Novel Full Chapter 562 - 338: Tolan’s Choice (2)
Chapter 562: Chapter 338: Tolan’s Choice (2)
Some people saw it as a lifeline, even if it was covered with nails, it was better than sinking back to the seabed.
Others, after a long silence, stood up, walked out, and headed toward the village chief’s house.
They wanted to ask if their son’s name could be added to the list of those going to Red Tide City.
……
Tolan Coldtooth stood in front of the newly erected wooden sign of the “Supplementary Notice of the Barbarian Autonomous Regulations,” draped in an old sheepskin robe, his hands behind his back.
At thirty-seven years old, he was the son of Elder Tormond of the former Coldtooth Tribe. He was literate from a young age, understanding both the Barbarian and Imperial languages.
When Border Guard Village was established, he led the surviving tribe members to voluntarily submit to the Red Tide. Today, he is also the village chief of this Border Guard Village.
He no longer wore the long braids of his tribe, instead he sported the short hair style of the Red Tide.
His beard was neatly trimmed, and though his robe had patches, it was not dirty.
Tolan stared at a line of text on the wooden sign.
“Adolescents recommended by the village chief can go to Red Tide to receive training.”
He read slowly, scanning each word, then repeated it again.
……
The fire hadn’t completely gone out, but occasionally there was a dull pop from the hearth.
Tolan sat by the fire, holding tongs to add fuel, but his eyes drifted to the wall.
Hanging on the wall was a piece of faded cloth.
That was the flag Tolan had brought out from the tribe.
When Titus began his southern sweep of the tribes, Tolan’s father, who was one of the tribe’s elders at the time, only said two sentences to him: “Take the people southward. Keep the tribe alive.”
That night, fire consumed the entire valley.
Tolan carried the flag on his back, leading fewer than fifty tribe members overnight across the mountains, retreating south along the frozen river.
Along the way, a few froze to death, a few fell behind, but the flag was always strapped to his back, never loosened.
Later, when they were almost at the end of their strength, Red Tide Knights discovered them while patrolling the border. After verifying their identities, they registered them as a submitting tribe, settling them in the newly established Border Guard Village to the north.
He didn’t give that flag to the Red Tide, nor did he mention it to outsiders, it was just a simple memory.
Now he guards the village, farms, and hunts, sustaining life with the monthly rations and tools distributed by the Red Tide.
Life was neither glamorous nor free, but the house no longer leaked wind, and there was always something simmering in the pot.
Compared to those who died in the valley, whose bones are buried under the snow, this was already good enough.
Tolan understood very well who all this depended on.
The Red Tide did not give his tribe glory, but it gave his family everything they needed to survive.
Still, sometimes, in the dead of night, he would take out that old flag from the corner and hang it on the wall for a little while.
The fireplace crackled a few times.
Tolan shifted his gaze from the flag, turned, and called toward a corner of the room: “Kosa, come here.”
The young boy in the corner lifted his head.
Thirteen years old, slender and tall, his frame not fully grown, but his body already showing some lines.
His Fighting Energy had long been awakened, reaching the level of an elite warrior.
Kosa was practicing writing, practicing the language of the Empire, reading aloud from the book “Our Great Lord Louis,” as every household in Border Guard Village now had a copy of this book.
He put down his pen and walked toward his father.
Tolan gave him a glance and then laid out three items: a set of winter clothes, a bag of rations, and a parchment—a pre-written military registration form.
The three items were neatly placed on the table.
“This is your opportunity,” Tolan said calmly.
Kosa didn’t take them, he just lowered his head and looked at the paper, his lips pressed tightly, his voice very soft: “How long do I have to go?”
“It’s best not to come back.” Tolan paused and continued in the same tone: “Live by their rules.”
Kosa’s fingers twitched, but he still didn’t reach out.
He stared at the registration form, then asked softly: “Can I still call myself a Coldtooth person?”
Tolan looked at him, his eyes unwavering, but his brows furrowed slightly: “That thing is worthless now.”
Anger flickered in the boy’s eyes: “But I’m a bloodline of the snow, a descendant of the north wind, a…”
Tolan interrupted him: “Will that bloodline keep you alive?”
For a moment, only the sound of the hearth filled the room.
