A row of crude cauldrons simmered over burning firewood, filling the cold air with the faint aroma of wheat porridge. Slaves stood in a long line, rough wooden bowls in hand, waiting for their share.
Their eyes were filled with gratitude. In the past, they had battled hunger daily. Even scraps had to be fought over. Now, having hot porridge to drink was an immense blessing.
"Lord Louis's kindness is endless!"
Behind the stove, George ladled porridge with a large wooden spoon, muttering with concern,
"Lord, if you keep feeding everyone like this, I'm afraid we'll run out of grain… If the shortage becomes too great one day, we'll be—"
Before he could finish, Louis casually waved a hand, interrupting him.
"When people are hungry, they need to eat. Just cook as I say. Why do you talk so much nonsense?"
George opened his mouth, then sighed and resignedly returned to his task. His new lord was kind in every way—except he was too generous and paid no heed to grain reserves.
"Hmph, if this keeps up, I might find myself back in the slave market," George thought bitterly.
Since that might be the case, he figured he might as well sneak an extra bowl or two now—before the day came when he'd be hungry again.
But Louis didn't worry at all.
He had no fear of running out of food. The Red Tide Territory's resources were so abundant, starvation was never a threat.
This confidence came from the power granted by his "golden finger."
At that moment, the daily intelligence system updated:
[1: Baron Hayes, the pioneer, froze to death from excessive drinking while en route to his territory.]
[2: The Northern Governor's youngest daughter, Emily Edmond, has broken through to become a Junior Elite Knight.]
[3: Seventy starving Icefield Wolves, drawn by the scent of food, are lurking in the canyon ahead, ready to ambush the convoy.]
The first two updates were of little concern to Louis. At most, he felt a moment of pity for Baron Hayes.
But the third—made his expression darken.
Seventy Icefield Wolves.
While not an overwhelming threat given his current military strength, a surprise attack from such a ferocious pack could still cause unnecessary losses. That would be unacceptable.
Without hesitation, Louis summoned Lambert, his Knight Captain.
"Have the knights form scouting parties—groups of five," he ordered grimly. "Search the area around the canyon for signs of wolves or anything unusual."
Lambert nodded sharply and moved to carry out the order.
The knights swiftly divided into small squads and galloped toward the canyon.
Cold wind howled through the ravine, bringing with it a biting chill.
Snow blanketed the narrow path, and a sickly stench filled the air—like rotting meat mixed with the musk of wild beasts.
It was a smell that made the knights instinctively frown.
Lambert dismounted and knelt in the snow. Brushing away a thin layer of powder, he revealed messy paw prints beneath.
The prints were deep—too deep.
"These wolves are desperate," Lambert muttered. "They didn't even bother to hide their tracks."
He stood up, eyes narrowing.
"There's definitely something."
Without wasting a moment, they returned and reported their findings to Louis.
Louis didn't panic.
"Very good," he said with a cold smile. "Since they've come to us, let's show them who the real prey is."
Immediately, he ordered traps to be set in the canyon to lure the wolves.
Meanwhile, the Icefield Wolves waited in silence.
Their gaunt bodies lay hidden beneath snowdrifts, green eyes glinting like ghost-lights in the dusk.
Their fur—shades of grey-white and dark blue—blended seamlessly with the icy terrain, making them almost invisible.
But their hunger betrayed them.
Lean though they were, explosive strength still surged beneath their wiry forms.
The wind carried the tantalizing aroma of food—the same scent that had drawn them here.
"Awooo…" the lead wolf growled lowly.
Dark shapes stirred across the snow, rising like phantoms.
Dozens of wolves crept forward silently, stalking the convoy.
Closer…
Closer…
Suddenly—Bang!
A dull explosion shattered the silence.
A wooden stake mechanism burst from beneath the snow, its sharpened spears skewering the leading wolves.
Blood sprayed into the air, soaking the snow in an instant.
The pack yelped in alarm and scattered.
But archers lying in wait had already drawn their bows.
"Swish, swish, swish!"
Arrows tore through the air in a deadly rain.
Wolves howled as shafts pierced their throats and flanks. Several collapsed on the spot, writhing as red soaked into the snow.
"Now—attack!"
Lambert's longsword gleamed with crimson battle qi as it sliced through the air.
The knights surged forward, battle qi blazing from their weapons, igniting the night with their fury.
One knight leapt high, his war spear glowing red-hot as it plunged into a lunging wolf. The blast pinned the beast to the ground and split the earth beneath it.
Another knight followed, his heavy sword flaming with qi.
He spun midair and brought the weapon down, cleaving a giant wolf clean in half.
Blood bloomed like red petals on the white ground.
The wolves, once fierce and wild, began to break under the pressure.
They turned to flee—but the knights moved fast.
"Close the net!"
The soldiers adjusted their formation, cutting off escape.
Each swing of a sword ended a life.
Flesh was torn, bones shattered.
The air was filled with the screams of dying beasts.
Soon, only one wolf remained—the king of the pack.
It stood tall amid the corpses of its brethren, thick fur matted with blood, green eyes burning with defiance.
It locked eyes with Lambert and let out a final, furious howl.
"Awooooo!"
Then it lunged—claws sharp enough to rend steel flashing through the air.
Lambert sidestepped calmly.
His longsword ignited with battle qi, glowing red like molten steel.
"Slash!"
With a thunderous roar, he brought the sword down in a blazing arc.
The wolf king's head flew from its shoulders, blood spraying like a fountain. Its massive body thudded into the snow.
Silence followed.
The battle had ended faster than anyone expected.
The knights had suffered almost no casualties.
The snowy canyon was now a blood-stained battlefield, littered with the bodies of seventy Icefield Wolves.
Lambert, calm and unscathed, turned to see Louis approaching on horseback.
"Lord, the wolf pack has been completely eliminated."
The knights quickly counted the fallen: seventy wolves—none had escaped.
The spoils of war were considerable.
Dozens of thick wolf pelts. Sharp fangs. And best of all—a mountain of fresh wolf meat.
Louis nodded, pleased.
"Good. Skin the hides. Distribute the wolf meat to the men. Let them have an extra meal tonight."
The soldiers cheered in delight.
In this frozen north, a hot meal of meat was a rare and precious gift.
Though wolf meat wasn't exactly gourmet, if prepared well, it was no worse than common game.
"Lord Louis is too generous…"
At that moment, something shifted in the soldiers' hearts.
Obedience became loyalty.
Respect turned into admiration.
Their Lord didn't just lead—he cared.
And in this harsh, frozen land, that made all the difference.