Once he finished planning how to address the food shortage, his pen touched down again with a soft tap.
"Insufficient housing."
Louis spoke quietly, his pen tracing the weighty words onto the parchment.
He leaned back in his chair, his temples tight. Red Tide Fief had originally housed thirteen thousand people, and Louis's carefully designed city plan had allowed for nearly thirty thousand.
That figure had been precisely calculated-roads, well water, housing, sewage, heating pipes, even the direction of smoke from every cooking fire had all been kept within manageable limits.
But now...
"Fifty-seven thousand." Bradley opened the latest population register across from him. His voice was quiet, yet it cut slowly into reality like a dull knife. "That is the figure updated this morning. As you instructed, registration is still ongoing at the refugee camp by the north gate."
"There are too many people." Louis rubbed the space between his brows.
"The refugees are still crowded into temporary heated shelters outside the residential district."
Bradley opened the record book in his hands, frowning slightly. "The residual warmth from the geothermal vein can keep temperatures bearable during the day, but if they have to spend the winter there... it clearly won't be enough."
Louis did not answer immediately.
He stood by the window, looking out at the distant furrows gradually whitening with frost. Shrouded in mist, Red Tide Fief remained peaceful, yet it could not conceal the faint sense of an approaching crisis.
"We need to build houses," he said. "Not just to hold out, but to actually get through a winter."
He turned, his gaze settling on the enormous tabletop bearing a map of the Northern Frontier. "Use the same method we used at the beginning: semi-subterranean communal housing. Simple, sturdy, undemanding about materials, and warm."
Bradley nodded, a