Dead. They were all dead.
Sif's heart pounded wildly.
She squeezed her horse's flanks with all her strength, urging it across the freezing snowfield, its hooves kicking up clouds of white powder.
The battle cries behind her echoed through the night, the howls of hunting dogs mingling with the warriors' screams.
Why? Why had it come to this?!
Only days ago, she had sat in a warm tent, listening to her father recount their tribe's glory. Her brothers had laughed and roughhoused while her mother gently smoothed her hair.
She had thought she would one day follow in her father's footsteps and lead their people into battle across the snowfields.
But that banquet had destroyed everything.
Her father, Harold Frostmane, had suddenly collapsed during the feast, convulsing and howling in agony before dying in front of everyone.
Over the next few days, her mother and siblings had died one after another.
Some had been executed; others had met their ends in unexplained "accidents."
Their heads had been hung from stone pillars, their blood dripping onto the white snow, a painfully vivid red.
The words her older brother Sigel had just spoken still echoed in her mind.
"Sif, listen." Sigel gripped her shoulders, his voice urgent. "Run south. Never come back."
She shook her head desperately, tears filling her eyes. "No! Brother, I..."
Sigel suddenly seized the back of her neck, forcing her to look up at him. "Listen! Run south! Don't come back! Don't even think about revenge!"
Without another word, Sigel lashed the horse with all his strength, then drew his battle-axe and turned to face their pursuers.
"Hah!" he roared, his blood boiling.
His eyes turned crimson, the totems on his body flared, and his muscles swelled like masses of rock. He became the very image of a berserk god of war.
Blood-Boiling Berserker!
At the cost of his life, he burned his own blood to gain a brief burst of invincible power!
"Come on, you bastards! Let's go to hell together!"
Laughing wildly, he raised his massive axe and charged the enemies pouring out of the darkness.
Sif felt as though her heart had been torn apart. She wanted to rush back and fight beside her brother, but her horse was already carrying her south.
The chill had yet to fade completely, and the river west of the Red Tide Fief still carried the lingering cold of winter.
Every spring and autumn, migrating schools of fish arrived in this river.
They swam upstream to spawn in the shallows, and once the young hatched, they followed the current back to deeper waters.
The natives had known of this natural cycle since ancient times, but their fishing methods remained limited to spearing fish with wooden forks or scooping them up with bamboo baskets.
So, although they could barely fill their bellies, what they caught was a mere drop in the bucket compared with the river's true potential.
Thus, at Louis's command, a hundred fishermen headed to the riverbank to begin an organized fisheries development project.
They built a makeshift dock from wooden stakes and stones.
Carpenters were also gathered to lead the fishermen in building fishing boats, working day and night.
They worked without rest and finally built ten seaworthy fishing boats within two weeks, ready for the coming surge of fish.
In those two weeks, fishing here underwent a complete transformation.
But no one had expected their first large-scale fishing operation to come so soon.
It all began with an important piece of information Louis had received from the daily Intelligence System the day before:
[1: Tomorrow, large schools of fish will arrive in the river west of the Red Tide Fief.]
The news thrilled him, and he immediately gave an order. "All fishermen, assemble at the riverside dock and prepare to fish with everything you have."
The next day, the riverbank bustled with people as a hundred fishermen stood in orderly ranks, awaiting their lord's command.
On the crude wooden dock, which had already begun to take shape, Lord Louis stood on a raised platform and surveyed the crowd.
"Everyone! Today, we will undertake the Red Tide Fief's first large-scale fishing operation!
Do you remember how desolate this place was a month ago? But look at it now. We have boats, nets, and a dock. All of this is the fruit of your hard work.
We will no longer simply wait for fate to hand us scraps. We will seize our future with our own hands!
And today, everything is ready. All we need to do is reach out and take it, and we can show everyone in the Red Tide Fief that the days of hunger are over!
May we return with full holds!"
Louis's words fired up the fishermen. They raised their nets and harpoons, shouting in unison, "Full holds!"
Yet beside Louis, a trace of indescribable anxiety showed in the eyes of Luke, his fisheries officer.
Would there really be fish?
Over the past month, Louis's judgments had been proven right time and again, leaving Luke and everyone else no choice but to believe in him.
But this was fishing!
Fishing depended heavily on luck. Even the most experienced fisherman could hardly predict exactly which day would bring a great haul and which would leave them returning with empty nets.
Luke had been rather surprised when he received Louis's instructions the day before.
Why was his lord so certain they would bring in a huge catch today?
What if they didn't?
If the river yielded little today, that inspiring speech would become a joke.
And the fishermen would have spent half a month preparing with high hopes, only to come away empty-handed.
A blow to their morale would be a minor concern. More importantly, would their lord lash out in anger from the humiliation?
What would he do then?
Would his lord strip him naked and toss him into the river as bait?
Luke stole a glance at Louis and found him utterly untroubled.
He stood there with a faint smile, as though he could already see schools of fish churning across the river's surface.
"So this is a lord's composure..." Luke murmured, a little dazed.
Just then, Louis interrupted Luke's wandering thoughts. "Is everything ready?"
"Yes, everything is ready," Luke answered hurriedly.
Louis nodded. "Then let's begin."
Luke took a deep breath, stood on the raised platform, and called out his orders. "Brothers, follow the plan!"
The fishermen had been waiting for a long time and immediately began dividing the work among themselves.
According to Louis's plan, today's fishing operation would be divided into three groups to ensure the greatest possible haul.
The first group was the main force, consisting of ten fishing boats.
The fishermen deftly maneuvered their boats, setting seine nets in the middle of the river to form an enormous barrier.
The second group handled smaller-scale fishing.
With relatively few members, they were responsible for casting nets in the shallows along the banks and catching fish that swam close to shore.
Working skillfully, the fishermen swiftly cast their nets into the water, the mesh sized just right for catching smaller fish.
The third group was a team using traditional fishing tools.
Holding harpoons, they quickly searched the water. Whenever they spotted a school, they thrust or threw with force, catching the fleeing fish.
Some fishermen also set traps along the banks.
These simple but effective tools could catch fish that would not approach the nets, further adding to the haul.
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