Free Web NovelThe first few days after the fall of Black Iron City were even quieter than the night of the battle.
It rained three times, and the dark clouds hung low.
Occasional echoes of iron boots hitting the ground came from deep within the streets, quickly disappearing around the corners of the alleys.
Hungry residents huddled in their rickety houses, window bolts locked tight and door cracks stuffed with strips of cloth.
When children cried, mothers covered their mouths; the elderly recited prayers to the Dragon Ancestor, yet dared not even make a sound.
They waited, waiting for those "man-eating Northlands demons" to start looting, kidnapping, and setting fires; waiting for the streets to be filled with corpses; waiting for their doors to be kicked open.
But nothing happened.
Two more days passed before someone, famished beyond endurance, tremblingly pushed their door open just a crack.
They thought they would see streets full of blood and chaotic scenes of looting.
Instead, they were greeted by the smell of damp earth and rainwater.
The streets were unusually clean.
The bloodstains left from the fierce battle a few days ago had been washed away by the rain; not a single corpse could be seen, only the traces of filled-in pits silently telling what had happened there.
Further away, several soldiers in black ponchos patrolled the street corners.
They wore a striking red cloth sun pattern on their arms, their steps orderly and their gaze straight.
When passing shops, they would even step aside to avoid the dilapidated shelves placed at the entrances, for fear of kicking something.
"Are those... Northlanders?" someone muttered behind a door.
No one answered, but more door cracks were quietly opened a bit wider.
Until the first wisp of cooking smoke rose from the square.
On Black Iron City's central square, over a dozen large iron marching pots were lined up; the fires were kept low but burned steadily.
White steam rose from the rims of the pots, carrying the aroma of salted meat and dried vegetables, drifting into every alley with the wind.
To fund the war this year, Remont had collected taxes in advance.
Many families in Grey Rock Province had long since scavenged everything edible; even rats were becoming hard to catch.
Now, this thick congee mixed with diced salted meat, dried vegetables, and finely ground flour was more precious than gold to many.
Some children couldn't help but cling to the windowsills, drooling.
Just then, the sound of a gong rang out from the square, crisply piercing the city's deathly silence.
"Clang— Clang— Clang—!"
A Red Tide soldier stood before the pots, holding a gong, and shouted loudly: "By order of Count Louis of the Northlands! Open the granaries and distribute food! All residents of this city, line up to receive it; one scoop for children, two for adults!"
The voice was loud and every word was clear, audible even at the most remote alley entrances.
The silence inside the houses loosened bit by bit.
"Is this... a trap?"
"If they really wanted to kill us, why bother making congee?"
Someone swallowed hard, summoned their courage, and cautiously moved toward the square with their whole family.
At first, there were only a few dozen people, but once they saw that long row of very real iron pots, they could no longer move their feet away.
Hunger emboldened them and shattered the last of their reservations.
People held up wooden bowls, their hands shaking like leaves in the wind, yet they still reached out.
The soldier scooped a spoonful of thick congee; when the steaming aroma hit their faces, several children's eyes turned red on the spot.
After the first bite, many people were stunned.
It had been too long since they had eaten something so flavorful—not watery soup to fill the stomach, but real food that could warm the belly.
Some didn't care about the heat and wolfed it down; others stopped halfway through eating, suddenly covering their faces, their shoulders shaking, unsure if they were crying or laughing.
A skin-and-bones little boy lay in his mother's arms, a piece of unchewable dried vegetable in his mouth, mumbling, "Is this... for us?"
His mother didn't answer, only held him tighter.
In this moment, the aroma of the thick congee seemed to light up the entire Black Iron City.
And there was an after-meal program; next to the congee shed, a temporary wooden platform had been erected.
Several people, bound tightly, knelt on the platform with rags stuffed in their mouths, their eyes full of terror.
Some recognized them as Count Doron's tax collector, the city's security knights, and several bully leaders who usually ran rampant in the streets.
The crowd in the square suddenly went silent.
They didn't know what would happen next.
A Red Tide Knight stepped onto the wooden platform, unfurled a document, and scanned the audience below.
"The first one," he pointed at the tax collector. "Tax Collector Jimmy, last month you raised the tax rate by twenty percent without authorization, and the extra portion all went into your own cellar. Old John's family from the west city blacksmith shop couldn't afford the tax, and you drove his son to hang himself. Is this true?"
The tax collector shook his head frantically, muffled whimpers coming from his throat.
The Red Tide Knight was in no hurry. "Where is the person?"
