As the Frost Giants' corpses were hauled away, the blood-soaked stench lifted from the battlefield. But for Louis, the true mission had just begun: mining the magical marrow deposit.
Magic marrow—vital for explosive alchemical concoctions—is exceedingly rare. Even across the entirety of the Northland and the Iron-Blood Empire, such deposits are few. Fortunately, this vein lay buried so deep that no one had discovered it—until now. Even more fortunate: without the guidance of the daily intelligence system, Louis never would've located it.
Knights stood sentry around the perimeter. A team of villagers, equipped with pickaxes, gloves, and crude protective gear, slowly descended. They clawed through gravel inch by inch. Then, with a sharp clang, a corner of deep-purple crystal emerged from the ore.
It pulsed with a faint glow, imbued with mysterious, unstable energy.
"Take a small sample first," Louis instructed. "And, following Silco's recommendation, test it in the magic-earth formula. Seal the rest for now." He didn't authorize full-scale mining—this site demanded professional expertise: reinforced shafts, specialized extraction, alchemical refinement. He'd already detailed these needs in his earlier letter to his father. If his father could dispatch skilled engineers and alchemists, fine. If not, Louis would need to recruit them independently.
Spring sunlight bathed Red Tide Territory's farmlands. A gentle breeze stirred the fresh scent of new sprouts. Louis stood on a low rise, surveying the land as it came back to life.
Just weeks ago, this ground had been barren. Now rye blades pierced the soil, tender potato shoots peeked up, and turnip seedlings swayed softly.
"Looks like a strong harvest this year," he mused with satisfaction.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps approached. Mick jogged over, his face reflecting anxiety. Though he had successfully proposed—married—ahead, he hadn't formally reported to Louis. A former slave, Mick still bore residual fear toward his master. Despite his newfound freedom, etiquette demanded the lord's approval for a matter as significant as marriage.
What if Louis rejected him? What if he demanded a steep price?
These questions weighed on Mick's mind, slowing his stride. But before he could speak, Louis offered a gentle smile and said, "Mick, congratulations on your proposal."
Mick froze. He hadn't said anything yet. How did Louis know?
Shock, fear, disbelief—they stormed through Mick. He instinctively bowed to the ground—until Louis's firm hand stopped him.
"You're now Head of Agriculture. Enough with the kneeling," Louis said sternly.
Mick blinked away tears, opening his mouth to speak—but Louis held out a small gift: two smoked fish, tied with a thin string and a crooked bow.
Mick stared.
"This is a congratulatory gift." Louis shrugged. "My funds are tight, but I still wanted to give you something."
Mick gripped the fish, lips trembling. Tears welled and dropped.
He'd expected a reprimand—or worse, a fine. But not this.
"Don't cry," Louis said, patting his shoulder. "This is good news, isn't it?"
Mick sniffled, nodding. He swallowed, standing tall. "Yes, Lord."
"Alright," Louis continued. "I have something important to discuss."
Mick drew a steadying breath, ready to listen. Louis tilted his head, motioning for him to look.
Mick followed his gaze—and froze.
Four massive corpses lay at the edge of the farmland. Their frost-bitten bodies were scarred and melting; veins of dark blue flesh glistened as ice crystals broke apart.
"These… huge corpses…" Mick managed.
Louis chuckled. "Don't just stand there. I want you to turn them into fertilizer."
"Fer—fertilizer?" Mick almost spat the word. He'd never heard of using Frost Giants this way.
Louis was unbothered. "Giant muscle is rich in minerals. Properly processed, it could work miracles for the soil."
Mick's jaw twitched. His mind raced—how would he convert four giant carcasses into usable fertilizer? But before he could gather his thoughts, Louis spoke again.
He pulled a small cloth bag from his cloak and handed it solemnly to Mick. "And this."
Inside were half a dozen frostblood redberry seeds—precious beyond measure. Louis entrusted them to Mick because the daily intelligence system flagged Mick as a natural talent in cultivation. If Louis provided the formula, Mick could nurture them better than anyone else.
Mick gingerly opened the bag. The seeds looked unassuming—small, rough spheres.
"These are frostblood redberry seeds," Louis explained. "Extremely valuable. One seed is worth several hundred gold coins."
Mick's eyes widened. One seed? It could purchase hundreds of slaves—had he still been one.
"You're to handle them," Louis continued. "They must be planted carefully. If any issue arises, come to me. Researchers are still refining the magic-earth compound—until it's ready, bury the seeds in ice to activate them."
"Yes—yes!" Mick stammered, clutching the seeds as though cradling a child. "I will care for them and do nothing to damage them."
At that moment, a guard rushed over and addressed Louis: "My lord, the girl we rescued has awoken."
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