Free Web NovelPete finally managed to squeeze through the gaps in the crowd, his shoulder getting bumped several times, but he eventually reached the notice column.
Recruitment documents for the Spring Aid Team were posted on the column, listing various positions clearly: Construction Team, Artisan, Physician, Apprentice, and Guard. The salary, term length, and family subsidies were all clearly laid out.
The command at the very bottom was simple and direct: Go illuminate those who still dwell in darkness.
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Pete stared at the sentence, his heart tightening slightly, and a feeling arose: “Good, it’s my turn to do something.”
A registration desk was set up in the center of the square, where officials from the Civil Affairs Department were busy maintaining order.
A wooden sign indicated queue classification, and Pete lined up with the Logistics Team.
Some people nearby shouted about cutting the line, and others complained about the crowding, until a Scribe Officer stepped out to control the scene, and order was restored.
When it was Pete's turn, he steadied his breathing and stood before the desk.
A Scribe Officer in his thirties looked up at him and spoke calmly: “Name, department, resume.”
“Pete Holland, Department of Supplies, Third Class Storage Officer,” he answered simply.
The Scribe Officer flipped through the records, then looked at him: “Third District Winter Deployment... Experienced. Do you understand that this task isn't just about moving things?”
Pete nodded: “I’ve heard a little, but nothing detailed.”
“We are not exporting labor; we are exporting methods of operation,” the Scribe Officer explained directly. “Those who go must know how to keep accounts, allocate rations, arrange channels, maintain order, and teach others to do the same. Simply put, they must be a Grassroots Official capable of independently leading a small post.”
Pete digested the information for a few seconds and asked, “So, after registering now, am I a formal candidate?”
“Not that fast,” the Scribe Officer shook his head. “There will be screening and training afterward. You must pass a written test and an oral exam before you are finally assigned to a team.”
His tone was ordinary, yet it carried a hint of reminder: “If you do well, you might get promoted when you return.”
Pete nodded and signed his name. His handwriting was a bit shaky, but not to the point of losing composure.
The Scribe Officer confirmed it and put away the form: “You are now a candidate. Wait for notification to report back.”
Pete took the booklet and stepped down from the platform, looking back at the flag bearing the Red Tide Emblem, which was dazzling in the light.
Whether it was for the desire to stand out or to let more people live the kind of life Red Tide offered, Pete was absolutely determined. He had to pass this time... Pete was among the first batch of candidates notified of selection.
As soon as the news broke, his colleagues teased him, patting his shoulder and whistling, saying things like, “Pete's going to hit it big,” and “Treat us when you get back.”
Pete's ears were burning, but he couldn't stop smiling. He felt like he was on fire, eager to rush out of Red Tide immediately and contribute to the Northern Territory.
When the mobilization time arrived, he hurried to the Administrative Center early.
The gathering place was the Old Training Hall on the north side of the Administrative Center square, already filled with hundreds of candidates.
The Numbered Badges on their chests divided them into categories: ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) Artisan, Physician, Administration, Construction, and Logistics.
Everyone sat up straight, looking serious, but that seriousness wasn't a sense of mission; it was more like, 'The Lord is calling names, I must do well.'
On the high platform, Bradley and representatives from various Departments were already in position.
Bradley's gaze swept across the room, and the entire hall immediately fell silent: “You will become the Red Tide outside of Red Tide, the seeds of order.”
Next, everyone stood up to take the oath.
They had already seen the oath in the booklet, and countless people had memorized it perfectly: “Witnessed by the Hearthfire, with Order in our hearts, where Red Tide is present, chaos shall not be.”
After shouting the oath, Pete felt half a burden lifted from him, as if he had been formally accepted into a large collective.
Just as the lingering echoes of the oath were dissipating in the air, the sound of boot soles came from the doorway.
Louis entered, wearing his Crimson Cloak, his expression as calm as ever.
The firelight illuminated his profile. He carried no airs, yet it made everyone instinctively straighten their backs.
Pete heard someone nearby gasp, and others quietly muttered, “My Lord...”
That kind of reverence was practically written on everyone's faces.
Louis walked onto the platform and immediately began: “Time is pressing, so I'll keep this brief.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the entire hall instantly fell silent.
Louis stated directly: “You are going out to save people, not to repair the walls of nobles. Your targets are the children freezing purple, and the Liege People who have nothing to eat.
You might encounter obstruction from nobles. They will laugh at you, shout at you, and tell you not to worry about these peasants, but you do not need to heed them. Anyone who maliciously obstructs you, record them in your booklet and report back. Red Tide will deal with it...”
