Novel Full Chapter 649 - 378: Seven-Day Training (Part 2)
Chapter 649: Chapter 378: Seven-Day Training (Part 2)
Applause surged like a tide.
In the crowd, Pete’s heart was suddenly jolted by something, not out of fear, but ignited.
Perhaps one day, he may truly accomplish what the Lord said.
He stared at Louis on stage, his chest seemed filled with fire, the feeling almost made his scalp tingle.
“I can do it… I can do it too…” Pete kept repeating in his mind, not even knowing why he was suddenly so determined.
Distributing food, bookkeeping, counting inventory, he usually just thought of it as a stable job.
But now, for the first time, he felt that what he did could change someone’s life.
When Louis said, “Your merits will be established along with it,” he couldn’t help but picture:
The territory’s people recognizing him, telling their children, “That uncle is the one who first fed us.”
Completing tasks abroad, upon his return, all his colleagues in Red Tide stand at the administrative entrance, patting his shoulder, saying, “Pete’s back, this kid did well.”
He even imagined a bit further…
Maybe in a few years, he could be like those high-ranking officials of Red Tide, carrying his own seal, sitting behind a desk approving construction forms and granary quotas.
Thinking of this, his ears turned red, quickly lowering his head to avoid letting those around him see his expression.
But the anticipation… couldn’t be suppressed no matter what.
Pete knew, some people do it for promotion, some for merit, some to earn a dignified future for their families.
And him? He wanted it all.
He aimed to return here, back to where Lord Louis stood, proving he’s more than just a storage officer.
Proving he’s worthy of this city, worthy of the Red Tide emblem.
Applause continued to echo in the hall, Pete raised his head, looking towards the high platform.
“For the Lord… I must achieve results, return, and make Red Tide remember my name.”
……
After Louis left the training hall, the residual heat of the furnace still clung to the wall, like the authority he left behind.
The heat floated in the empty training hall, people however had been led to the next room to continue classes without the slightest pause.
The seven-day course was as tight as if bound by an iron ring, from rescuing, establishing systems, to stabilizing public sentiment, restructuring land — every step was seamlessly aligned.
Though the instructors rotated, the real lecturer was never present, yet all syllabi and processes carried Louis’s influence.
The first to third days covered aid to people’s livelihood, rescuing and stabilizing them.
They were required to learn from the basics, but not rough tasks, instead doing it Red Tide’s way:
“Regulations for Temporary Winter Granary Construction” taught them how to find the safest terrain in wet snow, how to damp proof under the ice layer.
“Frostbite and Hypothermia Treatment Manual” broke down rescue actions into nearly foolproof steps.
“Residence and Population Registration Template” required them upon arrival to establish a complete list within one hour.
“Emergency Stove Point Map” enabled them to set up the most basic heating points even in villages and towns without houses.
The stove fires remained lit all day, flickering shadows casting on every face, even Pete’s back ached from sitting upright.
He sat on the wooden stool, palms slightly sweaty, always feeling the instructor might call his name at any moment.
The three days’ courses weren’t unfamiliar.
How to set up granaries, rescue from frostbite, write registration forms, he had done all these over the years.
But here, all experiences were rendered into clear systems one by one.
The instructor’s voice clanged against the desk like iron: “The first goal of the Red Tide rescue team is to ensure no deaths in a village during the coldest three days.”
Pete nodded, he understood the weight of this sentence.
He remembered his days hauling grain sacks on the coldest winter nights, remembered the helplessness seeing the refugees coming for aid at Red Tide turning purple from frostbite, and recalled the days before Red Tide gasping for survival.
The fourth and fifth days covered system output, essentially transplanting Red Tide.
The training hall seemed suddenly capped with a layer of heavy snow, even the air became stagnant.
The instructor spoke slowly, but every word was solid, covering grain rights reform, household registration law, open accounting, work time system, storage room and geothermal stove minimum standards…
“Aid isn’t just delivering grain,” the instructor said, “it’s enabling that village to account, farm, and allocate independently next year.”
Thus they were taught how to teach others literacy, how to distribute grain according to spreadsheets, how to lead locals to dig the first drainage trough, set up the first storage room.