Kosa lowered his head, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his clothing, unable to utter a rebuttal.
He wasn’t foolish; he knew his father was right.
But that something pressing against his chest, like frozen snow, couldn’t melt away.
Tolan folded the registration paper neatly, tucked it into the inside of his jacket, and patted his shoulder.
“Remember, don’t show off, don’t compete with others. If you live well, just keep living; if not…” He paused, “just eat more.”
The woman at the door remained silent.
She was one of the orphans of the Coldtooth Tribe, Tolan’s wife, Kosa’s mother.
She stuffed a piece of dried meat into the child’s bag, tightened his scarf, and smoothed his hair, but said nothing.
Kosa hugged his father and then his mother.
He didn’t cry, but his eyes were a bit red.
The next morning, the snow hadn’t melted, and the sky wasn’t fully lit.
At the entrance of Border Guard Village, a Red Tide Army flag flapped in the wind.
Beside the flag stood three Red Tide Knights, cloaked and carrying regulation longswords at their sides, one of whom was checking the list in his hand.
Tolan led the way, cloaked in an old cape. He brought six youths, each standing beneath the stone pillar at the village entrance.
These youths ranged from eleven to sixteen or seventeen years old. Some were still yawning, some had clenched fists, and some looked bewildered, sneaking glances at their parents.
They knew they were leaving today, but no one knew what life would be like afterward.
Tolan didn’t say much, just stood beside the line with his hands in his cape, his gaze sweeping across the faces of those youths.
His son, Kosa, stood second, his back straight, hands clasped in front of him.
The knight began to recite the regulations:
“The village presents a total of seven people to enter the initial training in Red Tide City’s military academy. During this period, they are not allowed to leave the team without permission.
Those who perform well may be recommended for advanced camps or positions, violators will be dealt with according to military laws.”
As soon as the words fell, Tolan stepped forward to distribute simple packs, rations, thermal cloaks, and identity copper plates to each youth.
The copper plates bore the Sun emblem of the Red Tide, without any tribe name or surname.
One knight walked to the front of the line, scanned it, and said, “If anyone wishes to withdraw, now is the time to speak.”
No one moved.
All the youths kept their heads down, some’s hands were trembling, some were gritting their teeth, but no one wanted to withdraw in front of everyone.
Tolan stood there, quietly watching.
Only when each of them carried their bags and stepped out of the village entrance did he let out a quiet sigh.
……
The sound of hooves in the snow dissipated in the morning.
The flag of Border Guard Village was now far behind them, but Louis did not turn toward Dawn Port.
He had temporarily changed his plans, leading his team back west to Red Tide City.
This was the third time in almost five months that he had stepped into the Red Tide Main City.
The previous two times were just short stops to handle urgent matters and briefly see his wife and children. This time was the same; time was short, but he had to return.
He returned to Red Tide City late at night.
The bedroom door was gently pushed open, and when Louis entered, covered in dust from travel, his steps were light.
He carried the fatigue of long-distance travel, his boots not dried, leaving wet marks on the wooden floor.
Emily leaned against the bed, holding a sleeping infant in her arms.
The child, now over six months old, had a round, smooth face, soft hair, and his nose had begun to show some contour. While he slept, he occasionally smacked his lips, as if dreaming.
Emily was not asleep; she just rested with her eyes closed.
When Louis stood for a moment, she opened her eyes and smiled: “You’re back.”
Louis nodded and hesitantly stepped forward, squatting down to gently stroke the child’s hair.
“I should come back more often,” he said, “but I’m always… caught up.”
Emily didn’t answer, only reached to unbuckle the cape from his shoulders and hung it to the side.
Just as he settled beside her, she gently moved the child to the small bed and pulled a blanket over his legs.
“I know it’s not on purpose,” she spoke calmly, “just… sometimes, don’t forget you’re a father.”
Louis lowered his head, holding her hand: “I know, I’m just too tired, sometimes I’m not even sure if I’m doing the right thing.”
Emily didn’t console him, nor did she ask more; she only tightened her grip on his cold hand: “The child is good, waiting for you.”
He laughed softly, leaning against her shoulder, closing his eyes: “Then tonight, I’ll tell him a story, the story of the great Lord Louis thwarting the traitors’ conspiracy.”