"Ian?"

Upon hearing someone call him, Ian lifted his head and saw a man who seemed vaguely familiar standing at the entrance of the tent, cautiously waving at him while holding a bowl of porridge.

It was Aik, a young man from their village. They weren't very close, but often met.

In this unfamiliar camp, encountering someone he recognized felt like meeting an old friend in a foreign land.

"Ian? You survived too!" Aik's tone was much warmer than usual.

He seemed more spirited than Ian imagined, looking well, and though his clothes were somewhat tattered, he appeared more composed than Ian's disheveled state.

"You're here too?" Ian was a bit surprised.

"Lucky me." Aik sat beside him. "Recently escaped to the mountains and nearly froze. If it weren't for the lords of the Red Tide Territory finding me, I'd probably be nothing but bones now."

"The lords of the Red Tide Territory?" Ian looked at him, his eyes full of questions.

"It's them!" Aik's eyes lit up, his voice almost flying, "Haven't you heard? We have a new lord now! He's called—Louis Calvin."

"Calvin…" Ian murmured, repeating the name.

"Yes, that's him!" Aik's voice carried a touch of reverence, "I was previously escaping in the mountains with a few others.

They sent people into the mountains to find us, carried us down, fed us porridge, gave us medicine, and even provided a temporary identity card, saying if we work, we'd receive food."

He spoke proudly, as if recounting a glorious event, his eyes full of light.

"The new lord isn't like Baron Merrick, the type of nobility that indulges in luxury in the castle, eats meat, drinks wine, and picks concubines.

This Lord Calvin, he's different—he sent many physicians, soldiers, and stewards here. We have food and drink, even children and elders can live in tents.

He even said he would build wells and houses... He's no ordinary lord; he's like a Dragon Ancestor Envoy descended to earth!"

Ian listened quietly, his gaze somewhat dazed.

He looked at his daughter, whom he guarded day and night, and thought of those former nobles who treated refugees like grass, his heart heavy.

He had never met this young lord named Calvin, not even known what he looked like.

Yet, the people he sent rescued Mia, rescued him, and rescued so many others.

In this world, already in shambles, he unexpectedly instilled a new hope.

"It really feels different." Ian murmured softly, his voice so light that even Aik couldn't hear.

If this lord truly accepts them, if he is willing...

Then Ian will surely follow him.

Even if the work given to him is hard and exhausting, as long as his daughter survives, he will do anything.

Fortunately, his wish was soon fulfilled.

By noon, an officer dressed in a Red Tide Territory uniform stepped into the tent.

The man carried no weapons, nor was he in a rush, but calmly carried pen and paper, interviewing people one by one.

He approached Ian and nodded slightly, "May I ask your name and village of origin?"

"Ian, from White Stone Village." He instinctively answered, his eyes still cautious.

"Here, we are gathering refugees, requiring identity registration. We can provide food and shelter, but it needs to be exchanged with labor. Is there anything you're skilled at?"

Ian hesitated a moment, "I used to be a carpenter, can make furniture, repair houses."

Upon hearing this, the officer nodded, his tone becoming more earnest, "Very well, those with expertise will be given priority for accommodation and later may apply for a settlement quota."

Then he handed Ian a full set of supplies:

A number card painted red, marked with his new number;

A set of gray thermal underwear, styled like old military wear, homemade but clean and sturdy;

A wooden bowl wrapped in coarse burlap, along with a worn but sun-dried blanket;

He noticed Ian was barefoot, hesitated for a few seconds, then pulled out from his bag a pair of somewhat dirty old military boots and handed them to him: "Make do with these."

Ian took the boots, his fingertips trembled, his voice somewhat hoarse, "Thank you."

"You've been assigned to the workshop area number three; gather early tomorrow with the craftsman team to build houses.

No need to worry about food scarcity; meals are arranged three times a day."

After saying this, the officer turned to continue with the next refugee, while Ian lowered his head, staring at the items in his hands, touching each one, as if afraid they might disappear suddenly.

That night, Ian, as usual, watched over his daughter, spooning porridge to her mouth.

At some point, Mia slowly opened her eyes.

"Mia…?" Ian almost couldn't believe what he was seeing.

The little girl was still very weak, but her gaze seemed focused.

She looked at her father, tears slowly seeped from her eyes, her small hand reached out, gently holding his large hand.

"Daddy..."

With this single word, the heavy stone weighing on Ian's heart for so long was finally shattered.

He bowed his head, buried his face beside his daughter, his voice choked as though ripped apart: "You survived… Thank you, Lord, Dragon Ancestor bless… Thank you..."

Outside the tent, a gust of wind passed, the red flag hanging high in the wind fluttered like flames in the night.

At the flag's center, the golden sun gleamed brightly, seemingly real, like light dispelling the winter cold, warming those below.

Ian looked at the flag, his lips moved slightly, quietly reciting the name he heard from Aik:

"Lord, Louis Calvin… Thank you… Thank you..."

Such a miracle was not unique to Ian alone.

In every piece of land Louis newly acquired, he dispatched such a team.

A team comprised of Red Tide Territory soldiers, knights, physicians, craftsmen, and registration officers, carrying food, medicine, and order, delved into villages and towns like ruins.

They set up tents, cooked hot porridge, received refugees, registered information.

Providing an opportunity for survival to those who lost everything in the war.

And for those migrants not within his territory, as long as they were willing to seek refuge and work, he was willing to turn a blind eye, willing to accept them.

Of course, not everyone came with gratitude in mind.

After the war, many bandits and hooligans indeed emerged; they plundered, extorted, even disguised as refugees infiltrating the camp.

At dawn, outside the camp's porridge tent, a long queue stretched with smoke wafting, the pot bubbling audibly.

Suddenly, chaos erupted from the rear.

"Get out of the way! If you don't want to die, get far away!"

"Food! Hand over all the food to us!!"

A group of ruffians in ragged clothing, eyes fierce, rushed out from the forest.

About thirty in number, wielding broken axes, firewood knives, even longswords.

They had long been lurking nearby, waiting for the moment when porridge was served.

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