After leaving the training ground, Louis led Sif down a dirt path. Suddenly, he stopped and walked toward a simple, clean wooden house.
"I'll go in and have a look," he said, opening the door.
Inside, the light was dim, and a faint scent of herbs filled the air. A knight lay on a wooden bed against the wall. His face was still pale, but much better than a few days ago. It was Javier, the knight injured in the battle with the Frost Giants.
Seeing Louis enter, Javier instinctively tried to sit up and bow, but Louis gently pressed him back down.
"Don't move," Louis frowned. "You're not fully healed."
Javier offered a sheepish smile. "My lord, I'm much better."
"Don't push yourself," Louis said, pulling over a chair. He sat down. "What did the doctor say?"
"He said my condition is stable," Javier lowered his head, a trace of reluctance in his voice. "But recovery will take time. I've worried you."
Louis sighed softly. "I'm just glad you're alive. I'll find a potion that accelerates healing."
"Thank you, my lord. Once I recover, I'll resume serving the Red Tide Territory." His voice trembled with loyalty.
Sif watched silently, her heart stirring. She had suspected Louis of empty gestures—but this knight's genuine devotion made her doubt her judgment.
"Don't talk like this is goodbye," Louis smiled gently and stood. He patted Javier's shoulder. "Rest well. Don't go rushing back and making a fool of yourself."
Then Louis instructed the guards to take good care of the knight, and tears welled up in Javier's eyes.
After bidding farewell, Louis led Sif eastward toward the riverbank.
Morning light danced on the water. Fishing boats bobbed at the shore while fishermen repaired nets. Laughter floated in the air. Louis scanned the scene: the local fishing industry was stabilizing. There were slightly more boats than before, though harvests had dipped. This was by design.
To prevent overfishing and ensure sustainable reproduction, Louis had mandated larger mesh sizes on nets. He'd also instituted seasonal closures, allowing fish stocks to recover.
Luke, the Fishery Official, approached with a display of enthusiasm.
"My lord," Luke greeted with a bow that held a hint of flattery.
Louis nodded curtly, eyes on the river. "How's the fish farming progressing?"
"We've initiated trials," Luke replied, beaming. "We chose cold-water species and started semi-enclosed raft farming."
He pointed to wooden platforms floating downstream. "It's thanks to your foresight. Otherwise, we'd have depleted the river by now."
Louis responded with a simple "Good job."
Luke's grin broadened. "It's all your wisdom, my lord."
Louis chuckled inwardly; Sif's eyes flicked sideways at the flattery. She scoffed inwardly, yet she couldn't deny the trust the people had in him.
Louis stole a glance at Sif. A subtle smile curved his lips. He could sense her skepticism—but answering her thoughts wasn't worth the effort.
"Let's move on," he said, turning toward the farmland.
The fields stretched out under the morning sun. Dense rye stalks swayed. Potato leaves flourished. Turnips peeked from beneath rich green foliage—a scene brimming with life.
Agriculture Official Mick was leading a group of farmers on a field inspection. Spotting Louis, he hastened forward, wiping soil from his hands and wearing a proud smile.
"In about ten days, the turnips will be ready," Mick reported. "The rye is thriving, and the potatoes show no issues. We're on track for a great harvest."
Louis nodded, surveying the neat ridges and well-moistened soil.
"Well done, Mick," Louis praised.
Mick momentarily froze, then his expression lit up even more. Joy radiated from him, evident in his bright eyes and clenched fists hidden by his sleeves.
He'd formerly been a slave laboring in these fields, unable even to look at nobles. Louis had emancipated him and placed him in charge of all Red Tide Territory farms. Now, Mick oversaw the very lands that used to imprison him.
"Lord," Mick said solemnly, voice trembling with emotion, "I won't let you down."
Louis smiled and patted his shoulder. "Keep up the good work."
Louis knew something else had occurred—something personal. He raised an eyebrow. "How's married life? Adjusting well?"
Mick went still, his face flushing red. "No, no such thing, Lord! Don't tease me."
Louis laughed heartily and ruffled his shoulder. "Make sure you're well-rested—can't have you collapsing one day."
The farmers joined in the laughter, the mood easing.
As the morning wore on, Sif's view of Louis shifted. He'd transformed from a sly noble into a benevolent leader who genuinely cared for his people. Whether sincere or performing, the people loved and respected him.
She felt a flicker of concern. If every northern territory grew like this, Cold Moon Tribe's standing could suffer. But then she thought: those who betrayed her family deserved ruin.
Sif caught herself, returning her gaze to Louis.
He stood casually in the fields, chatting with farmers. A lazy sort of amusement danced in his eyes as a warm breeze lifted his dark hair. In sunlight, the sharp lines of his profile looked almost sculpted.
For a moment, Sif found herself staring, caught off guard.
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