The steam engine hummed low, the furnace had yet to reach full heat, and eight looms stood in the workshop. The air still smelled of coal dust and lubricating oil.
Dozens of artisans had already formed neat ranks inside the spacious, brightly lit weaving hall.
They all wore matching gray-blue artisan robes, with Red Tide's sun emblem sewn onto their hems.
Some looked excited, some kept glancing around, and others could not help clenching their fists.
"The lord is here!" someone called softly.
In an instant, every gaze in the factory turned toward the entrance.
The next moment, the doors opened, and Louis walked in wearing plain gray clothes, with Red Tide's sun badge pinned to his chest.
There was no ceremonial procession, only Bradley and Hamilton at his side, along with a few knights.
No one had trained the workers in how to welcome him, but applause erupted naturally, like a flood.
It rolled like a wave from the front rows to the back, then swept forward again.
"Welcome, my lord!" someone shouted.
"It's Lord Louis!" An older artisan's eyes reddened, his voice catching.
Louis raised a hand for silence, but the applause erupted again, even louder than before.
He made no attempt to appear imposing. He merely smiled, a trace of helplessness in his wry expression.
A moment later, he slowly raised his hand, sending a faint ripple of magic power out with his voice. It swept through the factory like a gentle breeze. "I know you're excited. So am I."
His voice reached every ear clearly, and only then did the applause gradually subside.
He looked around at those weathered yet resolute faces, and his tone softened a little.
"I remember many of you. You were here in the first year, the second year-even before Red Tide