After the registration was completed, the registrar waved to them, "Co on, I’ll take you to your accommodation."
He introduced himself as he walked, "My na is Harlom, from the Old Bone Tribe. It’s my third year as a resident of Red Tide, and I’m responsible for receiving new residents in the outer city."
Kosa walked at the end, his pace slow initially, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if he were a small animal unfamiliar with the environnt, instinctively wanting to keep a distance.
But the longer he walked, the more silent he beca.
The road beneath his feet was paved with grayish-white stone bricks, each one astonishingly neat.
There was no mud on either side of the street, no scattered fodder, nor was there any sewage.
The drainage ditch was a semi-covered stone trough topped with an iron sh, with clear water flowing inside, without even a trace of foam.
Kosa instinctively tightened his steps.
In the distance, there were nurous voices, but no shouting, no scrambling, just a kind of orderly noise he had never heard before.
Kosa kept his head down and continued walking forward.
He could hear that the footsteps of a few young mbers of the Barbarian Race behind him had noticeably slowed.
So were murmuring, so were awestruck, the shock and envy almost beyond verbal expression.
It was their first ti seeing such a city.
Just the streets and buildings alone, Red Tide had thrown their randomly built wooden huts several streets away.
No matter your tribal bloodline or ancestral spirit protection, everything seed too shabby here.
"It’s amazing..." the boy walking to his right couldn’t help but whisper, "This is Red Tide... this is civilization..."
He was soone nad Besa, a year older than them, the nephew of a small clan’s chief.
He hadn’t talked much along the way, but ever since entering through the city gates, he had changed completely.
He started speaking with reverence, looking at everything as if witnessing a divine miracle, from the city walls and square to the copper hooks on the rooftops, even a neatly set stone brick moved him imnsely.
"To live in such a place, I would do anything," Besa said, his eyes showing a hint of fervor, as if he had found a new faith.
Kosa listened, but said nothing, only silently gritting his teeth.
He didn’t dislike Besa and could understand why he was so shocked; it was just that his transformation seed too rapid.
Kosa felt he should not be like this, so he tried to convince himself in his heart: I’m just here to learn, not to surrender. My surna is Coldfang, and I am Tolan Coldfang’s son.
In front of Fierce Tide Square, a tall building lood in the morning mist.
The foundation was made of blue-gray stone, the edges wrapped in dark gold strips, the main beam constructed of cedar wood, with the eaves pressed very low. The sun pattern above the main door seed almost as if it could emit light.
"That is the governnt hall of Red Tide City, where all sizes of policies for the Red Tide Territory are born," Harlom stopped and pointed at the building with pride, "The City Lord handles public affairs there regularly."
His tone was not high, yet it carried an unmistakable sense of respect.
Kosa said nothing, only silently gazing at the building.
In his past understanding, the residence of so-called power holders was, at most, a tent made of animal bones or a stone altar with totems.
So clan leaders even filled them with human bones for horror, maintaining rule through intimidation, but here it was completely different.
Passing the square, a lively atmosphere washed over him.
Market stalls spread out in rows, sheltered by iron roofs, arranged neatly and tidily.
The crowd was not scarce, yet almost no noise was heard, only footsteps and occasional brief pricing inquiries.
"This side is the South Market business district," Harlom said as he walked, "These stalls all have licenses, and currency is unified, using Iron Coins, copper coins, and resource vouchers for transactions."
Kosa’s gaze was drawn in; there was an old craftsman repairing boots, with several pieces of thick leather he had never seen before beside him.
Not far was a rchant store from the South selling cloth and spices.
Further away were stalls directly bearing signs from Red Tide Workshop, specializing in iron tools and pottery, as well as so industrial products from Red Tide that Kosa had never seen.
All kinds of goods in the world were available at Red Tide market, but these were not what shocked him the most.
What shocked him the most was that people proactively saluted Harlom, not the kind of avoidance with fear, but like respecting soone truly revered.
Even a little girl ran over and called him "Uncle Har."
Harlom even bent down and smilingly patted her head.
This scene left Kosa sowhat stunned.
He instinctively thought, that was a mber of the Barbarian Race.
But no one pointed fingers, nor did anyone show disgust; everyone was accustod to it.
Even the rchant dressed like a Southern Empire person spoke respectfully in front of him.
Yet he himself could not quite understand whether it was resistance or a kind of... inexplicable envy.
Kosa walked with his head down for a while longer, his eyes sweeping over the streets, channels, eaves, fire pits that seed unreal in their neatness, and the calm expressions of the coming and going crowd.
For the first ti, he felt an unfamiliar emotion rising.
It was a faint... inferiority.
This was not the first ti Louis arranged such an "observational guidance."
Before this, whether it was old nobles’ children from the Northern Territory, attendants from the Southern envoy, or inspector envoys sent from the Imperial Capital, as long as their identities were crucial enough.
Louis would arrange this kind of walk at the first mont they arrived at Red Tide City.
Not to listen to speeches, or to view reports, or to be intimidated at military camps, but to step into the city and feel the shock brought by civilization.
To let them see for themselves the clean streets, the classless mutual trust between civilians and Knights, the smiles on people’s faces.
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