian Race destroyed everything. Half a year ago, he fled to Red Tide City, where he was exceptionally promoted as a grassroots resource officer due to his literacy and managent experience.
Today was the first ti in his life he had truly encountered a "governnt food distribution."
There were no yelling officials, no pilfering subordinates, and no layers of embezzlent.
Only cartloads of packaged goods, one neatly filled list after another, and a group of smiling leaders diligently at work.
Jack patted Pete’s shoulder, his smile carrying a sense of pride: "A few years ago, there was no such treatnt. At that ti, I was still a slave.
In the winter, the best al was two bowls of dried vegetable soup. If a few pieces of stewed broken bones could be fished out of the soup, then it was considered Dragon Ancestor’s blessing. Not freezing to death or starving was already a great thanks to heaven."
Pete froze for a mont, intending to comfort him but found no resentnt in Jack’s eyes, rather they held a light of pride.
"It was the Lord who bought from the slave market." Jack straightened up as he said this, his chin slightly raised.
"That day I was lying on the ground, skinny as kindling, and he was the one who gave my first piece of bread."
He grinned, revealing yellowing teeth: "Now look at it, this warehouse, these supplies, and this entire Red Tide City...
I’ve been following Lord Louis from day one, building this place bit by bit from a wasteland as an old hand.
You newcors may not truly understand the hardships we endured back then and the goodness of the Lord."
Pete chuckled silently.
This man was clearly flaunting his seniority, doing so unabashedly and with justified pride.
He initially wanted to retort, to say at least he used to be a free man, owned land and cattle, how could he be overshadowed by soone who was a slave?
But Pete suddenly rembered those winters before coming to Red Tide Territory, even when he owned land and livestock, life wasn’t particularly good.
The cows were starving to the point of showing ribs, and the house was so empty it echoed with the sound of scurrying mice.
The whole territory took turns eating thin porridge, and eating so dry food was considered a celebration.
On the coldest occasion, he even witnessed a neighbor’s brother freeze to death inside his own house.
Back then, he thought of himself as a man of status, a free man better than a slave by one notch.
But looking now at the mountains of wheat, dried at, firewood, and those ex-slaves in new boots.
Pete realized that the identity of a free man might not be worth a penny.
The real decision-maker of whether one can live with dignity depends on whose territory one stands on.
An absurd yet piercing thought quietly erged: Had he known earlier, he should not have fought to keep that worthless land back then.
If he had fled to Red Tide City earlier, he wouldn’t know how decent his life could’ve been now.
"But honestly, this year is indeed the best year." Jack’s words pulled Pete back from his thoughts.
"Look over there." Jack raised his hand, pointing aside, "The warehouse is almost full, even Lord Bradley sighed in relief that it was expanded in advance, otherwise, it would have had to be piled up in the square."
Pete followed his direction, seeing dozens of young lads carrying firewood and beast skin packages back and forth.
Those were the students of Red Tide City, volunteering to help transport resources these days.
Watching the neatly stacked carts of timber, grain bags, dicine chests, and the workshop-produced beast skin coats and leather boots.
Pete couldn’t help but ask in a low voice: "But...all these things, are they really going to be distributed?"
In response to being told this would all be handed out, Pete gazed at the industrious crowd, suddenly understanding the depth of it.
"The Lord said." He lowered his voice, mimicking Louis’s usual tone, "Only when the people are well-fed and warmly clothed, willing to stay, can this city always exist."
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