Louis was still speaking, and the quiet gasps below could barely be contained.
Pete was the same. Growing up in the Empire, this was the first time he had heard a noble say such words.
Ignore the nobles, and serve the commoners.
Yet, Louis's tone was as calm as if he were discussing the weather, without a hint of provocation, making it impossible to refute him.
Pete's heart pounded anxiously, yet he couldn't tell if it was fear or excitement.
In fact, Pete nodded every time Louis spoke, not because he fully understood, but because the Lord's way of speaking made them instinctively feel that following him was the right thing to do.
Furthermore, he clearly understood one thing: the Lord truly stood on their side.
And the Lord hated those bullying nobles. That was enough.
Finally, Louis's tone softened: “If you handle this well, your merits will be established accordingly. Future promotions, transfers, and even the independent management of a region will depend on your performance this time.
I hope you won't go out just to talk theory, but to achieve tangible results, so that Red Tide remembers your names.”
Applause erupted like a tide.
Amidst the crowd, Pete's heart felt suddenly struck, not out of fear, but because it had been ignited.
Maybe he really could achieve the things the Lord spoke of.
He stared at Louis on the stage, his chest feeling stuffed with fire. The sensation almost made his scalp tingle.
“I can do it... I can do it too...” Pete repeated mentally, not even knowing why he was suddenly so certain.
Normally, when distributing grain, keeping accounts, and checking inventory, he just felt it was a stable job.
But now, for the first time, he felt that what he was doing could change someone else's life.
When Louis said, “Your merits will be established accordingly,” he couldn't help but picture scene after scene in his mind:
The people in the territory would recognize him and tell their children: “That uncle is the one who made sure we had enough to eat.”
After completing the mission abroad, when he returned, all his colleagues in Red Tide would be standing at the administrative entrance, patting his shoulder and saying, “Pete's back, the kid did well.”
He even thought a little further... Maybe in a few years, he could be like those high-ranking Red Tide officials, carrying his own Seal and sitting behind a desk approving construction schedules and granary quotas.
Thinking of this, the tips of his ears turned red, and he quickly lowered his head so those nearby wouldn't see his expression.
But that expectation... he couldn't suppress it... After Louis left the Training Hall, the residual heat of the Hearthfire still clung to the walls, like the authority he had left behind.
Warm air drifted in the empty Training Hall, but the people had already been led to the Longhouse next door to continue the lessons, without a moment to pause.
The seven-day course was tightly packed and seamless, covering everything from saving lives and establishing regulations to stabilizing the populace and reorganizing the land; every step fit perfectly.
Although the lecturers changed frequently, the true Instructor was never present, but all the curricula and procedures carried Louis's shadow.
Days one to three focused on Livelihood Aid: saving and stabilizing people.
They were required to start learning the most basic tasks, but not manual labor; rather, they learned to do things the Red Tide way:
The “Procedures for Temporary Winter Granary Construction” taught them how to find the safest terrain in wet snow and how to waterproof structures beneath the ice layer.
The “Manual for Frostbite and Hypothermia Treatment” broke down the treatment process into steps that were almost foolproof.
The “Household and Population Registration Template” required them to establish a complete roster within one day of arrival.
The “Emergency Hearthfire Placement Map” enabled them to set up the most basic heating points even in villages and towns without houses.
The Hearthfire burned all day, the flickering light and shadows illuminating everyone's faces, making even Pete's back ache from sitting so straight.
The three-day course was not unfamiliar to him.
How to build a granary, how to treat frostbite, how to fill out a registration form—he had done it all over the years.
But here, all that experience was written into clear, systematic regulations.
The lecturer's voice was like iron striking a tabletop: “The first goal of the Red Tide Relief Team is to ensure that a village loses no lives during the coldest period.”
Pete nodded; he understood the weight of that statement perfectly.
He recalled the days he spent carrying grain sacks on the coldest winter nights, the helplessness he felt when Refugees arriving at Red Tide in winter were frozen purple, and the difficult, struggling days before he came to Red Tide.
Days four and five covered institutional export: transplanting Red Tide.
The Training Hall suddenly felt pressed down by a layer of heavy snow; even the air became stagnant.
The Instructor spoke slowly, but every word was solid: Grain Rights Reform, Household Registration Law, Public Ledgers, Work Hour System, minimum standards for Storage Rooms and Geothermal Furnaces... “Aid is not just delivering food,” the lecturer said. “It is enabling that village to keep its own accounts, farm its own land, and distribute resources itself next year.”
