Teams of slaves, bound by chains and ropes, stepped onto the land of the Red Tide Territory, guided by hardened slave traders.
Their faces showed unease, eyes darting with fear and uncertainty. No one knew what awaited them. Would it be more of the same cruelty and despair they'd grown used to—or something even worse?
But as they crossed into the Red Tide Territory, they froze.
Clean houses lined both sides of a neat road, smoke from cooking fires drifted lazily in the air, and the aroma of hot food lingered gently on the breeze.
This wasn't the slave camp they had imagined.
There were no dirty, ragged tents. No rot, no stench of spoiled meat or waste.
Even the soldiers escorting them didn't treat them with cruelty or contempt. They simply maintained order—calmly, firmly, but without unnecessary aggression.
The slaves, confused and unsettled, exchanged wary glances.
And yet, it was only the beginning.
The next morning, the square of the Red Tide Territory was filled with activity.
Fifteen hundred newly arrived slaves stood in formation, quiet and tense. Their expressions varied: some frightened, some numb, and others simply resigned.
Then a voice rang out, clear and firm:
"Welcome to the Red Tide Territory."
That simple sentence shocked many.
They had been sold here—why were they being welcomed?
Standing on a raised platform, Louis, the young Lord of the Red Tide Territory, looked out over the crowd.
"You may think of this place as you did the last," he began, "but I hope it can become a place of new beginnings for you."
The slaves whispered among themselves.
His voice remained steady:
"I will not make you work for nothing. Here, you'll be provided with food, shelter, and meaningful labor. Every drop of sweat you shed will be honored."
Then he paused, letting his next words hang heavy in the air:
"More importantly, here—if you work hard enough, you can escape slavery."
Boom!
The square erupted.
"…What did he say?!"
"Did I hear that right?"
"Is he serious?!"
Freedom?
After everything they had endured—being bought and sold, whipped and discarded—they no longer dared to hope.
A master who would grant freedom?
It sounded too good to be true.
Too foolish to believe.
And yet, there it was. A promise—utterly sincere.
Excitement, skepticism, and confusion swept through the crowd.
Some cried. Others clenched their fists, trying not to believe in something they feared would never come true.
Louis stood still and watched them. He knew trust would take time.
Words meant little. Action would speak louder.
In the following days, the slaves gradually adapted.
The morning sun cast a warm glow on the streets—an unusual sight in these northern lands.
A young slave stood quietly outside a wooden house, holding a steaming bowl of wheat porridge. He stared at it, unsure. The portion was generous—more than he used to receive in an entire day.
Elsewhere, groups of slaves gathered around braziers to warm themselves, chatting in hushed voices.
"The beds here… better than any straw mat I ever slept on," one elderly man said softly.
"Yes," another nodded, looking conflicted.
No flogging. No curses.
They were given three meals a day, enough to eat until full.
And the housing? Better than the rickety shacks they'd known before.
But nothing astonished them more than what they saw on the streets: former slaves, now free citizens.
"Hey… are you a slave?" a boy cautiously asked a man repairing the road.
The man wiped sweat from his brow and smiled. "I used to be."
The boy blinked. "But now…"
"I work as a craftsman. Because I worked hard, the Lord granted me freedom."
"Really?" the boy asked, voice shaking.
"Of course." The man patted his shoulder. "Do your part, and you'll get there too."
Such encounters became common.
In the fields, in the blacksmith shops, and in the bakeries—they saw people just like themselves, once shackled, now living with dignity.
The slaves' doubts began to crumble.
Could freedom truly be real?
They dared to wonder. They dared to believe.
And with that belief came effort—not just survival, but investment.
They began to work with intention.
They no longer dragged their feet or worked only out of fear.
They gave effort—real effort—because for the first time in years, they had something worth working for.
They even began to look at Louis with a kind of growing reverence.
Whenever he walked through the mines or workshops, the slaves would stop what they were doing, standing a little straighter, eyes filled with something more than awe.
Trust. Respect. Hope.
Of course, such a large influx of people brought challenges.
Food was not a pressing issue—thanks to proper reserves and family support, there was enough to go around.
But housing quickly became a problem.
The Red Tide Territory had never housed this many people. The original population was small, and housing had always been constructed based on slow, steady demand.
Now, with fifteen hundred new mouths to house, every available space was used.
People shared homes. Semi-subterranean longhouses meant for ten now held fifteen, even twenty.
In most places, such a situation would cause conflict—but surprisingly, tensions remained low.
Why?
Because the Lord had already promised more homes.
"Bear with it a little longer," Louis had said. "Houses will be plentiful soon."
True to his word, construction teams had already begun work in the outer districts. Craftsmen dug foundations, raised wooden frames, and hammered boards into place. The speed of development surprised even the workers themselves.
As long as they could see the progress, people were willing to endure a little crowding.
But the real concern wasn't housing.
It was sanitation.
One afternoon, Louis visited the new residential area. Fresh timber lined the streets, and the air still carried the scent of sawdust.
From a distance, the rows of new houses looked tidy and promising—a true sign of progress.
But as he walked further, something felt wrong.
Scattered along the path were small piles of garbage. The air smelled faintly musty, and in one corner, a greasy, brownish-yellow mess glistened in the sunlight.
Louis's Adam's apple twitched.
Individually, none of these things were critical—but he understood the danger.
With more people arriving, issues like drinking water, sewage, and garbage disposal could quickly spiral out of control.
If left unchecked, disease would follow—and the Red Tide Territory did not yet have the resources to handle a large-scale health crisis.
Louis frowned. This had to be dealt with—immediately.
Still, despite the mounting pressures, something extraordinary had taken root in the territory: a quiet, rising hope.
Slaves began to carry themselves with a little more pride.
They spoke more openly.
They dreamed again.
"As long as we work hard, we can do it too," became a phrase whispered from mouth to mouth.
From hopelessness to hope.
From shackled bodies to determined hearts.
That was the greatest change of all.
And Louis, though young and burdened with countless responsibilities, knew this was only the beginning.
He had taken in fifteen hundred slaves—but he had also lit fifteen hundred flames.
Some flickered.
Some sputtered.
But they were burning.
And fire, once lit, had a way of spreading.
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