Those actions seemed light on paper but determined whether a village could stand by next year.
Pete gazed at the blueprints, suddenly comprehending that they were not providing temporary aid and then leaving, but were ensuring that land would never go hungry again. He realized for the first time: “We are replicating Red Tide itself.”
The sixth day discussed local politics, restructuring from the root.
The whole day avoided tools, avoided engineering, entirely focused on power. The instructor wrote a striking line of black text: “The aid target is the common people, not the nobility.”
Most importantly, the nobility were prohibited from interfering with grain distribution, accounting checks, commanding, and meddling with labor division, customs must be properly performed, but no power can be delegated.
Pete and the others were taught how to maintain appearances, how to let nobility stand at the forefront of ceremonies but cannot command, how to let them attend meetings but not intervene, how to reward with symbolic cooperation grain but without ceding actual power.
The instructor calmly summarized: “Give them face, but let them be hollowed out in terms of system.”
Pete felt his scalp tingle listening, the arrival of the aid team was to subtly embed Red Tide’s administrative framework into the old noble territories, rewriting order with systems rather than swords.
The seventh day discussed long-term strategy, paving paths for the next three years.
The entire wall transformed into a map of the Northern Territory, military and political officials using long rods to tap the villages and towns within the snow line:
Where the winter death rate was highest, where the potential supply lines were, which villages and towns once stabilized could drive surrounding four to six villages, and which nobles were most likely to be abandoned by public sentiment.
Then the instructor unveiled a new three-year plan, compared to previous courses seemed more like an overall blueprint for Red Tide:
Year one, stabilize population, secure right to survival. Ensure no one dies from cold and famine.
Establish grain distribution points and temporary household registration offices; regroup villages and towns, preventing further exodus.
All rescue actions revolve around one purpose, letting the common people survive, and knowing it’s Red Tide keeping them alive.
Year two, export systems, dismantle old authority.
Promote Red Tide’s household registration, quota, and accounting law. Teach the common people literacy, accounting, and labor division.
The old nobility superficially retain titles, but tax rights, grain rights, and labor rights gradually peel away from their hands.
Encourage villages and towns to rely on Red Tide officials rather than the Lord.
Year three: complete subordination, integrate into Red Tide order.
Villages and towns voluntarily submit account books and yield tables; use Red Tide’s resource vouchers as primary settlement;
Red Tide station permanent clerks and inspectors, not announcing mergers, but the de facto administrative subordination becomes established.
The Northern Territory seems sewn into one whole, Red Tide becomes the sole center.
The instructor mildly summarized amidst pauses: “These three years are not three years of aid, but three years of reshaping. After three years, the Northern Territory will be accustomed to Red Tide, nobles will rely on Red Tide, villages and towns will voluntarily lean towards Red Tide.
You are not aid officials, but sowers of future order of the Northern Territory.”
The training hall was silent as if even breathing was weighed down by snow.
In the closing moments of the training, the instructor shut a thick booklet, tone somewhat softened: “Although time is short, you are inherently grassroots officials trained by Red Tide. Rescuing, accounting, stabilizing situations, you have done it all.
These seven days just helped you reorganize these concepts, if any issues arise, feel free to open the Red Tide booklet, all questions are answered there.”
He scanned around, “After heading out, remember that you represent the face of Red Tide. Bless your journey, may your steps brighten the Northern Territory anew.”
Seven days later, Pete sat in the departing carriage.
The wheels rolled over the mud marks of melting snow, emitting a muffled sound, with a slight stickiness.
He held that booklet flared at the edges, as if still staying at the long table of the training hall.
Pete’s mood was indistinct.
The anticipation of doing something genuinely keeping others alive, along with aspirations of promotion and wealth.
Confusion also existed, what would the first village be like? Would local nobles interfere?
The outer walls of Red Tide City gradually faded into the mist, the familiar red flag atop the city swaying in the wind, yet blurred to a shade of warmth, pasted against the gray-white sky.
Pete suddenly realized, from this moment onward, he would no longer work beneath the banner.
He aimed to take that color to places where others couldn’t see the firelight.