Thus, they were taught how to teach others literacy, how to collect rations according to forms, and how to lead locals in digging the first Drainage Ditch and building the first Storage Room.
Pete looked at the Blueprints and suddenly understood: they weren't providing temporary aid and then walking away; they were ensuring that the land would never suffer hunger again. He realized for the first time: “It turns out we are replicating Red Tide itself.” free𝑤ebnovel.com
Day six discussed Local Politics: changing the structure from the root.
The entire day was spent discussing power, not tools or engineering.
The lecturer wrote a striking line on the blackboard: “The object of aid is the common people, not the nobility.”
Most importantly, nobles must not interfere with ration distribution, audit accounts, give orders, or interfere with division of labor. Etiquette must be fully observed, but not a single piece of power can be relinquished.
On this day, Pete and the others were taught how to maintain decorum, how to ensure nobles stood in the front row of ceremonies without being able to issue commands, how to let them audit meetings without intervening, and how to grant symbolic honors without giving up actual power.
The lecturer summarized calmly: “Give them face, but institutionally sideline them.”
Pete felt his scalp tingle. The arrival of the Aid Team was quietly embedding Red Tide's Administrative Framework into the territories of the old nobility, rewriting order using systems rather than swords.
Day seven discussed Long-Term Strategy: paving the way for the next three years.
The entire wall was replaced with a map of the Northern Territory. Military and Administrative Officials used a long pointer to tap on the villages and towns within the snow line: freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
Where the winter mortality rate was highest, where the potential supply lines were, which villages and towns, once stabilized, could drive surrounding four to six villages, and which nobles were most likely to be abandoned by the people.
The lecturer then unveiled the New Three-Year Plan, which, compared to all previous lessons, looked more like an overall blueprint for Red Tide:
Year One: Stabilize the population, ensuring no one dies from cold or famine.
Establish Grain Rights Distribution Points and Temporary Household Registration Offices, allowing villages and towns to regroup and stop fleeing.
All relief actions revolve around one goal: ensuring the lower class survives, and making sure they know Red Tide is responsible for their survival.
Year Two: Export institutions and dismantle old authority.
Implement Red Tide's household registration, quota, and ledger laws. Teach the lower class literacy, accounting, and division of labor.
Old nobles retain titles superficially, but Tax Rights, Grain Rights, and Labor Rights are gradually stripped from their hands.
Make villages and towns start relying on Red Tide officials, rather than relying on the Lord.
Year Three: Complete subordination and incorporation into the Red Tide Order.
Villages and towns voluntarily submit ledgers and yield reports; Red Tide Resource Vouchers are used as the primary settlement method;
Red Tide stations Permanent Scribe Officers and Inspectors; annexation is not announced, but de facto Administrative Subordination is a done deal.
The Northern Territory is sewn together as a single piece, with Red Tide becoming the sole center.
The lecturer summarized lightly during a pause: “These three years are not three years of aid, but three years of reshaping. After three years, the Northern Territory will be accustomed to Red Tide, the nobles will rely on Red Tide, and the villages and towns will proactively lean toward Red Tide.
You are not Aid Officials, but the Sowers of future Northern Territory Order.”
The Training Hall was so quiet that even breathing seemed hushed.
At the final moment of the training, the lecturer closed the thick booklet, his tone softening slightly: “Although the time was short, you are inherently Grassroots Officials trained by Red Tide. You have all done the work of saving people, keeping accounts, and stabilizing situations.
These seven days were just to let you reorganize these things. If you have any questions, you can open the Red Tide Booklet; all answers are there.”
He looked around, “When you go out, remember that you represent the face of Red Tide. May your journey be smooth, and may your steps make the Northern Territory shine again.”
...Seven days later, Pete sat in the departing carriage.
The wheels rolled over the muddy tracks left by the melting snow, making a dull, sticky sound.
He held the small booklet, its edges curled from frequent use, feeling as if he were still sitting at the long table in the Training Hall.
Pete's mood was hard to describe.
There was anticipation—to do something that genuinely gave hope to others, and also to get promoted and become rich.
There was also confusion: What would the first village look like? Would the local nobles obstruct them?
The outer walls of Red Tide City gradually receded into the mist. The familiar Red Banner on the wall still swayed in the wind, but it had blurred into a warm shade clinging to the gray-white horizon.
Pete suddenly realized that from this moment on, he was no longer working under the banner.
He was going to carry that color to places where others could not see the light of the fire.