From the back of the crowd, someone was gently pushed forward.
White-haired Old John squeezed forward tremblingly; he should have died under the noose long ago, but Red Tide's men had dismantled that beam in time.
He looked up, and upon seeing that face on the platform, his whole body shook. "It's him."
"That day, he was the one who brought soldiers to my house to seize our things and drove my son to his death!" Old John's eyes were bloodshot. "I said I couldn't afford it, and he said for every copper coin missing, one person would die..."
Suppressed whispers spread through the square; the public clearly knew this was the case.
The Red Tide Knight then pointed at the security knight. "Security Knight O'Neal forcibly took the miller's daughter. Afterward, he even broke the miller's leg. The witness is below."
The crowd automatically parted.
A middle-aged man on crutches was helped forward; his leg bone hadn't been set properly, and he winced in pain with every step.
He didn't even dare look at the man on the platform, only faced the wooden stage and knelt down with difficulty.
"I beg you..." his voice trembled, "I beg you to give her justice."
Women in the crowd sobbed softly.
One by one, the sinners were dragged up to be sentenced, and one by one, the victims came forward to identify them... The Red Tide Knight's voice then spread across the entire square: "In the Northlands, this is called the crime of looting and the crime of murder."
He paused. "According to Northlands law—death penalty."
The executioner stepped forward and drew his blade.
"Execute."
The blade flashed, blood splattered onto the wooden boards of the platform, slowly being washed down by the rainwater.
After the executioner stepped back, a knight orator wearing the Red Tide emblem stepped forward, standing at the edge of the platform where the blood had not yet dried.
"Listen well, this is Northlands law and the order of the Red Tide. We do not loot, we do not burn, and we do not take lives for wealth, but anyone who dares to treat you like livestock will not be left alive."
He raised his hand, pointing at the corpses kneeling in pools of blood. "These people treated taxes as their private treasury and power as a club to toy with people. Such behavior might survive in Grayrock, but in the Red Tide, there is no tomorrow."
The crowd was suppressed by his voice, so quiet that only the sound of rain hitting the stone slabs remained.
The orator continued, "The Northlands Lord, Lord Louis, once said... to let the subjects eat their fill is the purpose of a Lord's and a Knight's existence. Whoever dares to block the people's path to survival is blocking the advance of the Red Tide's blade."
Several Red Tide Knights stood below with their heads bowed, their posture solemn, as if endorsing those words.
The orator finally concluded, "From today on, you no longer need to kneel to Remont's whip. Just remember one thing: under Lord Louis's rule, the law-abiding shall live, and the wrongdoers shall die."
After he finished, he stepped back.
At that moment, the square was so quiet that even the sound of raindrops hitting armor could be heard.
No one cheered, and no one cried; they just stared blankly at those who were once high and mighty now lying on the ground.
Someone subconsciously clutched their chest, as if a stone that had weighed on their heart for years had been suddenly moved.
Someone gently raised their head, as if seeing light from the shadows for the first time.
Some families who had lost loved ones looked at the corpses; there was no joy on their faces, only heavy breathing and a slowly surfacing sense of relief. freewebnovёl.ƈom
No one knew who first whispered, "They deserved to die."
The voice wasn't loud, but it was like a needle popping a boil that had pressed on the city for years.
Immediately after, someone with bloodshot eyes responded, "It's not unjust."
Then a third, a fourth... voices overflowed from the crowd, fragmented at first, then becoming more and more urgent, like raindrops falling on a river surface, hitting harder and more densely.
"Not unjust!"
"They deserved to die!"
"Good!!!"
The people of Grayrock, who had harbored resentment for too long, finally found an outlet.
"Good!!"
More cheers erupted from deep within the crowd, pushing forward like waves.
They held up empty bowls, they tapped their wooden staffs, and some even knelt on the ground in excitement.
The shadow of the invaders in their eyes shattered in this moment, replaced by the long-lost exhilaration and near-fanatical gratitude of seeing old scores settled.
Someone looked at the figure behind the judgment platform and whispered a name: "Lord Louis..."
The voice was soft, yet it carried a subtle tremor as fear turned to awe... The wind outside the castle balcony still carried the chill of the night, but the square below was already boiling.
Torches flickered among the dense crowd, their light and shadow illuminating countless faces that were excited, fanatical, and even intoxicated.
Louis stood on high, overlooking it all.
Steam rose from the hot tea in his hand, tracing a faint white mist against his profile.
Gray stood behind him, his gaze falling on the pots of congee being served below, the opened granaries, and the commoners kneeling in the mud kowtowing to the Red Tide army.
