The north wind, laden with snow dust, blew all the way from the distant mountains, like a bone-chilling blade sweeping through every street and alley of Red Tide Territory.

Even though Red Tide Territory was considered a southern region of the Northern Territory, it finally felt the chill of deep winter.

Once stepping outside, the white mist exhaled was so dense it seemed as if it could freeze in the air.

Thin ice on the river's surface began to quietly spread out.

Occasional low growls came from the forest, all from beasts beginning to migrate southward.

The hunters of Red Tide Territory also seized this brief opportunity to catch a lot of game.

All of this indicated that the cold winter of the Northern Territory had truly arrived.

However, the arrival of winter did not disrupt the order of Red Tide Territory in the slightest.

Every household stuffed the distributed cotton cloth into door gaps to prevent cold winds from entering the house.

Straw was also spread at the door, making it soft to step on and less slippery.

"Here, quickly put it on!" A mother draped the new cotton coat distributed by Red Tide Territory over her child, carefully tying the belt tight.

Inside, the stove blazed red, hot soup bubbled and simmered, and children gathered around the stove, playing and laughing.

No matter how the snow fluttered outside, it couldn't penetrate this half-underground house.

"It's not scary even when it's cold." A child exclaimed excitedly, rushing into the snow with friends for a snowball fight in the white world.

In a street corner, several elderly people wrapped in thick clothes and blankets sat down to rest against a wall, gazing up at the street view and sighing with emotion.

"Originally... every year was just a matter of enduring." An old hunter sighed, his eyes grew dim, "Yet, many still froze to death. Unlike now... we have food and clothing, all thanks to Lord Louis."

A refugee hugged a new cotton coat tightly, eyes slightly red: "If it weren't for Lord Louis taking me in... I fear I would've frozen to death on the snowfield long ago."

Far away, slaves shoveling snow paused, looked up and exchanged glances.

"Yes." One of them said softly, "We too... are no longer afraid of being discarded like mere materials."

In everyone's eyes, there was a sense of belonging and hope, something never seen in past winters.

In every corner, at tables, beside the fire, everywhere in Red Tide Territory, people were grateful to the person who brought about such changes.

"Lord Louis... is our sun."

"Indeed, he's the only winter on this snowfield that won't freeze anyone to death."

...

At the small square at the village head, the people's cheeks were reddened by the cold, and exhaled white mist drifted slowly in the air.

They stood huddled together, watching the stage.

A territory official wearing a thick cloak stepped onto the high platform, unfurling a document, his reading voice resonating clearly in the cold wind:

"Fellow villagers, please take note that Red Tide Territory is about to enter a period of extreme cold! This will be an unusually harsh winter; we must unite as one to overcome the difficult times."

He raised the parchment in his hand, his tone solemn, with a touch of fervor: "The great Lord Louis, with a compassionate heart, refuses to let anyone suffer alone!

He has ordered that regardless of who they are, whether poor, slave, or refugee, as long as they are in Red Tide Territory, they are citizens of Red Tide!

If there is any difficulty, it must be reported at the first instance; Red Tide Territory will never leave anyone isolated and helpless!"

In the crowd, someone had already started to murmur in admiration: "Truly a kind and great lord..."

The official's voice grew more impassioned, continuing sincerely: "The lord always keeps everyone's safety at heart! Elsewhere, disaster and cold are imminent, famine and freezing disasters rampant.

Yet in Red Tide Territory, we have smoked fish, granaries, winter clothes, and firewood!

We will become the only land in the Northern Empire where no one will freeze to death!"

At these words, the people burst into low cheers and chatter, faces full of pride and gratitude.

"Long live Red Tide!" Someone couldn't help but shout.

"Long live Lord Louis!" The calls quickly echoed, making the blood boil even amidst this harsh winter.

The official raised his hand to signal for silence, saying: "Remember, this is not a miracle, but the result of our unity and effort! As long as we follow in the lord's footsteps, we will surely overcome the winter and usher in a new spring!"

The crowd erupted into another round of applause and cheers.

In their eyes was a kind of light, filled with hope and trust, confident that Lord Louis would keep his word.

Just like the soft articles they wrote themselves, under Louis's governance, although the winter in Red Tide Territory was cold, it was orderly and steady.

Every household was brightly lit with firewood, and children could still chase and play in the snow.

Smoke drifted slowly up, smoked fish, rye, potatoes and other food filled the warehouses.

Yet other territories in the Northern Territory outside Red Tide were not as fortunate to have a lord like Louis.

...

The wind blew in from the north, hurling snowflakes fiercely against the eaves.

This was Baron McKinney's territory.

Also located in the Northern Territory, but a region slightly further south than Red Tide Territory.

Yet not a single person was in sight on the streets, it was utterly silent, not even other animals were present.

A few dilapidated huts, the door gaps with large holes, allowed the wind and snow to freely invade.

