Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 670 - 385: The First Breeze of Spring in Cold Sand Territory (Part 4)

Pete now strolled along the bustling street, relishing the sensation of crowds enveloping him while their stares trailed in his wake.

Such a feeling proved utterly magnificent.

He had transcended his days as a lowly adjutant; to these thousands, he stood as their vital pillar, their protector in their sight.

This profound fulfillment convinced him that every frost he had braved and every vigil through sleepless nights had been entirely justified.

The longer he savored this glory, the stronger his thankfulness swelled for that figure.

Pete's gaze naturally turned toward the remote red banner flapping aloft, as he drew a deep inward breath.

"Without Lord Louis, I am nothing."

Lord Louis had granted him this garb, these provisions, and crucially, the transformative Red Tide approach destined to reshape the world.

He had only executed the vision outlined by Lord Louis to erect this extraordinary settlement.

All his acclaim merely mirrored the radiant glory of the Red Tide.

"May the Sun always shine upon you, my Lord."

Pete murmured this prayer silently within, stiffened his posture, and strode with bolder poise toward the street's far end.

There, the Red Tide's posted medical officer was displaying the winter health bulletin.

Death toll: six people.

Pete paused, his eyes dwelling on that figure for quite some time.

Strangers might dismiss it as a stark numeral, yet for Northern Territory dwellers of over a decade, it verged on the divine.

Prior winters claimed no fewer than two hundred souls, at times exceeding that toll.

Blizzards sealing routes turned Cold Sand Territory into a forsaken isle, where elders faded quietly on frozen kang beds, miners fell to nocturnal coughs, and fevered children perished without affordable remedies. Those eras saw winter's close alive with coffin merchants' booms, mourners' parades snaking from avenue to byway.

But this year, just six.

Pete knew precisely these six: three seniors, the others long ravaged by fatal ailments.

None succumbed to frost, famine, or untreated chills from lack of funds.

Credit belonged to the corner clinic flying Red Cross and Sun standards.

Red Tide healers demanded no visit fees, ramming bitter draughts daily into every ailing subject's mouth.

"Lord Louis said human life is more precious than gold in the lands of the Red Tide."

This feat the Red Tide had accomplished.

"Mom, look! I have a Sun!" A bright child's cry pierced the crowd's musing.

Children clad in baggy heavy cotton jackets gripped small wooden pinwheels bearing the Sun emblem on their vanes.

They darted through the throng, chanting the brief tune from the relief troupe's singer: "The red flag rises, ice melts away, the Lord’s grace is like a spring breeze passing through..."

Cheeks now bloomed rosy, banished was the cold-inflicted bluish-purple pallor.

Adults beheld the young ones, their looks turning notably tender.

Torches dipped in pine pitch and Red Tide-emblazoned banners fluttered along the street edges in the gusts.

Far beyond holiday finery, it symbolized utter loyalty.

Here, every soul—from the brooch-wearing baker to thankful miners, to Pete's resolute frame—formed the unshakeable foundation of Red Tide authority in this crimson-hued bazaar.

Gusts remained biting, wealth still scarce, but the ubiquitous Red Tide Sun symbol kindled inner warmth.

For they realized that while the red flag endured aloft, Cold Sand Territory's savage winter had passed.