Following that, as if a fierce wind had swept over a field of wheat, the crowd on the hillside raised their hands in unison.
It wasn’t a plea for food, but a soul-burning roar: "Lord Louis!!!"
This shout was sharper than the long whistle of the steam before, instantly tearing Retto’s eardrums.
"Guardian of Winter!!"
"Great Calvin!!"
The sound wave burst like a tsunami.
Retto was terrified to see House, the humble craftsman beside him, clutching the railing fervently.
In House’s eyes was a nearly insane pride, the look of a believer showing off the true God to a heretic: "Sir! Did you see that clearly! That’s our Lord! That’s the great Lord Louis!!"
Retto was driven back repeatedly by the wave of fervor.
Amid the deafening cheers, Louis did not show a proud expression.
He simply stood amidst the flying steam and cheers, looking at those fervent faces.
Then the young lord made a gesture.
He slowly raised his right arm and pressed his gloved fist firmly against his left chest, a salute in return.
"Boom——!!!"
If the previous cheers were a tsunami, then this mont was nothing short of an avalanche.
Seeing the lord’s response, the crowd went completely mad.
Retto even felt the platform beneath him tremble violently with the sound waves, hearing nothing else but that na.
Louis held that pose for a full three seconds.
Then he lowered his hand, palm down, gently pressing the air.
But the mont that gesture fell, the avalanche-like cheers miraculously began to recede, until only the heavy breathing and the distant roar of the steam engine remained.
Controllable at will.
This was not just admiration; it was absolute dominion.
"A true man indeed." This was Retto’s only thought.
Louis didn’t linger on the platform, surrounded by knights, he walked through the road that the fervent crowds automatically cleared, and boarded the carriage returning to the administrative center.
Even when the lord’s convoy disappeared at the end of the street, the suffocating fervor lingered in the air for a long ti.
Half an hour later, at the Red Tide City administrative center, in the lord’s office.
The heavy oak door slowly closed behind him with a soft "click."
The door, as thick as a wall, completely shut out the seemingly endless noise of the outside world.
Louis unbuttoned his collar, took off the black leather gloves stained with cold and coal dust, and tossed them aside on the corner of the long table.
"Please sit down." He walked around the desk and sat in his high-backed chair.
Despite the achievent, there was no slackening, his back remained straight, fingers habitually tapping the armrest.
Those who followed him in, Bradley, Desland, Lambert, and the sheepish Hamilton, finally snapped out of the fervent atmosphere earlier, regaining their composure as decision-makers.
Louis did not speak imdiately, rely closing his eyes and tapping rhythmically on the table.
Four days, just four days.
Louis’s bones still felt slightly uneasy from the prolonged vibration, but it made him feel real and joyful.
In the past, this road was a ruptured artery.
From the mines of Star Forging Territory to the docks of Dawn Port, it was a muddy death march, from the farmlands of Mai Lang Territory to the dinner tables of Red Tide City, it was a gamble with blizzards.
But in these ninety-six hours, this steel beast did not rest.
It neither needed sleep, nor needed to chew fodder like mules, nor would it go la because of the hard permafrost.
It only consud coal and water, running tirelessly across the night and day interchanging wilderness.
On the first morning, iron ore from Star Forging Territory poured into the carriages like a black waterfall.
On the second evening, the sea breeze of Dawn Port filled with the scent of southern spices blew through the windows.
At noon on the third day, it carried heavy powder bags from Mai Lang Territory.
And now on the fourth day’s evening, they lay quietly in the warehouses of Red Tide City.
This isn’t magic, this is order.
When four territories are forcibly bound together by this steel chain, the concept of Red Tide finally transford from ink on a map to a living entity.
"A full one thousand two hundred miles... four days."
Even seated in the warm chair, Trade Bureau Chief Desland still found it sowhat incredible.
He flipped open the ledger he carried, his fingers quickly skimming over it, his usually squinted eyes now wide open, filled with a rchant’s fervor.
"Lord, if it were my most elite caravans, without considering blizzards, bandits, or even mules dying of exhaustion, it would take at least forty days to make this round trip. And that’s in the sumr!"
Desland grabbed the thick ledger, waving it like a weapon: "This ans our capital turnover speed is ten tis that of those Southern Comrce Associations!
While their goods rot in the mud, ours have already been sold three tis! This isn’t even profit, it’s like robbing money from their pockets!"
"Rather than your damn profit, I’m more concerned about stuffing all this in," Bradley interrupted Desland’s fantasy.
"Four days can bring over a month’s production from Mai Lang Territory... God, the city’s granary can’t handle such a fast turnover rate."
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