Inside, several citizens huddled in corners, wrapped in tattered blankets that were almost transparent, their faces frozen to a bluish hue.

The child was so weak that even his cries couldn't be heard, just staring with dry eyes in a daze.

"...Hold on for a few more days, maybe the snow will stop, maybe we can go out and find some bark." Someone murmured softly, a mix of numbness and a flicker of hope in their eyes.

But no one responded to his words; everyone was too cold, too cold to even nod their heads.

A broken wooden barrel was filled with snow, which was their water and food.

An old man huddled in the corner, breathing weakly, eyelids drooping.

Suddenly a gust of wind blew the door open, his body trembled slightly, but there was no other movement.

"Dead, dead..." someone whispered, voice trembling, unclear whether from cold or fear.

But no one paid attention because it was all too common.

These were still freemen, while in the slaves' dungeon, it was even more inhumane.

In the corner, a few emaciated figures lay slumped, covered in tattered sacks, like brittle branches that could snap at any moment.

The air was tainted with the smell of mold and rot, pressing heavily on everyone's chest.

In that smell, there was not only the scent of death but also a suffocating despair.

A few corpses lay against the wall, faces covered with a thin layer of frost, eyes wide open staring at the ceiling, as if still waiting for a shred of salvation before death.

But this was the place where the sun of the Red Tide Territory couldn't reach.

No one cried, nor was there any panic.

Only pairs of empty eyes silently watched, too weary to even move.

One dead? Or dozens?

It made no difference.

The dead slaves were thrown out into the snow, without even a proper pit, left for the wind to pile snow over their bodies.

This was their "final resting place."

In the corner, a middle-aged man leaned against the cold mud wall, holding his barely alive wife in his arms.

His lips were purple with cold, his voice barely audible: "Just endure it, live one day at a time, are we supposed to rely on that master to save us?"

He didn't finish, chuckling coldly.

The laughter was low and dry, like firewood cracking from the cold, chilling to the listeners' hearts.

No one responded, only a gust of wind swept by, making the tattered curtains flutter violently, as if mourning the dead silence here.

Yet the scene shifts.

Not far away, inside the mansion of Baron McKinney, was like another world.

The hall was brightly lit, the wooden logs in the fireplace burned vigorously, dispelling all the cold.

The long banquet table was piled high with food: whole roast lamb, freshly cooked suckling pig, greasy sausages strung together, baskets of fruit casually tossed aside.

Many were just bitten a few times before being thrown aside, rotting black.

The floor was strewn with large breadcrumbs, mixed with spilled wine, trampled mess by people's feet.

Baron McKinney was drunkenly half-leaning on a chair, holding a young maid in his arms, reeking of alcohol with every breath.

His fingers idly pinched the maid's snow-white skin, laughing wantonly, "Come, give me a kiss, bring some good luck to your lord!"

A few knights nearby, faces flushed from drinking, the cards on the gambling table scattered, piles of copper and silver coins stacked high.

"Haha, McKinney, your hand is terrible!" A knight laughed, throwing cards, grabbing a cup and downing it.

"Stop blabbering!" McKinney cursed, tossing away the wine urn, kicking it over, the strong aroma of the liquor spreading all over, slowly flowing across the stone floor.

No one cared.

After all, in this house, wine and meat are plentiful, women are plentiful, inexhaustible and never-ending.

Inside the house and outside the world were worlds apart.

McKinney was merely a newly appointed baron succeeding temporarily.

His elder brother died in the battle at Snow Eagle City, and he took advantage of his family's status to take the baron's position.

Though he had just been through a war, in reality, McKinney's territory had never truly suffered any Snow Swearer attacks.

Instead, due to its remote location in the mountains, it temporarily became a bed of comfort for his indulgence.

For him, war and famine were merely topics of conversation at the gambling table.

"Hey, come on, let's continue! Bring that bottle of good wine too!" McKinney laughed loudly, his eyes brazenly scanning the maids on the other side, "Come, come, come a little closer!"

Amidst the uproar and chaos, the butler walked forward cautiously with his head bowed: "Ahem, my lord..."

McKinney, holding the maid while drinking, glanced at him with bleary eyes, frowning: "What is it? Can't you see I'm happy here?"

Sweat beaded on the butler's forehead, and he whispered, "It's, it's about the granary... We just took stock and found... um, the reserves, the reserves might... not be enough to last the entire winter..."

"Hmph, if it's not enough, it's not enough, let those slaves starve to death. In spring next year, just buy new ones, a few worthless lives, who cares?"

The butler's face turned pale, his eyes moved slightly, finally gritting his teeth and softly reminding, "But... it's not just the slaves... even the baron's mansion's grain reserves... might not be sufficient."

As these words fell, the originally noisy hall fell silent for a moment.

McKinney slowly turned his head, a chill creeping into his drunkenness: "...What did you say?"

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