The slaves who had been called forward hesitated where they stood, their steps heavy and uncertain. Years of submission had taught them caution—hope was dangerous, and anticipation often led only to disappointment. Still, under the watchful gazes of the knights and soldiers surrounding the square, they slowly moved into position, their heads bowed and their hands trembling at their sides.
Only after everyone had gathered did Louis finally speak.
"In the days gone by," he said calmly, his voice steady and clear, "you have devoted yourselves to the construction and survival of Red Tide Territory. Through bitter cold, hunger, and exhaustion, you have endured and worked without complaint."
The bonfire crackled loudly beside him, sparks rising into the dark northern sky.
"Because of that," Louis continued, "today, I will grant you the reward you deserve."
There were no unnecessary speeches, no dramatic pauses meant to heighten suspense. Louis simply extended his hand.
Silco, standing respectfully at his side, immediately stepped forward and handed over a stack of parchment contracts bound with cord. These documents bore the unmistakable marks of slavery—names, seals, and clauses that bound flesh and blood to ownership.
Louis did not hesitate.
He took the contracts and tossed them directly into the roaring bonfire.
The flames surged upward, hungrily devouring the parchments. Ink curled and blackened, seals cracked, and the words that had once defined these people's lives were reduced to ash in moments.
"From this day forward," Louis declared, his voice carrying across the square, "you are no longer slaves."
The world seemed to freeze.
"But freemen."
For a heartbeat, no one moved. No one breathed.
"F… freedom?" someone whispered.
The former slaves stared at one another, eyes wide and disbelieving. Shock rippled through the group like a sudden gust of icy wind. Many of them wondered if they had misheard, or if the cold had finally driven them mad.
Then—
"Freemen?!"
"We're free?!"
The square exploded into chaos.
"Great Lord!"
"Oh gods above—freemen! I… I'm a freeman?!"
A middle-aged man with a face weathered by years of hardship suddenly collapsed onto his knees. Overcome, he slammed his forehead against the frozen ground again and again, heedless of the blood that soon stained the snow beneath him.
"Great Lord! Benefactor!" he cried hoarsely, his voice breaking with emotion. "Thank you! Thank you!"
Nearby, a young woman covered her face with both hands and sobbed uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking as years of despair finally poured out. She could barely stand, supported only by the people beside her.
An elderly man raised his trembling hands toward the night sky, lips moving silently. It was unclear whether he was praying to the Dragon Ancestor or offering his gratitude directly to Louis—but in truth, there was little difference between the two in his heart.
Around them, the remaining slaves stared in stunned silence.
Regret soon followed shock.
If only they had worked harder. If only they had stood out more. Perhaps they, too, could have been freed today.
Once the emotions had settled slightly and the cries softened into quiet weeping, Louis raised his hand again.
What he said next struck even deeper.
"Beginning today," he announced, "more than ten slaves who make outstanding contributions to Red Tide Territory will be granted freedom every month."
The crowd held its breath.
"As long as you are willing to work, to contribute, and to protect this land," Louis continued, "every one of you will have the opportunity to become a freeman."
He paused briefly, then added the final blow.
"And in the future, freemen may even own land of their own."
Disbelief washed over the slaves' faces.
If the first group's freedom had been a spark of hope, then these words were a blazing torch illuminating a real future.
As slaves, they had been nothing more than property. Their lives and deaths were subject to another's whim. Worse still, their children—and their children's children—would inherit the same chains, generation after generation, never allowed to rise.
But now, Louis was offering them a path.
A way out of hell.
A chance to stand as human beings.
Several sharp-eyed slaves dropped to their knees without hesitation.
"Great Master!" they shouted.
The words spread like wildfire.
"Great Master!"
"Great Master!!"
More and more people knelt, their voices overlapping, rising and falling until they merged into a single, thunderous roar that swept across the square like a tidal wave.
"Great Master!!!"
It was not merely a title—it was a cry from the depths of their souls.
The knights standing at the perimeter exchanged glances, their expressions complex.
They had already witnessed many extraordinary decisions made by their lord, but this scene still shook them deeply.
With only a few words and a single act, Louis had transformed a group of numb, lifeless slaves into fervent believers.
Some of the younger knights were confused.
Why did these lowly slaves look at their lord as though he were a god?
Louis, standing atop the high stone, felt a surge of emotion as he looked down upon the kneeling crowd.
So this was the power of hope.
As a successor from another world, Louis had never approved of the slave system. Yet he understood reality. Slavery could not be abolished overnight without plunging the territory into chaos.
Gradual reform—using rewards and upward mobility—was the most stable path forward.
In truth, within Red Tide Territory, the practical difference between slaves and freemen was not enormous. All harvests were still collected and redistributed under his authority. The distinction was symbolic—but that symbol was everything.
Hope fueled effort.
Effort fueled progress.
"Of course," Louis said, shifting his gaze outward, "you are no less important."
His eyes settled on the soldiers and knights encircling the square.
With a wave of his hand, attendants stepped forward and pried open several heavy wooden crates.
Firelight glinted off thick, well-crafted leather armor and sturdy northern boots neatly arranged inside.
Almost every soldier's gaze locked onto the crates.
"All soldiers," Louis announced, "will receive one set of beast-hide armor and one pair of northern leather boots."
A ripple of excitement passed through the ranks.
"Members of the Knight Order will receive an additional reward—a complete wolf pelt, suitable for armor padding."
The moment he finished speaking, discipline evaporated.
The soldiers surged forward, eyes shining.
In the Northland, cold and poverty ruled all. Many still wore boots so worn that their feet went numb during patrols. New armor and boots were a dream beyond reach.
The attendants distributed the equipment one piece at a time.
"Gods above—real leather armor!"
"These boots… these are top quality!"
"Lord, is this truly for us?"
Hands trembled as soldiers accepted the gear, gratitude written plainly on their faces.
Louis smiled faintly.
He had purchased these supplies in Frost Halberd City long ago. In the Northland, even the smallest gift could secure unwavering loyalty—especially when it addressed the most urgent needs.
After the distribution, the feast resumed.
Golden-brown roasted game was carried forth, sizzling as fat dripped into the flames. The aroma of rich meat filled the air, overwhelming and intoxicating.
Everyone received a portion—no exceptions.
When the first bite touched their tongues, warmth spread through bodies long accustomed to hunger.
"It's… delicious…"
"I haven't tasted real meat in years…"
Laughter rose. Music followed.
A wanderer played a bone flute, its melody raw but heartfelt. Women joined hands and danced. Soldiers laughed and competed clumsily around the fire. Children ran freely, their laughter ringing through the night.
From atop the highest boulder, Louis watched quietly.
As lord, he carried their hopes.
He would not fail them.
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