He couldn't help but whisper, "...The way they look at you is more devout than how they look at a god. But if we keep distributing food like this, our military rations will be consumed very quickly."
Hearing this, Louis took a light sip of tea, his movements as composed as if he didn't care at all whether food would run short.
"Gray, you've calculated wrong," he said calmly. "This food isn't mine."
He raised his hand, pointing at the massive granaries in the distance sealed by Red Tide soldiers, where the Doron family crest could still be seen on the door panels.
"This is Count Doron's; it's Remont's."
He turned around, his gaze as calm as if he were reading a judgment that had long been confirmed.
"I am using Remont's food to buy the hearts of Remont's people."
Gray was stunned.
Louis continued, "Taking from the enemy and using it against the enemy. This is the cleanest method of warfare."
The cheers below surged like the tide, wave after wave.
Gray hesitated for a moment, still worried. "But will this... make the people here dependent? Or even... pull them out of Remont's rule too quickly?"
Louis shook his head slightly. "This isn't charity, nor is it mercy."
His gaze fell below on those faces, numb from oppression and hunger. "Every bowl of congee and every bag of grain we give, they must be clear about whose hand they are receiving it from.
And this bite they eat is the beginning of their connection with us.
Relying solely on killing will only breed hatred in this place. They would hide in dark alleys and shoot arrows at us, set fires in the night, as annoying as a swarm of rats."
"But if we let them benefit..." He looked up.
"They will take the initiative to work for me, tell me the enemy's positions, and hope that Remont never returns—otherwise, the food they took would be a crime of treason."
Gray fell silent.
Louis's voice dropped, yet it carried a cold logic that was impossible to refute. "Having eaten my congee and watched me kill the nobles, they are my accomplices. From this moment on, their fate is tied to mine."
The wind swept past the balcony, fluttering a corner of Louis's cloak.
Gray exhaled deeply. "My Lord, this method is more like war than a direct siege."
Louis gave a faint smile. "War has always been a battle for people's hearts."
He suddenly looked up toward Grey Rock Province, a flash of resentment in the depths of his eyes—disgust for Remont's years of indulging the nobles' rampancy.
"The nobles here have long been rotten to the core," he whispered. "Their corpses are more suited to be the foundation stones of this revolution than their names."
Gray asked softly, "But why not use Count Doron himself to establish authority?"
A faint light from the system panel flashed in Louis's eyes. "Doron's rank is too high and he is too far removed from them; the people have no specific hatred for him. Such an unsurprising execution wouldn't be enough to establish a new order."
The emotions below were still fermenting, no longer like the chaos following a fright, but like an ignited tide slowly surging through the streets.
Many people gathered at the city gate; they weren't in a panic, but proactively crowded around the registration desk, asking if they could join the transport teams or help repair the roads.
Craftsmen came with their tools, each looking for a place where they could contribute.
Some refugees in rags also lined up at the end, cautiously trying to obtain a logistics job.
The Red Tide army's discipline and distribution system allowed them to see, for the first time, an order that could truly include them.
The reason they approached was not just to eat their fill, but because they felt they finally had a place within a new framework.
Gray couldn't help but murmur, "They... are already completely on our side."
Louis's gaze darkened slightly as he said slowly, "This is only the beginning."
Almost all the towns the Red Tide army passed through followed this playbook.
Granaries were taken over, tax records were seized, and deeply resentful villagers proactively identified the names of their oppressors.
And Louis's intelligence system made all of this even easier.
He could always pre-identify which noble was hoarding grain, which officer was embezzling military pay, or which bully had driven someone to their death.
Every punishment was like a precisely delivered judgment, causing people's hearts to turn completely toward the Red Tide.
Reg approached on horseback. "My Lord, the power of this tactic is even greater than we anticipated. In the two villages ahead, people have already quietly contacted us even before the battle has begun."
Louis fell silent for a moment, looking toward the direction where dark clouds loomed ahead.
Grey Rock Fortress sat deep within those shadows, like a giant beast lurking in its lair.
"Remont thinks that rule relies on fear, but he forgets that people on the verge of starvation do not fear fear. To them, a bowl of hot congee is more worthy of loyalty than any god."
Louis raised his hand and waved it lightly. "Order the entire army to advance at full speed."
The wind whipped up the banners of the Red Tide Legion, letting the sun emblem that symbolized the Northlands extend under the sky of Grey Rock Province.
"Before Remont can react, let this territory become our backyard."
